The resonance network's song grew stronger, and August could feel it pulling at something deep in his consciousness.
Not at him directly (his Foundation immunity protected him from most forms of mental manipulation), but he could sense the signal reaching past him, past Lyka, toward distant communities that had no such protection.
"It's working," Lyka said grimly, watching Arthur's face tighten. "Look at him. He knows exactly how many settlements are hearing this."
Arthur stood motionless in the courtyard's center, greatsword ready but his attention clearly divided. His prosthetic hand twitched, a servo clicking rhythmically like a nervous tic. The sound was small, but in the terrible quiet of the courtyard, it might as well have been thunder.
"How many?" Arthur asked.
"Every autonomous community within three hundred kilometers," Crownless replied, adjusting one of his sleeves with casual precision. "Approximately forty-seven settlements. Small families, organized townships, that group near the old highway who think they're hidden." A pause. "All of them now receiving an irresistible invitation to something better."
"All of them trusting that the real Arthur would never—"
"Never what?" Crownless interrupted, and there was something almost playful in it. "Never use their loyalty? Never manipulate their faith? You've been trading on their trust for years, brother. I'm simply… making the transaction explicit."
August's Foundation monitor tracked the network's expansion in real time. The signal wasn't just reaching out; it was learning, adapting to each community it touched. For settlements that trusted Arthur, it carried his harmonic signature. For communities that feared him, it offered protection from his supposed threat.
"It's reading their responses," August realized, throat dry. "Customizing itself."
"Personalized manipulation," Lyka added. "Using Arthur's reputation as both carrot and stick."
Crownless noticed them for the first time, turning with the kind of recognition that suggested he'd always known they were there.
"Arthur's witnesses," he said warmly. "How perfect. Every ending needs an audience."
"We're not witnesses," Lyka said, stepping forward with her sonic daggers ready. "We're backup."
"Backup?" Crownless actually laughed (a surprisingly human sound). "For someone who has… well. How wonderfully optimistic."
Arthur's attention snapped back, and when he spoke, the stones beneath their feet hummed.
"Leave them out of this."
"I leave everyone out of everything," Crownless replied, spreading his hands. "They choose to enter. Just as these communities choose to answer when called. Just as you chose to come here, knowing what you'd find."
"Knowing I'd find you wearing my brother's face?"
The words hung there, loaded with history August couldn't parse. Crownless went very still.
"I wear the face I earned," he said quietly. "Just as you wear those scars."
Arthur's prosthetic clicked again. Three times. A pause. Three times. Like a code, or a countdown.
"The scars were a gift," Arthur said. "From people who thought pain would teach me wisdom."
"Did it?"
"It taught me that wisdom and cruelty often wear the same mask."
Crownless absorbed that, then nodded slowly. "Nysha asked me once if scars could think. If they remembered their making." He touched his own unmarked face. "I told her that was why I avoided them."
The first responding community appeared on the horizon.
August counted maybe thirty people, moving with that awful synchronized precision that meant consciousness without choice. They weren't rushing (nothing about this felt rushed), just walking with the measured pace of people who'd already arrived at their destination in every way that mattered.
"Zone 42-A," August breathed. "The peaceful settlement."
"The ones Arthur swore to protect," Lyka added.
Arthur watched them approach, and his expression… god, August had seen that look before. On medics who had to choose which patient to save. On parents dividing the last food among too many children. The arithmetic of insufficient options.
"You're using their trust in me," Arthur said simply.
"I'm offering them evolution," Crownless corrected. "The fact that they trust your signature enough to answer is just… efficient resource usage."
"Resource." Arthur's voice went flat. "Is that what we're calling them now?"
"What would you prefer? Victims? Volunteers? They're here by choice."
"They're here by deception."
"The only deception," Crownless said gently, "is the one you've been selling them. That they can remain autonomous. That hiding is sustainable. That you can protect them from a world that's already decided they shouldn't exist."
Arthur's prosthetic seized completely for a moment, frozen mid-gesture. He covered by shifting his grip on the greatsword, but August caught the flash of frustration. The arm was dying, and Arthur was too proud (or too tired) to fix it properly.
More communities appeared. Three groups from different directions, all moving with that same terrible purpose.
"How many will come?" August asked.
"All of them," Arthur said quietly. "Every community that memorized my protection protocols. Every settlement that believed…" He stopped, started again. "That I told them to believe in coexistence."
"And now they discover that belief is just another trap," Crownless observed. "How very educational."
The first community entered the courtyard, and August watched confusion bloom into horror on their faces. These weren't the monstrous Forsaken from propaganda posters. They were people (wrong-angled, harmony-voiced, but people) who'd trusted a promise of protection.
