The slums of Sanctum Oria never slept easy.
They hummed instead—low and constant, like the breath of something massive just beneath the earth. Not from the churning of factories or the distant grind of horse drawn carriage. No, this hum was older, deeper. It pulsed in the stone. In the bones of the orphanage. In the sighs of those still awake, waiting for something to change.
Koda sat on the edge of the crumbling rooftop of Orphan's Grace, his legs swinging above the alleyway four stories below. Beneath him, rusted gutters caught the moonlight like silver scars. In his hand, a piece of chalk he'd stolen from a lecture board three years ago. He turned it between his fingers but didn't write. Not yet.
Behind him, Maia shifted her weight on the ledge, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes followed the curve of the stars overhead. She always watched the sky like it might blink.
"You nervous?" she asked.
Koda didn't answer right away. The wind carried the scent of smoke from a distant forge and the sweetness of spoiled fruit from the street market below. