Chapter 4 – First Steps in the Slums
The first morning sunlight of Criton's capital filtered weakly through the cracks in the roof. Dust motes hung in golden shafts as Kairo stood, barefoot, on the cold stone floor. His small, thin body flexed instinctively, hands brushing against the rough wall for balance. Every muscle remembered the motions he had performed countless times before—in another life, another body. The difference here was palpable: this body was fragile, but adaptable. A child's body with an adult mind and the memories of the man he once was.
CIEL's voice echoed silently in his mind.
[Morning Scan Complete. Threat Assessment: Moderate. Hunger: High. Clothing Condition: Poor. Optimal Activity: Acquire Resources. Suggested Action: Training.]
Kairo exhaled softly, the words of suggestion registering but not commanding. "First things first," he whispered to himself, stepping out into the slum alley. The city was alive with chaos—the rickety wooden homes leaned against each other like dominoes ready to fall. Smoke spiraled from makeshift chimneys; children ran barefoot over cracked stones, tossing scraps and shouting challenges to one another. Every gesture, every movement, was a potential variable to study.
He moved with purpose, not stealth. His presence, calm yet unnervingly precise, caused stray dogs to pause mid-snarl, scavengers to avert their eyes, and children to whisper behind their hands. It was instinctive. People sensed something "off" about him, though they couldn't articulate what.
He reached a narrow intersection where two older boys were harassing a smaller child, a bundle of rags clinging desperately to a half-rotten loaf of bread. The taller boy's fist swung with predictable aggression.
"Hey!" Kairo called, voice steady. No fear, no bravado. Just… authority.
The boy froze mid-swing. "Who… what…?"
Kairo's eyes, calm and detached, scanned the attackers. Every movement, every micro-expression, every twitch of muscle and joint, was logged in real-time. CIEL's mental overlay marked attack vectors in translucent red lines, predicted trajectories, and highlighted weaknesses.
[Battle Simulation Engaged. Probability of success: 97.8% without physical harm.]
Without drawing a weapon, Kairo stepped forward. A shadow flickered at his feet—his first instinctive application of the Copy Blessing's early mimicry, shaped by the mental rehearsal in the simulation space. The shadow extended, wrapping around the taller boy's ankle, tugging with non-lethal force.
He spoke softly, yet every word carried the weight of inevitability. "Let go."
The boy's eyes widened, not understanding why his body refused to obey. His companion froze, indecision written across his features. Kairo's shadow tightened imperceptibly.
The loaf of bread tumbled to the ground. The small child snatched it, retreating toward safety. Kairo watched the bullies stumble, their balance betrayed by a force they couldn't see, and then step back, suddenly respectful—or terrified.
"Kid…" the taller boy managed. "What—what are you?"
Kairo tilted his head slightly. "Someone who survives."
And then he walked on, leaving them staring, muttering incomprehensible words. In the quiet that followed, CIEL noted silently:
[Adaptive Replication Active. Observation: Physical Control via Shadow Interaction Achieved. Efficiency: 73%. Probability of Avoiding Lethal Force: 99%. Mental Strain: Minimal.]
The day moved on in its usual chaotic rhythm. Kairo scavenged, observed, copied—combining scraps of mundane survival techniques with early applications of Blessings. He took note of the minor Blessings the children had—one girl could make small flames dance above her hands for warmth; another boy could shift his shadow to create minor illusions, amusing the street dogs. Nothing remarkable by academy standards, but enough for Kairo to see patterns, efficiencies, and limitations.
By afternoon, he had discovered several key resources in the slum's economy: a baker who occasionally overproduced stale bread, a blacksmith's apprentice who discarded imperfect tools, and a merchant with a crooked but useful ledger. Kairo memorized routes, timings, and social hierarchies. Even here, survival was a game—a system he could study, simulate, and eventually master.
A scuffle drew his attention to the central square. A gang of older slum children, bigger and more vicious, had surrounded a newcomer—a boy barely older than Kairo, no more than twelve, with a minor Blessing that allowed him to alter sound slightly. They taunted him, pushing and punching. Kairo's eyes flicked briefly; CIEL highlighted every trajectory, every shadow, and every subtle sign of intent.
[Battle Probability: 91%. Recommended Engagement: Minimal Physical Contact. Optimal Outcome: Dominance without Injury.]
Kairo approached calmly, letting his shadow ripple across the cobblestones. He manipulated its edges subtly, forming a low hum of force around his feet. A simple extension, an experiment, nothing more.
The gang's leader swung, aiming for the new boy's head. Kairo stepped into the trajectory, the shadow flowing like liquid around the leader's fist. The punch was stopped—not by muscle, but by subtle force pressure, redirecting the blow harmlessly. The other gang members froze, sensing the anomaly.
Kairo crouched slightly, gaze unwavering. "Leave. Or feel what it means to break the rules in these streets."
It was enough. No one wanted to test what they could not see. The newcomer stared at Kairo, eyes wide. "Th-thank you," he stammered.
Kairo inclined his head. "Survive."
As the sun dipped below the jagged horizon of slum buildings, Kairo retreated to his corner. Hunger gnawed, but he calculated that it was a minor variable—controllable. He pulled scraps together for a meal, analyzing each morsel for nutritional value and how long it would sustain him.
CIEL's voice returned in a neutral echo.
[Observation: Social Hierarchy Mapped. Potential Allies: Identified 4 individuals with minor Blessings. Threats: 3 active. Physical Resources: Scarce but accessible. Psychological Impact: Positive.]
Kairo allowed himself a small smirk—rare for him. Not of joy, but satisfaction in data acquisition. The slums were nothing more than an initial simulation arena. He would learn, evolve, and manipulate it entirely.
Above, the academy towers pierced the sky, untouchable, yet not beyond observation. He noted the guards patrolling their walls, the students moving in and out, the emissaries arriving to check on tuition or gifts from wealthy families. One day, he would walk those halls. One day, he would be inside.
For now, he survived. He copied. He evolved. And he planned.
The sun vanished entirely, leaving the slums in shadow, the flicker of firelight dancing across cracked walls.
[Battle Simulation Update: Survival Skill Progress: 3.2%. Shadow Control Efficiency: 2.5%. Adaptation Rate: 5.1%.]
Kairo leaned back, closing his eyes.
Tomorrow, he thought, he would learn more. Tomorrow, he would test the limits of this body, these Blessings, this world.
And when the academy noticed him, they would not know what hit them.