Alex stopped calling it training the moment the city changed its tone.
Not the noise. The noise never changed. Virellian was always loud—always crowded, always moving. But there was a texture beneath the sound, a subtle shift in how people looked away too quickly, how guards lingered half a second longer at intersections, how guild runners moved in tighter pairs instead of alone.
The city wasn't panicking.
It was adjusting.
And Alex, who had made a life out of existing between gears, felt the machine tighten.
He woke before dawn, as usual, and lay still for a full minute—listening not to the city, but to himself. His mana loop was steady. The suppression held. The chains hummed faintly under his skin like a warning that refused to become words.
The system spoke first.
{External convergence probability increased overnight.}
Alex didn't move. "How?"
{Church patrol density increased by 18%. Unknown organization activity increased by 11%.}
"You're tracking both."
{Yes.}
Alex exhaled slowly.
(You're not invisible anymore,) Chaos murmured.
"I'm still not seen," Alex replied.
(That's temporary.)
He sat up and dressed with calm precision. Not hurried, not casual. His clothes remained plain, but every strap, every fold, every hidden seam was checked. His blade went where it always went. His coin was split. His papers were tucked into the inner lining of his coat.
He didn't carry more than he needed.
If he had to vanish, he would vanish light.
He stepped into the street just as the sky began to pale. The first wave of workers flowed past him—sleepy faces, hunched shoulders, hands already aching. Alex became one of them by matching their rhythm.
Ordinary.
Forgettable.
He headed toward a contract board he hadn't visited in days.
Not to take work.
To see what had changed.
The board sat outside a mercenary auxiliary office, crowded with names and jobs. As Alex approached, he noticed new postings—unusual ones.
"Assistance requested: purification escort."
"Volunteers needed: registry compliance sweep."
"Reward offered: report unregistered awakeners."
Alex's eyes narrowed slightly.
He didn't read them too long.
He didn't react.
He simply let his gaze drift and moved on.
The system chimed softly.
{Church influence expanding into civil contract space.}
Alex's jaw tightened. "So they've bought access."
{Or negotiated.}
Chaos rumbled low.
(Institutions don't negotiate unless they fear something.)
Alex kept walking.
The next shift came in the market.
He'd been using markets as information wells—places where rumors rose like steam. But this morning, the conversations were quieter. Not silent. Just… careful.
Alex slowed near a fish vendor, pretending to inspect the day's catch while listening.
"…heard they took another one," a woman whispered.
"Who?" her companion asked.
"Some kid from the canal district. F-rank, they said. Doesn't matter. They dragged him like he was cursed."
"Church?"
The woman nodded quickly, eyes darting. "Don't say it too loud."
Alex's fingers stilled.
The system spoke.
{Confirmed report: canal district abduction.}
Alex didn't respond aloud. He bought a piece of dried meat, thanked the vendor politely, and moved on as if the conversation meant nothing.
Inside, however, his thoughts were already reorganizing.
They weren't taking nobles.
They weren't taking guild leaders.
They were taking… small people.
People who wouldn't be missed.
People whose disappearances would become rumors, not uprisings.
Noise management.
Alex knew that tactic well.
Because it mirrored the missing year.
Slow removal.
Quiet quarantine.
No witnesses left loud enough to matter.
He turned down a narrower street, letting the crowd thin slightly. His eyes scanned reflections in windows and puddles, watching for unnatural repetition.
He saw it.
A man in a dark coat, moving too smoothly, maintaining distance too consistently. Not tailing like an amateur. Shadowing like a professional.
Alex didn't speed up.
He didn't confront.
He simply altered route logic—crossing the street, entering a busy alley market, then doubling back through a side passage that looped behind a bakery.
He expected the pressure to fade.
It didn't.
The tail was good.
Alex's heart remained steady, but his internal loop tightened, reinforcing joints in case he needed immediate movement.
The system spoke, voice calm.
{Surveillance confirmed. Probability: unknown organization.}
Alex's jaw tightened. "Not the Church."
{Likely not. Church operatives display standardized behavior patterns. This individual does not match.}
Chaos stirred, alert.
(They've found your trail.)
"No," Alex replied internally. "They've found something they think is mine."
Alex turned into a crowded square where workers gathered for day labor selection. Dozens of people stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for foremen to pick bodies like tools.
Perfect camouflage.
Alex stepped into the crowd and became just another man waiting.
He lowered his posture slightly. Softened his gaze. Let his expression flatten into mild fatigue.
Then he watched.
The tail entered the square too, moving around the edges, scanning faces with subtle precision.
