The streets of Glora carried a new scent that night smoke, wet asphalt, and the faint tang of danger. Waza moved beside Selene, silent as shadow, every step deliberate. The city seemed alive in ways he hadn't noticed before. Every light flicker, every distant shout, every shuttered window told a story.
Selene's hand brushed his arm. "Tonight, you'll see why reputation matters. Obsidian Hand doesn't just take. They test. And they always know who's watching."
Waza nodded, letting his eyes roam. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. The Vein thrummed faintly beneath his skin, alerting him to currents, whispers of intent.
They turned a corner into an abandoned plaza, lit by flickering neon. Figures emerged from the shadows, dressed in black with obsidian masks. Their presence was calculated, precise, terrifying. The air itself seemed to tense.
One of them stepped forward tall, muscular, and deliberate. His voice carried authority. "You're far from home, little shadow. This is our territory."
Selene didn't flinch. "He's with me. And he's observing."
The man's eyes narrowed beneath the mask. "Observation is useless if you don't know when to act."
Waza stayed still, analyzing. Every movement, every gesture, every microexpression. The Vein pulsed, whispering possibilities, danger, and opportunity.
A clash happened suddenly swift, brutal. One Obsidian Hand operative lunged at Selene, and Waza reacted before thought. He moved in silence, deflecting the attack, his body guided by the rhythm of the Vein.
Selene smiled faintly. "Finally. You're syncing with it."
The Obsidian Hand regrouped, circling like predators. Mara's lesson came to mind: patience, observation, silence. Waza felt the weight of the moment. One wrong move, and the city would remember his failure.
He noticed the subtle hierarchies among the operatives small gestures, eye contact, positioning. With a single misstep, someone would strike. Waza stayed a step ahead, moving like the shadow he was meant to be.
Selene intercepted another attack, and Waza blocked one behind her, feeling the Vein guide him, linking movement to instinct. The battle was chaotic, but every strike, every step, was a lesson in survival, in reading unseen forces, in understanding the unspoken rules of power.
When it ended, the operatives withdrew silently, leaving no trace but tension in the air. Waza exhaled slowly.
Selene turned to him, eyes sharp, voice soft: "You've passed your first test against them… but this is only the beginning. The Obsidian Hand is everywhere. And they've noticed you."
Waza's chest throbbed with the pulse of the Vein. He realized something: Glora wasn't just a city. It was a living gameboard, and every shadow could be a player, a threat, or an ally. And he had to move carefully if he wanted to survive and rise.