Kael could feel the pipes breathing beneath the floor.
Since his Awakening, space never slept.
He woke to the sound of water gurgling through the old plumbing.
He sat up in bed, momentarily disoriented. The grayish light of dawn filtered through the broken window he had been promising to fix for months. The noise came from the floor below. Third time this week the second-floor pipes had threatened to collapse.
He should check them, he thought automatically. Then he stopped.
He could feel the pipes.
Not see them. Not truly hear them. But his new spatial perception extended through the building like invisible roots. He knew the exact position of every pipe, every connection, every point where the metal was corroded and about to fail.
Three meters and forty centimeters beneath his room. Rusted joint. Two days, maybe three, before it gave way.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shut off that constant perception. It didn't work. Since the Awakening, space was always there. Like a sixth sense that never slept.
He got dressed and went down the stairs. His boots knew every loose board, every creak. But now he also knew the exact distance between each step without looking.
The lobby was empty except for a figure sitting on the worn sofa by the window.
"Early today," said Mr. Venik without looking up from his terminal. The veteran hunter had his mechanical arm resting on the backrest, morning cigarette already lit. "Or you never went to bed."
"I slept a bit," Kael lied, walking toward the small communal kitchen.
"Uh-huh." Venik observed him over the screen. "I know that face. Shows up on newbies after their first day in a critical zone. Like something just won't stop turning in their heads."
Kael didn't answer. He filled the kettle and put it on the stove. He tried to place it casually, but his hands measured the exact distance to the edge without thinking.
"You've awakened," said Venik. It wasn't a question.
Kael froze, hand still on the stove.
"How...?"
"You measure distances," Venik said, extinguishing the cigarette in an ashtray full of butts. "All the time. Your eyes calculate spaces even when you don't need them to. You just placed the kettle exactly eight centimeters from the edge without looking once. Normal people need to check."
Kael turned slowly. The veteran studied him with the gaze of someone who had seen too much.
"What Field?" asked Venik, pulling another cigarette, though he didn't light it.
"Spatial," Kael answered.
The cigarette paused halfway to Venik's lips. Long silence. Then he put it back in the pack.
"Shit."
"Yes."
"Of all the Fields..." Venik shook his head, sinking deeper into the sofa. "Do you know any other Spatials?"
"Not really."
"I knew one. About thirty years ago, when I still had both arms." Venik knocked his mechanical arm against the armrest. "Level 6. Best hunter I ever knew. Could appear behind beasts before they even blinked. Saved more lives than all of us together."
He paused, staring at the extinguished cigarette between his fingers.
"And one day he stopped talking to us. Literally. He looked at us as if we were... I don't know. Badly placed furniture. Annoying geometry in his visual field. Six months later he left the guild. Nobody has heard from him since. That was fifteen years ago."
Kael felt a chill in his stomach. It was the same story Darling had told him. The same damn story.
"What level did he reach?"
"Five. Scientific Architect." Venik looked at his hands, as if searching for something in them. "And that's where we lost him. He didn't die. He just stopped being... him."
"Why tell me this?"
Venik stood slowly. His metal leg clicked against the floor with each step until he was in front of Kael.
"Because I watched you grow here. Because you were that skinny kid with your nose in physics books instead of watching transmissions like the others. Because I know you're smart, but stubborn too." He placed a firm hand on Kael's shoulder. "And because the Spatial Field collects its dues, kid. Every level you climb, you pay something. Your humanity, your connection to others, your ability to feel. And when you realize what you've lost, you won't care anymore because you'll have lost the capacity to care."
"I have an anchor," said Kael, touching the pocket where he kept the coin. "And a mentor who knows about this. Who warned me."
"Good. Hold on to that with everything you've got." Venik squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. "But when you start feeling that talking to people is a waste of time, when conversations seem like noise that interrupts your 'comprehension,' when you look at someone and only see coordinates instead of a person... that's when you need to be truly scared."
He walked toward the door and grabbed his jacket from the hanger.
"I'm going to the bakery three streets down. If Marina asks, tell her the second-floor pipes need urgent repair. Before they burst and flood everything."
"I know," said Kael. "I can feel them. Three and a half meters beneath us, rusted joint. Two days, maybe three."
