The morning came quietly, but the city felt different to him. Cobblestones no longer seemed ordinary beneath his feet, and shadows in alleys stretched and bent in ways that made him hesitate. The pulse he had felt last night had not left. It lingered, faint, like the echo of a drum he could barely hear.
He walked along the streets, careful, trying to shake the unease that had settled in his chest. That's when he saw it: a small creature crouched by the market's edge, a shadow of something familiar yet wrong. Its eyes glowed faintly, a dull red that pulsed with every heartbeat. It wasn't alive, not in the usual sense. It moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm, and every step seemed to leave a slight ripple in the air.
He stopped, instinctively holding his breath. The pulse in his chest grew stronger, sharper. His hand twitched, though he didn't understand why. The creature hissed, a sound that felt more like vibration than noise, and his mind reacted before he could think.
The warmth in his chest flared, spreading through his arms, his legs, his mind. He moved without thinking, stepping forward, and the creature recoiled, as though it felt him differently now. It wasn't strong, but it was wrong — corrupted, an echo of life twisted by forces he could not yet name.
"Be careful!" A voice rang out from the other side of the square. A boy, roughly his age, dashed toward him, long coat flaring. "You can't just—don't touch it!"
The creature twitched again, eyes glowing brighter, but the warmth in his chest pulsed faster. His hand brushed the air toward the creature, and it stopped. Something inside him hummed, subtle but certain. He didn't understand it, but the creature froze, suspended between movement and stillness.
"You… you're feeling it too?" the boy asked, panting. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but there was something cautious beneath it. "The tremors, the threads… I can see them in you. Not many can."
He didn't answer. The warmth in his chest was rising, and the pulse that had begun last night now throbbed like a heartbeat of its own. He tried to focus, unsure what he was doing, and the creature's faint red glow dimmed. Its jerky movements stilled. For the first time, he realized he had done something — not by thought, but by instinct, guided by the pulse inside him.
The boy's eyes widened. "You've awakened," he said quietly. "Not fully, but enough. That… that thing was corrupted. Most people can't even sense it, let alone stop it."
He looked at the creature again. It scuttled backward and disappeared into the shadows. The city seemed normal once more, but he knew it wasn't. He felt it — the threads, the tremors, the stirrings of something beyond understanding. And now he knew he wasn't alone. Someone else could see it too, someone who had awakened, or had learned to notice what others could not.
The boy extended a hand. "I'm telling you this because it's not safe to wander blind. The threads move for you now, but they move for others too. And some of them… they won't wait for you to understand."
He hesitated, then shook it. The warmth in his chest settled, but only slightly. The pulse remained, insistent, alive, guiding him. And as he followed the boy through the quiet streets, he realized that this was only the beginning. Every step, every choice, would tug at threads he could barely comprehend.
Somewhere beyond the city, corrupted things stirred. Somewhere else, tremors pulsed. And somewhere, threads were already converging on him, waiting.