The climb back up felt longer than the fall.
Elyon and Rin moved through old stairs and service ladders that groaned under their weight. Each level closer to the surface brought back familiar sounds—the distant hum of traffic, the buzz of power lines, the faint echo of voices.
Life.
Elyon felt it pressing in again.
Not attacking.
Not calling.
Noticing.
The band on his wrist stayed dim, but warm. Like a scar that still remembered the wound.
"You're thinking too loudly," Rin said from behind him.
Elyon paused on the steps. "I didn't say anything."
Rin tapped their head. "You don't have to."
Elyon exhaled slowly. "It feels like the city knows I'm coming."
Rin nodded. "It probably does. You changed something below. Things ripple upward."
They reached a sealed hatch. Rust flaked off as Rin forced it open. Light spilled in—dirty daylight, filtered through smoke and dust.
Elyon shielded his eyes and stepped out.
The slums were exactly as he remembered.
Crowded streets. Broken signs. Vendors shouting. People moving fast, eyes down, trying not to be noticed.
And yet—
Everything felt sharper.
Elyon could sense tension points in the crowd. Places where fear gathered. Where systems watched harder. Where accidents were more likely to happen.
He swallowed. "I can feel them."
Rin stayed close. "Then don't reach."
"I'm not," Elyon said. "I'm just… aware."
That might have been worse.
---
They walked openly.
No hiding.
No shortcuts.
People glanced at Elyon without knowing why, then looked away quickly. A few frowned. One woman clutched her child closer as he passed.
Elyon felt it.
Not judgment.
Instinct.
"They don't trust me," he said quietly.
Rin shook their head. "They don't understand you. Big difference."
A drone drifted overhead.
Not hunting.
Scanning.
Elyon felt its attention brush him—thin, uncertain. The band pulsed faintly, then settled.
The drone moved on.
Rin let out a breath. "That worked."
Elyon didn't smile. "For now."
They reached a busy junction where old concrete met newer steel. A repair crew worked on a broken power node, sparks flying as they struggled to keep it stable.
Elyon stopped.
His chest tightened.
"That thing is going to fail," he said.
Rin looked at the node. "How soon?"
"Minutes," Elyon replied. "Maybe less."
Rin scanned the area. "People will get hurt."
Elyon nodded. "I know."
The band warmed.
Not warning.
Invitation.
He could feel it—the shape of the failure, the pressure building inside the node. One small shift and it would release safely. One careless moment and it would explode.
Rin watched him carefully. "This is where you decide who you are."
Elyon clenched his jaw. "I won't use it."
"That's not what I said," Rin replied. "I said decide."
Elyon stepped closer to the crew. His heart raced, but his mind stayed clear.
"Hey," he called out. "Shut it down."
One of the workers snapped back, "We're busy!"
"Now," Elyon said firmly. "Or someone dies."
They stared at him.
Elyon felt eyes on him—people nearby, systems above, attention tightening.
He did not reach.
He did not push.
He spoke.
The band stayed quiet.
After a tense moment, one of the workers cursed and pulled the shutdown lever.
The node powered down.
A second later, it ruptured—contained, harmless, venting heat into the air instead of the street.
No explosion.
No screams.
Just shock.
The workers stared at the damaged node, then at Elyon.
"How did you know?" one asked.
Elyon shook his head. "Fix your safety checks."
He turned and walked away.
Rin followed, eyes wide. "You didn't use it."
"No," Elyon said. "I used myself."
Rin let out a slow breath. "That's harder to track."
Elyon nodded. "That's the point."
---
They didn't make it far.
The air shifted.
Elyon felt it immediately—a tightening, a narrowing. The city felt like it leaned in slightly.
Three figures stepped out from between buildings.
Not drones.
Not hunters.
People.
They wore plain clothes, but their movements were too precise. Too calm. Their eyes locked onto Elyon without hesitation.
Rin's hand moved toward their mechanical arm.
Elyon lifted his hand gently. "No."
One of the figures spoke. "Elyon. You are requested to cooperate."
"Requested," Elyon repeated. "That's new."
"We prefer voluntary compliance," the figure said.
Elyon looked around. People nearby slowed, sensing trouble. Fear began to ripple outward.
Elyon took a step forward.
"I won't fight you," he said. "And I won't run."
The figures stiffened slightly.
"But I also won't go with you," Elyon continued. "Not like this."
The band pulsed once.
Soft.
> —SOCIAL PRESSURE: ELEVATED—
Rin whispered, "They're trying to isolate you."
Elyon nodded. "I know."
He raised his voice—not shouting, just clear. "If you want me, you'll take me in the open."
People stopped walking.
Eyes turned.
The figures hesitated.
This was not how it usually went.
"You are causing disruption," one said.
"Yes," Elyon replied. "Carefully."
The band stayed quiet.
No escalation.
No override.
Just choice, sitting heavy in the air.
After a long moment, one of the figures spoke again. "We will return."
Elyon nodded. "I know."
They stepped back—and vanished into the crowd like they had never been there.
Noise returned slowly. People started moving again, confused but relieved.
Rin stared at Elyon. "You just made yourself public."
Elyon exhaled. "I know."
"That makes you fragile."
"It makes them careful," Elyon replied.
Rin shook their head, half-smiling. "You're turning yourself into a problem they can't solve quietly."
Elyon looked up at the sky, where clouds hid layers of systems and watchers.
"That's the idea."
The band pulsed faintly.
Not approval.
Recognition.
Because Elyon had crossed another line—not into power, not into hiding—
But into visibility.
And once seen by choice,
he could never be erased the same way again.