"Arthur," their speaker said, voice cracking with harmonics. "We received your call. But this place…"
"Isn't what you expected," Arthur finished. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" The speaker looked between Arthur and Crownless. "You summoned us here to apologize?"
"I didn't summon you." Arthur's jaw tightened. "He did. Using my name. My patterns. Everything I taught you to trust."
The Forsaken community recoiled, pressing closer together. August could see children among them (if beings of living sound could have children), clutching at their parents with expressions too human for comfort.
"We seek only the coexistence you promised," the speaker said, desperation leaking through dignity. "The peace you said was possible."
"Peace is absolutely possible," Crownless interjected, stepping forward with open arms. "Simply accept integration. Become part of something larger than your fear."
"We are not afraid," the speaker insisted. "We are autonomous."
"Autonomy," Crownless said the word like it tasted bitter, "is fear dressed in philosophy. You hide because you're terrified of being seen. You remain separate because unity requires trust you can't afford."
"That's not—"
"Then leave." Crownless gestured to the exits. "Walk away. Return to your hidden settlement. See how far you get."
The twenty figures around the courtyard shifted slightly. Not threatening, exactly. Just… present. Undeniably present. The speaker's harmonics wavered.
"This is what you wanted," they said to Arthur, and it wasn't quite an accusation. "This moment. This choice. You knew it would come to this."
Arthur's prosthetic failed completely then, the hand going limp. He didn't acknowledge it, just let the dead weight hang while his flesh hand white-knuckled the greatsword.
"I knew someone would eventually try to use you against me," he said. "I hoped I'd have stopped them by now."
"Stopped them?" The speaker laughed, high and desperate. "You can't even stop yourself. Look at you. Breaking down piece by piece, pretending the weight isn't killing you."
More communities flooded in. Sixty. Eighty. A hundred beings who'd believed in Arthur's protection, now crowding into a courtyard designed for their collection or execution. August saw families, craftsmen, even what looked like a school group (young Forsaken learning to modulate their harmonics, now trapped in this orchestrated nightmare).
"This is wrong," someone called out. A younger voice, less diplomatic. "This is everything you taught us to resist!"
"Then resist," Crownless suggested mildly. "Show us how well Arthur's lessons serve you."
The temperature dropped. Not physically, but something in the air shifted, became heavy with potential violence. The twenty figures were no longer pretending to be passive.
"Choose," Crownless said to Arthur. "Help me integrate them peacefully, or watch your protection become their death warrant."
Arthur stood there, broken arm hanging, good arm trembling from the greatsword's weight. August could see him calculating (exits, positions, numbers, time), running scenarios that all ended the same way.
"There's a third option," Arthur said finally.
"Oh?" Crownless tilted his head. "Enlighten me."
"I could kill you."
The words were casual, matter-of-fact. Like mentioning the weather. But something in them made everyone, even Crownless, take a half-step back.
"You could try," Crownless agreed. "But we both know how that ends. I go back to my Zone. You exhaust yourself fighting someone who can't truly die here. And while we dance our old dance, these communities suffer for it."
"Or," Arthur continued as if he hadn't heard, "I could stop pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That I'm still the person who argues philosophy with you. That I'm still someone who can afford to care about the right choice." Arthur's good hand adjusted on the greatsword. "That I'm still your brother."
Crownless went very still. When he spoke, something raw leaked through the careful control.
"You'll always be my brother. That's why this hurts."
"Good," Arthur said simply. "It should hurt. Everything about this should hurt. That's how we know we're still human enough to matter."
The Forsaken communities pressed closer together, understanding that they were witnessing something beyond their comprehension. An argument between gods, dressed in the language of family.
"Solari thinks you can be saved," Crownless said suddenly. "Still. After everything. She thinks your exile was just… temporary. That you'll come home."
"This is home."
"This is purgatory." Real anger now. "You've made yourself a monument to stubborn suffering. And for what? For them?" He gestured at the terrified communities. "They'll forget you the moment you're gone. Replace your name with whoever comes next."
"Maybe." Arthur's prosthetic sparked, trying to respond to neural commands it couldn't execute. "But today they're alive. Today they have a choice. Even if it's a bad one."
"The choice between integration and execution isn't a choice."
"Then give them a better one."
"I am!" Crownless's composure finally cracked. "Integration IS the better choice! Unity, purpose, freedom from the constant terror of existing wrong in a world that hates them!"
"Freedom from choice itself."
"Yes!" The word exploded out. "Yes, freedom from choice! From the endless, grinding weight of decisions that all lead to pain anyway! Is that so evil? Is that worse than what you offer?"
Arthur looked at him for a long moment. Really looked, like he was seeing past the transcendent form to something younger, more familiar.
"Ask them," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Ask them." Arthur gestured to the collected communities with his working hand. "Don't tell them what's better. Ask what they want."