Alex felt the moment the man's attention brushed over him.
Not recognition.
Evaluation.
Then the man's gaze slid past.
Alex didn't move.
He didn't blink too quickly.
He let the crowd hide him while he watched the watcher.
The tail wasn't alone.
Alex saw two more, positioned at different angles—one near a water stand, another leaning against a wall as if resting.
A triangle.
Containment net.
They weren't here to kill.
They were here to confirm.
Alex's stomach tightened.
This was not practice anymore.
Practice was sparring. Training space pain. Controlled contracts.
This was application.
Real-world pressure.
Real-world consequences.
The system spoke.
{Recommended action: disengage immediately.}
Alex didn't move.
"Not yet," he thought.
{Risk increasing.}
"Yes."
Chaos's voice was low, almost pleased.
(He's choosing the moment.)
Alex waited until a foreman shouted for workers and the crowd surged.
In the surge, Alex moved.
Not running. Not slipping away too obviously.
He let the crowd push him toward the square's edge, then he stepped through a gap between a cart and a stall, turning into a narrow street that led toward the canal district.
He didn't go to his lodging.
He didn't go to familiar routes.
He went toward the place they'd taken someone.
Toward the pressure.
Because if this was the organization, then avoidance wasn't enough anymore.
He needed information.
He needed position.
The tails followed—patient, subtle, confident.
Alex adjusted his pace to remain believable.
He crossed into the canal district by midmorning. The smell hit him immediately: damp stone, stagnant water, cheap alcohol, rot masked by perfume that couldn't win.
This was where the city hid its disposable people.
Alex moved through the district like he belonged. No hesitation. No scanning too obviously.
The system flagged the first sign.
{Anomaly: reduced foot traffic on alley 14.}
Alex's eyes flicked briefly—just once.
He saw it.
An alley that should have been busy was empty. Too empty.
A door half-open. A faint scuff mark on stone near the threshold.
Recent forced entry.
Alex walked past without stopping.
But he marked it.
He turned the next corner and entered a courtyard where children played with broken sticks and adults watched with tired eyes.
He sat on a low wall, appearing to rest.
Inside, he recalculated.
Three tails.
One likely leader.
They were letting him move because they wanted to see where he went.
Alex smiled faintly, bitter.
Fine.
He would show them something.
He stood and walked toward alley 14 again, but this time he didn't go straight. He looped around, entering from a different angle, using the canal's bridges to break sightlines.
The tails adjusted smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Professional.
Alex reached the half-open door.
He didn't enter immediately.
He listened.
Silence.
Too clean.
He stepped inside.
The interior was dim. A storage space—empty shelves, dust, the faint smell of old grain.
And something else.
Metal.
Cold.
Alex's pulse remained steady, but his skin prickled.
Chains.
Not visible, but felt.
His breath slowed deliberately.
The system spoke, urgent.
{Warning: memory resonance spike detected.}
Alex froze.
The air in the room felt heavier, as if pressure had increased by a fraction. He could almost hear a distant echo—an old scream quarantined behind walls.
His body wanted to react.
He denied it.
He stepped deeper.
And saw the mark.
Not a symbol on a wall.
A scratch pattern on the floor—fine lines etched into stone, forming a circular array that had been hastily cleaned but not perfectly.
A ritual.
A containment circle.
Alex knelt, fingers hovering above the lines without touching.
His mind flashed—restraints, forced mana circulation—
The system slammed down.
{Quarantine reinforced. Do not engage.}
Alex's jaw clenched. "Shut up."
{Noncompliance increases risk of destabilization.}
Chaos's voice was quiet, sharp.
(Leave.)
Alex stood slowly.
He didn't argue.
Because he understood what both of them meant.
This wasn't just surveillance.
This was proximity.
If the organization was here, then the missing year wasn't past.
It was present.
Alex stepped back toward the door—
—and felt it.
A shift behind him.
No sound. No footstep. Just presence.
He turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Not one of the tails.
Older. Clean clothes. Calm eyes.
He looked at Alex like he'd been expected.
"Alex," the man said softly, as if tasting the name.
Alex's blood went cold.
The system spoke in a tone Alex had never heard before—stripped of humor, stripped of observation.
{Event: Convergence initiated.}
Chaos's presence surged.
(Do not rush.)
Alex didn't move.
He didn't draw his blade.
He didn't flare mana.
He simply looked at the man and asked, voice calm despite the sudden tightening in his chest:
"Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly.
"We've been looking for you," he said.
And Alex understood, with perfect clarity:
There would be no more practice.
Only choices.