Two years had passed since the Great Reckoning emptied the pass of siege lines, and the rhythm of the high fort had become as steady as river stones worn smooth by mountain water.
In the old days, when Noll Vey had climbed from Seed to Dominion on brazen fabrications, power had come in violent rushes. A single bold lie whispered to an auditor could yield hundreds of claim points in a heartbeat, enough to raise parapets or command phantom beef. But every scrap of stolen splendour carried a ticking clock and the threat of backlash.
Now, embedded deep within the limestone socket of the north foundation wall, Noll lived on a different currency.
The uncollared blue stone hummed with a quiet, mineral pulse. It lacked the feverish glow of the old days, resembling instead an honest river agate warmed by noon sun. It held zero points of claim credit. There was no secret register ticking in the dark, no hidden reckoning waiting to tear out his masonry when the moon turned. Instead, the stone drank what the folk of the valley called Agreement Warmth.
It was a slow, stubborn force, gathered grain by grain from the ordinary traffic of the nine roads.
