The city of Eldros woke drenched in confusion.
Rain still poured from a gray sky, turning streets into rivers of mud. Lanterns swung in the wind, casting trembling shadows across empty alleys. But the streets weren't entirely empty. Whispers moved faster than the storm could wash them away.
"They say the sky itself intervened."
"The execution… failed."
"Could it be true? Is he… watched?"
Arin Vale walked through the market, unnoticed, though his presence carried weight heavier than any sword. His clothes were soaked, but he didn't shiver. He didn't need warmth. He needed observation.
From the corners of streets and doorways, eyes followed him. Some curious. Some fearful. None daring to approach.
He had not performed a miracle. Not exactly. The storm, the rain, the collapsing pyre—none of it was under his direct control. But the perception of it? That was already power.
Authority +3
He could feel it, subtle and tangible, as though the fear and awe of the witnesses had already woven threads of influence around him.
A child dropped a basket of vegetables nearby. The peas rolled across the cobblestones, the child too scared to move. Arin paused. He didn't bend to help. He simply looked at the child with calm intensity. The child froze, then slowly, hesitantly picked up the basket and ran home.
No one saw, but the act was noted. Small moments like this added to the invisible weight of his presence.
From the shadows of an alley, a hooded figure watched him. The man spoke to another, voice trembling:
"Did you see? The Watcher… he moves silently, yet everything bends around him."
"Do not speak of it," the other whispered. "The temple will hunt anyone who spreads such rumors."
Arin tilted his head. They did not see him, but he saw them. Not just the men, but the countless threads of fear and belief that tied them to the world—and, unknowingly, to him.
By midday, the rumors had spread across the city. By evening, they had reached the guards stationed at the temple gates. And by night, the temple elders convened in panic.
"He survived," one elder whispered, pale-faced. "And the people… they are starting to talk."
Arin returned to a small, abandoned building at the edge of the city—a place the rain had barely touched. Inside, he crouched by the window, watching. The city was restless, uncertain. Perfect.
Authority +5
No one understood what had happened, but that was exactly how it should be. Influence did not come from clarity. It came from doubt, fear, and curiosity.
The first seed had been planted.
In silence, Arin whispered, though the rain carried his words away:
"Watch closely… the world believes what it wants, and I will let it."
And somewhere, far above the clouds, the gods—or what remained of them—shifted uneasily, sensing a force that did not pray, did not bow, yet commanded attention.
The storm continued, but the city of Eldros would never be the same.