[Location: The Lower Ring – Sector 4 (The Stables)]
[Time: Early Morning, two days later]
[Ambient Mana Density: Low (Polluted)]
The walk back to the city was a descent from heaven into hell.
Up in the Lightning-Scrub ridges, the air had been thin and sharp, tasting of ozone and freedom. But as Kiran descended into the valley that cradled Hastina, the smog of industry rose to meet him.
Hastina was a marvel of the Age of Artifacts. It was a city built in concentric rings. The Center Ring, floating on gravity-defying plates, was where the Royals and High-Tier Awakeners lived. It was a paradise of white marble and pure blue mana streams.
Below that lay the Iron Ring, a sprawling industrial zone where the middle class worked the mana-forges.
And at the very bottom, in the mud and shadow of the floating districts above, was the Suta Quarter.
Kiran pulled his hood low. On his back, wrapped in layers of oilcloth and old burlap, was Vajra-Hridaya, the black bow. It felt heavy, not physically, but spiritually. It was a crime just to possess it.
Hide it, his mind whispered. If the City Guards scan you and find a Rank: Epic weapon, they won't arrest you. They'll execute the entire block.
He slipped into the stables through the back entrance. The smell of wet hay, horse sweat, and dung hit him—a comforting, familiar stench. This was his world. A world of servitude.
"You were gone two nights."
Kiran froze.
Aadheer sat on a wooden stool in the shadows of the tack room, polishing a leather bridle. The old man looked tired. His level was only [Level 12: Beast Handler], and his back was permanently bent from forty years of bowing to men half his age.
"I was training, Father," Kiran said softly, stepping into the light.
Aadheer stood up. He walked over to Kiran and reached out, his calloused hand trembling slightly as he touched the burlap-wrapped shape on Kiran's back. He didn't unwrap it. He didn't need to. The faint, hum of mana vibrating through the cloth was enough to make the hair on Aadheer's arms stand up.
"Is it... done?" Aadheer asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"It is," Kiran replied. "It can hold my power. It doesn't break."
Aadheer closed his eyes. A mixture of pride and terror washed over his face. "Radha has been lighting lamps for you. She says she feels a storm coming. She says the fire in your soul is getting too big for this house."
"I can't stop it, Father," Kiran said, his copper eyes pleading. "The System... it screams at me. Every time I see the floating palaces, every time I see a 'Noble' abuse a worker, my blood boils. My armor... it heats up. If I don't let this power out, I'll burn this whole city down by accident."
Aadheer sighed, a sound like a crumbling wall. He went to a hidden loose floorboard under the feed bins and pulled out a small pouch.
"If you are going to walk into the fire," Aadheer said, pressing the pouch into Kiran's hand, "don't go looking like a beggar."
Inside were mana-stones. Small, low-grade chips that Aadheer had likely saved for ten years. Enough to buy a decent cloak, or perhaps a bribe for a gate guard.
"Father, I can't—"
"Take it!" Aadheer snapped, his eyes wet. "They will mock your birth. They will mock your name. Do not let them mock your clothes. If you are to be a King in your heart, you must look the part."
Kiran gripped the pouch. The gold armor on his chest pulsed warm against his skin. "I will make you proud. I promise."