The morning light fell unevenly over Sethrae's Lower District, slipping through the gaps between leaning buildings and cracked rooftops in pale, jagged stripes. Cobblestones glinted faintly from the night's rain, reflecting the orange glow of lanterns that had not yet been extinguished.
Aerin Kael moved through the streets like a shadow born of the city itself, hood low over his face, boots silent against the worn stones.
Nothing felt normal. Nothing had felt normal since last night. He had witnessed a man die—and then stand alive, smiling, breathing, speaking. Impossible. Undeniable.
And yet, here he was, moving through the city, sensing the subtle fractures in reality around him, every shadow and reflection whispering possibilities.
Observation came first.
He crouched beside a puddle, watching a child stumble over a jagged stone. Normally, the boy would have fallen, hands scraping, knees stinging.
But as Aerin focused, willing the event both to happen and not to happen, the child's stumble froze in mid-motion.
He wavered like a pendulum, then recovered, never touching the ground. Aerin noted it carefully.
The principle was simple: if the world could bend for him in a minor instance, it could bend in greater ones.
Everything bends if you know how to hold it.
By mid-morning, the streets had begun their slow transformation into the chaos of a working market.
Merchants shouted prices, waved strange fruits, fish, and bread at passersby.
Children darted through the gaps between stalls, chasing cats or each other. Aerin watched carefully. Every movement, every coin, every flicker of a shadow was a potential experiment.
A fruit vendor dropped a silver coin while collecting payment. Aerin focused, willing it both to land in the vendor's hand and on the counter simultaneously.
The coin trembled, hovered, and split the difference. Half remained in the customer's hand; the other half slid across the counter. The customer frowned. The vendor blinked. No one else noticed.
He allowed himself a faint smile. Small fractures first. Then, he thought, larger ones.
It wasn't long before he found a street brawl. Three men cornered a stray dog in a narrow alley, fists raised and teeth bared. Normally, this was not his concern.
But he stepped forward. Not to fight, not yet. To test.
The largest of the three, a scarred brute with a nose that had been broken more than once, swung at the animal.
Aerin imagined two outcomes: the punch connecting, and the punch failing entirely.
Time bent in the alley for a heartbeat. The man's fist froze midair. The second man tripped over his own feet. The third slammed into a wall.
The dog slipped past all three, unharmed.
Aerin's gaze was calm. He did not flinch.
He did not hesitate.
The alley had bent to his observation, his understanding. This is how it begins.
He wandered deeper into the market, testing his powers on small, controlled incidents.
A coin slipped from a vendor's tray; he willed it both to be caught and to fall to the ground. A lantern swung as a strong breeze passed; he allowed it both to tilt and to remain upright.
Each experiment was measured, controlled.
None caused harm, yet each left an imprint on the environment—subtle, almost invisible.
He noticed something then—a man in a dark cloak, leaning against a distant pillar, observing him. Not the crowd. Not the merchants. Not the animals. Him.
The figure's presence was deliberate, patient, and weighty. Aerin noted it, moving casually, never breaking stride. When he looked back, the man had vanished.
Factions exist.
They watch.
They wait.
By late afternoon, Aerin found another alley, wider this time, filled with more people. Two merchants argued, voices raised, over the price of fish.
Children ran between their legs, dodging the shouting, barely noticing the chaos.
Aerin observed both possibilities at once: the fight escalating and the fight dissolving peacefully.
Time wavered. A basket of fish teetered on the edge of a stall. It tipped, scattering silver scales across the cobblestones.
The merchants blinked, unsure of what had just happened, but the fight never escalated. Aerin's intervention had been perfect—subtle, invisible, yet undeniable.
Control is everything.
A sudden commotion drew his attention: a group of pickpockets tried to steal from a cart. Normally, they would flee screaming if caught, or clash with guards.
Aerin intervened without hesitation. Coins hovered, thieves froze mid-step, their movements suspended between success and failure. The cart remained untouched.
The pickpockets scrambled, bewildered, and vanished into the crowd. He did not pursue them. Observation was enough.
Evening descended. Lanterns were lit across the crooked rooftops. Shadows stretched in impossible angles.
Aerin climbed to the roof of his building and surveyed the city below.
Every street, every alley, every market stall, every flickering light was alive with possibility. Coins hovered.
Cats appeared in two places at once.
Shadows bent against the law of light.
He walked along the ledge, testing gravity as he stepped. He could fall and not fall. He could jump and remain suspended midair.
He adjusted angles, bent perspectives, tested reactions. The city itself became his laboratory, silent and unsuspecting.
A faint crow cried somewhere. Its shadow fell in two directions at once. Aerin smiled faintly.
This is just the beginning.
A sudden stir on a nearby rooftop caught his attention. Another cloaked figure, watching, disappeared before he could react. Whoever it was, they had purpose, not curiosity.
The weight of their gaze, though unseen, pressed lightly on the edges of his perception.
Everything bends. Everything can be rewritten. And someone else is watching.
He descended quietly, slipping through the twisting streets of the lower district. A minor scuffle broke out between a vendor and a drunken man.
Aerin intervened with precision: coins hovered, the man slipped, the tray remained upright. No one was harmed. The city adapted to him, bent to him—but the observer in the shadows remained unseen.
He paused on a street corner, listening. Voices of the city, footfalls, distant laughter, doors opening and closing—all normal. All wrong. Every pattern held more possibilities than anyone else could see.
Night settled fully. The crooked horizon was silhouetted against a moon too close to the city, silver slicing darkness like a blade. Aerin crouched atop his roof, arms resting on his knees, eyes scanning the cityscape.
Each lantern, each shadow, each reflection in the puddles below carried multiple truths at once.
Coins floated midair, cats froze and moved simultaneously, children tripped and recovered.
He whispered to the darkness:
"If the world bends, I will see how far it can stretch before it breaks."
Somewhere, a bell tolled twice when it should have tolled once.
Somewhere, a cloaked observer noted him, briefly, before vanishing.
Somewhere, the city trembled beneath the weight of subtle fractures.
Aerin did not flinch.
He only watched.
And the world began to hesitate.