"They don't know what they—"
"Ask. Them."
The courtyard fell silent except for the rhythmic clicking of Arthur's broken prosthetic. Crownless looked at the assembled Forsaken, then back at Arthur.
"Fine." He turned to the crowds. "You've heard our positions. Integration under my guidance, or continued persecution under his protection. Choose."
The speaker from Zone 42-A stepped forward, harmonics steady despite everything.
"We choose neither," they said.
Crownless blinked. "That wasn't—"
"We choose what we've always chosen. To exist. To grow. To find our own way." They looked at Arthur. "With or without protection. With or without integration. We choose to remain ourselves."
"Unacceptable," Crownless said flatly.
"Inevitable," Arthur countered.
And that's when August realized what Arthur had done. He'd turned Crownless's trap around. Instead of communities forced to choose between bad options, they'd been reminded that choosing itself was the point. That agency, even painful agency, was what separated them from the collected.
"You clever bastard," Crownless breathed. "You clever, stubborn, infuriating—" He stopped, composed himself. "It doesn't matter. Their philosophical position won't stop my people from killing them."
"No," Arthur agreed. "But it might stop you from ordering it."
"You think I'm that sentimental?"
"I think," Arthur said carefully, "that you're still human enough to hear what they're saying. Still Kytorus enough to remember when choice mattered more than outcomes."
Crownless stood there, surrounded by communities that refused his binary, facing a brother who'd turned his own weapon against him. August could see the war playing out across his features (human emotion against cosmic certainty).
"Sarnai was right," he said finally. "You should have been eliminated completely."
"Probably," Arthur agreed.
"This doesn't end here."
"It never does."
Crownless looked at the assembled communities, at his twenty followers, at the courtyard he'd so carefully prepared. Then he laughed, soft and genuinely amused.
"Every time," he said. "Every time I think I have you figured out, you find some new way to be impossibly irritating."
"Family trait," Arthur suggested.
"Apparently." Crownless straightened, and when he spoke again, it was with formal precision. "The collection protocol continues. These communities have made their choice. Now they'll live with the consequences."
The threat hung in the air like a blade.
"Meaning?" Arthur asked.
"Meaning they've refused integration. Refused protection. Chosen to remain autonomous in a world that increasingly has no room for their kind." Crownless smiled, and it wasn't kind. "Let's see how long that choice lasts when they realize what it really costs."
More communities were arriving now, drawn by the network's irresistible call. The courtyard was becoming dangerously crowded, filled with Forsaken who'd trusted Arthur's name enough to walk into what was obviously a trap.
"By the time the sun sets," Crownless continued, "every autonomous community in the region will be here. All of them faced with the same choice. Integration or independence. Safety or freedom. Me or him."
"Or themselves," Arthur said quietly.
"Yes, themselves. Alone. Unprotected. Surrounded by a world that wants them dead or controlled." Crownless gestured at the growing crowd. "How many do you think will choose your path when they see where it leads? When they realize their protector is a broken man with a dead arm who can barely stand?"
Arthur's prosthetic chose that moment to spark violently, servos screaming before going completely silent. The symbolism wasn't lost on anyone.
"Some will choose integration," Arthur admitted. "That's their right."
"And the ones who don't?"
"Will make their own way. Like they always have."
"Until they can't. Until the world crushes them for the crime of existing differently." Crownless moved closer, and August could feel the power building around him. "Unless, of course, their protector plans to save them. Again. Forever. Until the weight finally breaks him completely."
Arthur said nothing.
"That's what I thought." Crownless turned to address the growing crowd. "You have until sunset to decide. Integration under my guidance, with all the protection and purpose that provides. Or independence under his shadow, with all the danger and abandonment that guarantees."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Choose wisely. You won't get another chance."
With that, he stepped back, his twenty followers forming a loose circle around the courtyard. Not attacking. Not yet. Just making it very clear that leaving wasn't an option until choices were made.
Arthur stood in the center of it all, surrounded by communities he'd sworn to protect, trapped by his own reputation, facing an impossible situation with a broken body and dwindling options.
The real confrontation hadn't even started yet.
And August had the sinking feeling that when it did, everyone would learn exactly why Arthur had spent so many years holding back.
The sun was still high. Hours remained before the deadline.
But the weight of what was coming pressed down on everyone like a physical thing. Two hundred Forsaken caught between two visions of their future, with no good answers and no clean exits.
"What do we do?" someone whispered.
Arthur's response was quiet, but it carried.
"We wait. We think. We choose." He looked at his dead prosthetic with something like dark humor. "And we try not to fall apart before the choosing's done."
The tension in the courtyard ratcheted higher.
The real storm was still building.
And when it broke, August suspected, none of them would come out unchanged.