The dawn over Glora came like a slow exhale, pale and brittle against the city's concrete and glass. Waza stood on the edge of the old bridge, staring down at the river that split the city like a wound. The hum in his veins pulsed now not random, not passive but in rhythm with thought, with intent. Every heartbeat, every focus, seemed to spark it into life.
Selene was beside him, quiet as ever, her eyes scanning the streets below. She was more than companion; she was observer, question, and caution all in one. Waza had begun noticing patterns in her movements, the subtle adjustments in posture, the way she anticipated danger before it appeared.
"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked softly, her voice low, almost lost in the wind.
Waza nodded. "It responds. To choice. To action."
"And yet," she said, tilting her head, "you hesitate."
He did hesitate. The Vein had awakened in him, yes but it was a dangerous ally, unpredictable without understanding. He could feel the pull of power, the lure of consequence. And he knew that once he acted, the city would notice.
"Observation is no longer enough," Selene said, her gaze locking on his. "The city is not just watched it watches back. And it will not wait."
Her words were sharp, slicing through the fog of caution that had wrapped around him. Waza felt the hum surge, answering to the clarity of her statement. He realized then: the Vein was not merely a force of blood, but a measure of intent. The more deliberate his thought, the stronger the pulse. The more reckless, the weaker its signal.
In the square below, a shadow shifted. A figure alone, waiting, testing. Waza recognized the posture, the silence it mirrored him. And just as quickly, he knew he had a choice: engage, retreat, or manipulate.
Selene's hand touched his forearm, steady, grounding. "You will act," she said. "But make it your own."
Waza's lips pressed into a thin line. He had learned over the years that action carried weight, and weight carried consequence. He could no longer drift through Glora, unseen. Every step mattered now. Every glance, every word, every flicker of intent shaped the world around him.
The hum in his veins surged again, stronger this time, resonating with his decision. Waza looked at Selene not with affection, not with trust but with acknowledgment. She had been his mirror, his measure. Now, she was the first witness to his choice.
He exhaled, slow, deliberate. The city of Glora waited, patient yet unrelenting. And Waza knew: whatever action he took next would mark the beginning of the Architect Phase, where observation alone was no longer sufficient.
The river below reflected the pale light of dawn, the city's pulse, and the new weight in Waza's chest. He had the skill of action. He had the choice. And for the first time, the Vein responded with clarity.