Recovery took three more days.

  Darian made sure of it.

  He could have stood on the first.

  But weakness was safer.

  Mary brought broth twice a day. She spoke little. Observed much.

  Uncle John visited only once — and when he did, he dropped the mask.

  Not completely.

  But enough.

  “You remember what happened?” John asked, leaning against the wall.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Darian lowered his gaze slightly. Calculated breathing. Slight delay before answering.

  “There was a fight in the alley. I hid. Then… I don’t remember.”

  Half-truth.

  Always better than lies.

  John studied him for a long moment.

  If he suspected something, he did not show it.

  “Good,” John muttered. “Forget it. Curiosity gets people buried.”

  Darian nodded obediently.

  Inside his mind, a quiet interface flickered.

  [Authority Synchronization: 5%]

  It had not spoken again since activation.

  But it was there.

  Watching with him.

  That night, after Mary slept, Darian sat upright in bed.

  He closed his eyes.

  The void responded immediately.

  The Throne stood unchanged — fractured, silent.

  A faint outline shimmered around it now.

  [Sub-Function Available: Observation Node]

  He selected it without hesitation.

  The darkness shifted.

  Threads appeared.

  Faint.

  Thin.

  Spreading outward from Zanthera like veins beneath skin.

  Networks.

  Organizations.

  Power clusters.