The sun had barely risen, but the city of Glora hummed quietly, oblivious to the shift that had begun. Waza moved through the alleyways with practiced ease, his bare feet silent against the cold, uneven concrete. Every shadow he passed felt like a familiar friend or a cautious enemy.
Selena walked a few steps behind him, watching closely. She didn't speak, but her presence reminded him that every decision now carried weight. Her curiosity was no longer idle; it mirrored the unspoken question he carried inside: What will I become when the city itself no longer confines me?
He stopped near a small square where the early merchants were setting up. From a distance, Waza observed a group of street figures rogue gang members he had noticed before. Today, his focus was not fear. Today, his focus was choice.
A subtle signal from the hum in his veins guided him. Waza reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, innocuous item a piece of the city's undercurrent he had observed for weeks. It was personal, almost invisible to anyone else, but to him, it was a declaration.
With precise timing, he placed it where it would subtly shift the gang's attention without drawing unnecessary chaos. It was small, almost trivial, yet it required courage, calculation, and control. It was his first step into shaping outcomes rather than merely reacting.
Selena finally spoke. "You've done it," she said, a soft note of approval in her voice. "Not everyone would dare. Not like this."
Waza didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the square, the alleys beyond, the rooftops he had once claimed as his sanctuary. Each glance was measured, intentional, a silent map of influence and consequence.
For the first time, Waza felt the weight of decision without hesitation. He could leave Glora soon, but he would not leave without testing the city, without letting it respond to his presence. The small act, simple as it was, confirmed something vital: he had begun the transition from observer to architect.
Selena followed his gaze, understanding unspoken rules. She was no longer merely a companion she was witness and participant. In this small square, under the quiet morning light, Waza had made the first ripple that would eventually become a wave.