Venik stopped with his hand on the handle. He looked over his shoulder at him with an expression mixing sadness and resignation.
"It's already begun then. Knowing things without seeing them. Perceiving what others cannot." He shook his head. "Be careful, kid. Knowledge is the most addictive drug there is. And you just took your first dose. The next will be easier. And the next easier still. Until you can't live without it."
The door clicked softly behind him, leaving Kael alone in the kitchen with his cooling tea and the weight of those words.
Marina arrived an hour later, wearing her flour-stained apron and that perpetual smile that seemed immune to discouragement.
"Kael!" Marina entered carrying a basket full of freshly baked bread. The smell of warm dough filled the lobby. "Venik's gone out, right? That man really needs to retire instead of pretending he's useful waking up at five in the morning."
Kael helped with the basket, feeling the warmth of the bread through the cloth. Marina smelled of cinnamon and dough, a scent he had known for years and always associated with home.
"Your pipes on the second floor need fixing," he said.
"Those damned pipes again." She sighed heavily. "I'll have to call the plumber. Though that bastard charges as if he were paving streets..." She stopped mid-complaint, narrowing her eyes at him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Liar." She crossed her arms with that impossible maternal expression. "I've known you since you were a stick trying not to let this place fall apart after your parents. I know when something's changed. What is it?"
Kael hesitated. He hadn't planned to tell her yet. But Marina had a way of drawing things out of him.
"I awakened."
Marina's eyes widened completely. For a moment, she just looked at him, processing. Then she set the basket on the counter and hugged him tightly, almost desperately.
"Congratulations, darling," she whispered into his shoulder. "And I'm sorry."
Kael returned the hug, confused by the mix of emotions in her voice.
"Why are you apologizing?"
She pulled back, and though her eyes shone, there were no tears. Just a deep, ancient sadness.
"Because I know exactly what comes next. You'll leave. To the academy, to critical zones, wherever Resonants go when they stop being normal people." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And the next time I see you, you'll be different. Everyone is. I've seen enough Resonants pass through this hotel to know."
"Not everyone changes that much..."
"Everyone changes, darling. Some for the better, it's true. They become more confident, stronger. But others..." She shook her head, returning to the basket to keep her hands busy. "Others lose pieces of themselves they never recover. That's how this works. You can't have that kind of power without it changing you from the inside."
She began arranging the bread in the small display case that served as a mini café, moving each piece with exaggerated care, as if the bread were the most important thing in the world.
"What Field?" she asked without looking at him.
"Spatial."
Marina's hands froze mid-motion. The bread hung suspended in the air for a second before she set it down slowly. Tense silence.
"Ah." That was all for several seconds. "That's... that's complicated, isn't it?"
"The strangest, if you mean statistically."
"No." She finally turned to look at him directly. "I mean it's the one that isolates people the most. Spatials see the world differently from everyone else. Not a metaphor. Literally differently. And that separates them. I've known three in my life, and all three ended up... alone."
She finished arranging the bread mechanically, then sighed from somewhere deep.
"But if anyone has a chance to handle it without getting lost along the way, it's you. You were always curious, not ambitious. You wanted to understand, not dominate. That's a good foundation for this Field." Her smile finally reached her eyes, though it was still tinged with sadness. "Just promise me you'll come back to visit us. That you won't forget this crappy place you call home. That when you have the power to appear anywhere in the world, you'll still choose to appear here once in a while."
"I promise."
"Good." She patted his arm, regaining some of her usual energy. "Now go fix those damned pipes before Grevik comes down to complain again. That man could complain about the air if given the chance."
Kael nodded, grateful for the normalcy of the task. Mundane chores. Simple problems. Things he could solve without reinterpreting space itself.
Fixing the pipes took three hours.
Not because it was difficult, but because Kael had to do it without using his spatial perception. Every time he activated it, he could see exactly where the problem was, which tool he needed, and the optimal angle.
But if he gave in to that convenience—if he let spatial perception become his default way of interacting with the world...
That's when you need to worry, Venik had said.
So he worked as he would have a week ago. Trial and error. Hands greasy. Cursing when a wrench didn't fit as expected.
It was frustrating. Inefficient.
It was human.