Jaar.
The capital did not announce itself with grandeur.
It revealed itself through pressure.
Not from a single point, not from a spectacle meant to impress—but from the way the city held something it wasn't built to hold. The streets were fuller, but not crowded. Louder, but not chaotic. Movement existed everywhere, yet nothing felt unobserved.
Champions.
Not gathered in one place, not paraded or celebrated, but distributed—threaded through the districts like invisible stakes driven into the ground. You could feel them without seeing them. In the way conversations paused half a second too long when someone passed. In the way space subtly shifted to accommodate presence.
They were not visitors.
They were weight.
