Kyros Grimm climbed the narrow stairs of the watchtower before dawn. He carried no lantern. From the high window, he watched the cottage below where a man slept who did not know his name. Kyros had guarded that door for years. He would guard it tonight, too. He sat at the scholar's desk and slipped the dark wood ring onto his finger. The runes stayed dim. Good. No threat yet. The crystal hummed soft blue beside stacked scrolls he had not read in months. Footsteps crossed the path below. Two figures. Kyros tensed. The ring flared green, then dimmed, then flared again. One friend. One foe. He could not tell which was which. He opened the heavy wooden chest at his feet. Inside lay blades, oil, and a folded cloak stained dark at the hem. He chose the shorter blade. Then he waited at the tower door, ring hand raised. The first stranger stepped into lamplight and froze. A blade flashed from the second stranger's sleeve, aimed at the first one's back. The ring burned bright green. Kyros moved. He drove the attacker down before the strike landed. The first stranger had thrown herself in front of a sleeping child on the path without thinking. Kyros lowered his blade. He had his answer. He had a partner now, whether he wanted one or not.