The city of Glora never truly slept. From his rooftop perch, Azen could see the streets stretch like veins beneath the dim morning light. Smoke from street vendors curled lazily into the sky, and the distant hum of traffic mingled with the faint clatter of construction somewhere in the east.
He stayed silent, shoulders hunched, hood drawn over his face. The Vein beneath his skin pulsed faintly, a reminder that the city wasn't just alive it was speaking, and he was beginning to hear.
Movement caught his eye. Across a narrower street, a figure directed a small cluster of people with gestures so precise it was almost imperceptible. She didn't shout, didn't signal with horns or weapons. Yet, everyone obeyed.
Azen's gaze sharpened. She moved like someone who knew the city's pulse as well as he did, if not better. She was calm, composed, every motion intentional effortless control without display. A strategist.
He leaned closer, heart steady but attention fully fixed. Even from here, he could see the glint of something metallic at her belt perhaps a symbol of authority, perhaps just an ornament. Either way, it told him she was not someone to underestimate.
She paused, turning slightly as if sensing his observation. Their eyes met briefly hers clear, unyielding, and calculating. Azen froze, every instinct screaming to stay hidden, yet something in that glance pulled him in. A subtle acknowledgment, nothing more, yet heavy with meaning.
Then she moved on, fading into the morning bustle, leaving Azen alone with his thoughts. He exhaled slowly. Glora had layers he hadn't yet begun to understand, and she was one of them.
The streets below were already stirring with the usual chaos vendors shouting prices, the metallic roar of engines, the shuffle of hurried feet. But now the rhythm was different. There were players he hadn't noticed before, moving silently, leaving traces only someone like him could read.
Azen drew back from the ledge, sitting cross-legged in the shadow of the rooftop wall. His fingers itched to sketch the patterns in his notebook, to write down the small shifts, the unseen currents. Observation was power, he reminded himself. Always had been. Always would be.
And in Glora, the power didn't announce itself. It whispered, moved through shadows, and chose its players carefully.
For the first time in a long while, Azen felt a spark of excitement beneath the quiet caution. He wasn't alone in the city anymore he just hadn't met most of its players yet.
And one of them, he realized, had already noticed him.