The argument never reignited.

  After a few wary glances and muttered complaints, the restaurant went back to normal. People started laughing again, plates clattered, and the city’s constant hum continued in the background. Conflicts in this area were intense but ended quickly. People got angry, but they soon calmed down, little more than smoke and bruised egos.

  Eryndor cautiously finished his meal, checking to make sure it had stopped moving.

  “I think it stopped moving,” he said.

  Lirien looked at his plate. “That’s exactly what it wants you to think.”

  Eventually, Eryndor finished his drink and stood up, stretching his stiff joints.

  “Let’s go. Tomorrow will be busy. Best we get some rest before the city decides to grow another limb or something.”

  They paid, leaving a few extra coins as a tip to stay on good terms with the staff, then stepped back into the night.

  Their inn was located near the inner terraces and built into a cluster of old roots. The building leaned to one side and was covered in balconies made of vines and glowing moss.

  Inside, the building smelled like tree sap and water. It was quiet, with no music or shouting—just tired travelers and the city's steady hum.

  They separated quickly. After the restless night caused by Garruk’s noisy sleeping the previous night, Eryndor decided to book a room of his own.

  Lirien disappeared down one corridor with a half-hearted wave. Eryndor followed after clapping Garruk on the shoulder.

  “Try not to start any revolutions in your sleep, old man.”

  “Zip it Lad, before I kick your head” Garruk replied.

  Eryndor laughed and went toward his room.

  Time passed slowly.

  As the city grew quiet and the background noise faded into a soft hum, Eryndor stood barefoot in the middle of his room.

  The room was simple and shaped like a cupped palm. The walls were smooth and slightly warm. The bed was made of layered plant fibers, and a small basin in the corner constantly refreshed itself through some unseen process.

  He exhaled slowly and took a simple stance. His knees were slightly bent, his back was straight, and his shoulders were relaxed. He kept his muscles under steady tension rather than using sudden bursts of strength.

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  He shifted his weight to the left, tightened his core, and then reset his position with more focus.

  He breathed steadily as he practiced the routines he had developed himself over years of trial and error. The workout involved small movements and holding positions that made his muscles burn. Despite the strain, he kept his body perfectly still and controlled.

  Even though the room was cool, he began to sweat.

  He shifted into a new position, forcing himself to stay balanced. His muscles started to ache, but he ignored the pain.

  A couple of hours passed as He lost track of minutes and the city grew even quieter. He could hear Garruk faint snoring nearby. It was loud enough last night, but the thick walls of the room muffled the sound this time.

  He lowered himself to the floor and began the next phase of his routine.

  Slow push-ups.

  His elbows stayed tight and his body remained rigid like a drawn bow. Each repetition was deliberate and controlled.

  By the hundredth, his arms trembled slightly, but he continued.

  By the four hundredth, his breathing deepened. It was still controlled, but it had grown heavier.

  By the six hundredth, the edges of his vision began to blur.

  He stopped at the seven hundredth when fatigue began to set in.

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling while his chest rose and fell steadily. The glowing amber veins above him pulsed slowly, matching the rhythm of his breathing.

  He trained like this almost every night.

  Because felt something he couldn't quite explain. Whatever the scripture or legacy that had tangled itself into his very soul—it seemed to respond to effort and discipline beyond ordinary. The slow and painful act of pushing the body far enough that it adapted and evolved.

  Eryndor frowned as he suddenly felt the power under his skin stir again. This time, the sensation was stronger. It felt like awareness, like a warning that something nearby was wrong.

  It reminded him of the air before a storm, heavy and wrong in a way you couldn’t explain to someone who hadn’t felt it. Not imminent danger—not yet, but approaching.

  He sat up slowly.

  Once the covenant had been this reactive. It had responded to the Varric’s relic and moments of resonance. However, this time felt different.

  As if it were observing something drawing closer.

  It felt like being early to a problem, which was, in its own way, not pleasant and made him uneasy.

  He stood and began pacing around the room. His steps were silent against the living floor. Even though his muscles were tired, his mind had sharpened into a focused edge.

  “Alright,” he muttered softly. “What now?”

  No voice answered him. Instead, a tightening just beneath his ribs, His heartbeat stuttered.

  He walked to the basin and splashed water onto his face before watching it slide down his skin. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror.

  In the end, he chose to resume his training.

  His fists cut silently through the air. Rotations followed by pivots and short bursts of speed that ended as quickly as they began.

  His body responded immediately, shaped by repetition. Every muscle knew its role. Every joint moved within safe limits.

  Time continued to pass.

  The city’s pulse began to change again as the slow cycles edged closer to dawn.

  Eryndor had not slept.

  He was not sure he could.

  Eventually he stopped moving and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees.

  He let out a long breath and rubbed his face with both hands.

  “Fantastic,” he murmured. “Another invisible problem.”

  Morning would come.

  And with it, whatever the night had been warning him about.

  Outside, the city breathed on, getting ready to face the weight creeping toward it.

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