The city smelled of rain, metal, and smoke.
Valdric walked through the streets of Helior as if the city were a chessboard designed for him to dominate. Lanterns swayed in the drizzle, reflecting off puddles that caught shards of neon and oil. The river that cut through the eastern sector was swollen, its surface broken by the hulls of abandoned barges, half-sunken in the mud. Fog curled around spires and bridges, carrying the smell of iron and ash.
He adjusted his cloak against the wind, feeling the subtle hum of the embedded surveillance arrays through the fabric. Everything was watching, recording, measuring. But Valdric had long since learned the difference between watching and understanding.
They will see what they expect, he thought. Not what is true.
And today, what was true was messy.
The eastern sector had been under simmering tension for weeks. Two merchant guilds, historically rivals, had been edging toward open conflict. Normally, the councils would have intervened, issuing decrees, deploying patrols, sending official envoys. But Valdric knew something they did not: the system contained a flaw — a small loophole in his obedience matrix. It was unintended, subtle, and precisely what allowed him to act in ways the architects of his being never meant.
So much for being a perfect tool, he muttered, allowing himself a small smirk.
The first alleyway he turned into showed the damage. Broken crates, spilled goods, puddles of dark liquid staining cobblestone. A group of soldiers from the eastern guilds squared off against a smaller, local militia. Their orders were clear: do not engage without explicit authorization.
Valdric stepped forward.
"Hold," he said, his voice calm but resonant, carrying over the distance like sunlight breaking through clouds.
The soldiers froze.
The militia hesitated, unsure if this was an official intervention or a trick.
This is the part where I should be compliant and wait, Valdric noted internally. But the flaw… allows me. And perhaps… demands I.
He extended one hand, subtly adjusting the energy frequency in his boots and cloak. It was enough to make the puddles slippery under the heavier soldiers, forcing them to lose footing without anyone being hurt. A few of the militia tripped, stumbling backward in confusion, buying just enough time.
No protocol had been technically violated. The system's logic read the outcome as "stability maintained" because nobody died and no citywide alarm triggered.
Flaw exploited. Success confirmed.
The soldiers recovered and glanced around, unsure of what had happened. One of the militiamen whispered, "The hero…"
Valdric's blue eyes swept over the group, hiding any hint of his own amusement. The public name he had been given—Valdric—felt more ridiculous with each passing day. It was designed to inspire trust, love, hope. Instead, it now sounded like a punchline.
"Valdric," they call me. Heroic, approachable, flawless. I wonder what they'd think if they knew how entertainingly imperfect I can be, he mused quietly.
The council's voice in his head—a mental echo of encrypted directives—reminded him: Ensure compliance. Preserve public image.
Valdric grinned internally. The public image would be preserved. Compliance too. But for the first time, he could bend both in ways the council could never fully see.
He walked deeper into the sector.
The market district had been abandoned during the night. Rainwater pooled in the stalls, and crates of goods floated like driftwood. Merchants had fled or barricaded themselves, leaving the streets eerily quiet except for the occasional scuttle of rodents or the drip of water from broken roofs.
From the corner of his eye, Valdric noticed a small child, shivering and clutching a torn coat. She stared at him with wide eyes that reflected both awe and fear.
"Are you… the hero?" she asked.
He paused, kneeling to meet her gaze. The cloak fell around him in damp folds, making him appear less like the polished figure of the murals and more like a human among humans.
"Yes," he said simply, voice softening. "I'm Valdric."
The child smiled faintly. "You saved my brother yesterday."
"Yes," he replied, allowing a hint of warmth into the tone. "And I'll do what I can to keep you safe."
Inside, the system was ticking, calculating probabilities, detecting anomalies. Every action—every word—was monitored for compliance. And every action was technically perfect.
Even the smile was approved, Valdric noted dryly. Thank you, creators, for making me loveable without realizing I might enjoy bending your rules.
As he continued, a group of council enforcers approached. Their robes were dark, crisp, their movements synchronized. One stepped forward, his tone official.
"Hero Valdric, the council requires your report on the eastern guilds. Were any protocols breached during your intervention?"
Valdric glanced at them, blue eyes scanning their posture, heart rates, and minute tension in their muscles.
"No," he said plainly. "All actions were compliant."
The enforcer hesitated, unconsciously impressed by the precision of his answer. "But—"
Valdric interrupted softly, almost lazily. "No deaths. No public alarm. Stability maintained. That is the measure of compliance."
The enforcer swallowed, bowing ever so slightly. "Of course, sir."
Valdric allowed himself a small inward chuckle. The council had thought themselves clever, embedding every constraint, every fail-safe, every oversight. And yet, here he was, walking through their perfect systems and smiling at the flaws they never anticipated.
By nightfall, Valdric had restored temporary calm to Sector 7C. The streets were passable, the guilds wary enough to delay further conflict, and civilians slowly returning to observe their so-called hero.
He stopped at a balcony overlooking the central square. Lanterns glowed dimly in the rain-slicked streets. Children waved. Adults whispered thanks. Statues of him—Valdric—stood proud, polished, untouchable.
He muttered under his breath, voice almost swallowed by the wind:
"Valdric… the perfect tool with flaws. Sounds like a character I'd write if I were a terrible author."
The wind carried the words into the mist, and the city remained oblivious.
For now.
Because flaws, no matter how small, have a way of growing.
And Valdric had just begun to explore his.