The road sloped into a basin where hills had been shaved flat by centuries of feet and cart-wheels. Smoke rose ahead, not the black breath of burning, but the polite grey that kitchens make. Rooflines jostled for space, shingles wet from recent rain. A bell tolled once, deep and iron-sure, and the sound carried through the mist like the closing of a book.
Andy walked first. He carried nothing visible, not even the Oathblade; it dozed in the Shared Inventory, waiting like a wolf trained to come when whistled. Still, every guard on the gate straightened when his shadow touched stone. His aura leaked despite his quiet—nothing aggressive, nothing theatrical, only the weight of someone whose spine had long ago agreed to hold the sky.
One guard fumbled the haft of his spear, almost dropping it. Another remembered to bow, then remembered that bowing wasn't his duty, and ended up kneeling instead. Andy inclined his head a fraction, granting without demanding. The guards swallowed, not sure if they had been forgiven or judged, and let the travelers through.
Nia's cloak brushed her ankles as she stepped beside Andy. Her face was too calm to be calm; the kind that holds when a dam holds, though the water presses. The letter from Everhart estate had not left her pocket since she read it, the seal cracked but the words still heavy. She looked at the tiled roofs with eyes that didn't quite see them.
Aurelia noticed. Of course she did. She flicked a strand of gold hair back and leaned just enough to let her voice tease into Nia's ear.
"Don't scowl so hard, lumina. These people will think the Everharts are sending tax collectors."
Nia's mouth twitched, not a smile. "Some debts are heavier than coin."
"Then burn the ledger," Aurelia replied, shameless, and winked at a passing baker who immediately flushed scarlet and tripped on his own doorstep.
Lyra walked a step behind, hands folded like she still wore the discipline of the convent. But her eyes were everywhere—on the children chasing each other with reed whistles, on the women hanging laundry that smelled faintly of soap and smoke, on the stray dogs that slept unafraid in sun-puddles by the road. She saw what her sister couldn't afford to, what Aurelia mocked to hide her nerves, what Andy weighed in silence.
When a pair of young men by the fountain whispered, "She looks like Lady Everhart—no, younger, no, softer," Lyra lowered her gaze and almost stumbled. Nia heard it, every syllable, and her shoulders stiffened.
Andy slowed his pace just enough that Lyra's step naturally joined his. He didn't speak, but the slight tilt of his head was question enough.
"I keep feeling," Lyra said softly, "as though every street here remembers me… though I've never walked them."
"Streets have long memories," Andy replied, tone even. "Sometimes they confuse resemblance for return."
Aurelia's laugh carried ahead of them. "Or maybe you're exactly what they see and Nia just doesn't like mirrors."
Nia's glare was sharp enough to cut the air, but Lyra touched her sleeve before it could become a blade. "Sister," she said quietly, "I don't want to be your reflection. I just want to walk beside you."
The words disarmed more than any dagger. Nia's steps faltered, then resumed, slower. She exhaled once, and the ward-light in her staff dimmed to something gentler.
The city square opened before them, cobbles wide, market stalls smelling of cinnamon and leather oil. A herald stepped forward to announce arrivals but stopped mid-breath when Andy's aura brushed him. His throat closed, his parchment trembled, and all he managed was a bow deep enough to look like prayer.
Andy didn't pause. The others flowed around him—Aurelia rolling her eyes at the man's clumsy reverence, Nia holding herself more rigid, Lyra biting her lip to keep from apologizing to everyone they passed.
The Shared Inventory chimed softly in Andy's thoughts as if amused: weapons shifting weightless, rebalancing to their owners. Oathblade hummed at rest; Staff of Lumina tucked itself like a folded star; Aurelia's daggers clicked into their brooch slot, eager to reappear when she wished. Even Lyra's rosary—humble wooden beads she carried from the convent—had been absorbed without her knowing, the system deciding it belonged in the circle of their protection. She touched her empty wrist, startled, and Andy murmured, "It will return when you ask."
The bond stirred in him then, a subtle tightening like fabric pulling clean on a loom. Nia's presence glowed steady but storm-wrapped at 40%. Aurelia's heat flickered at 30%, restless but committed. The weave joined them in the middle, and the system whispered with a kind of satisfaction:
[Constellation Sync — Andraste, The Twin Flame]
Nia Everhart: 40%
Aurelia Dawnseeker: 30%
Combined Resonance: 35.0%
Status: Stable — Tier I Active
He felt the Overflow working—their movements finding each other even in a crowd, the rhythm of breathing syncing without effort. It wasn't louder; it was smoother.
They lodged at an inn by the square, shutters painted blue, flower boxes spilling geraniums. The innkeeper bowed too low, offered too much, and nearly wept when Andy asked only for two adjoining rooms.
That night, silence lay across the roof beams like a waiting cat. Andy slept without dreaming, but not everyone did.
Lyra's breath slowed, deepened, then faltered. She turned in her narrow bed, sheets clutched in fists. Behind her eyelids the world split open.
Stars poured like spilled grain across a black field. One broke formation, burning brighter than the rest. It leaned down, closer, until she could see the fracture in its light—two flames twined but not yet touching, their heat making the darkness sweat.
Her lips parted as if the vision scorched her tongue.
A chime trembled through the dream, not the clear tone of Andy's system, but an echo pitched for her alone:
[Hidden Lineage Resonance Detected]
Subject: Lyra Everhart
Status: Dormant — Catalyst Potential
Condition: Awaiting Constellation Alignment
She gasped awake, hand clutching at her chest as if the star might still be there. The room was dark, quiet, ordinary. Only her heartbeat refused to calm, hammering out the truth she could no longer ignore.
The night leaned closer, listening.