Faro stepped out of the warehouse, his pace unsteady — the air outside felt too heavy, too aware.
The old man — still unnamed — walked ahead, never looking back.
The city surrounded them, but Faro couldn't feel it.
Its sounds came muffled, like echoes behind thick glass.
"My name is Leo,"
the man said at last, stopping before a crumbling building.
"This isn't a home. It's an old question waiting for someone brave enough to answer it."
He opened the door and gestured inside.
The room was simpler than expected: a wooden table, scattered books, and a single candle burning through the dust.
"You don't understand yet… but you've started to see."
Faro said nothing.
He sat down, his hands trembling slightly.
"Nen isn't energy. Not power.
It's the silent language between you and what you truly are."
"But before you open it, you must close many things first."
Leo placed a small black stone in front of him — cracked down the middle.
"Close your eyes. Don't try to feel the stone… let the stone feel you."
Faro obeyed.
In the dark, a vision flashed — fragmented, brief:
Someone falling, arm outstretched, never reaching.
And a sound like the echo of a heart that doesn't beat.
He gasped, eyes flying open.
Leo didn't flinch. He simply nodded.
"Beginnings are always painful…
because you're born without skin the first time."
Night crept over the city.
But within…
something had just begun to awaken.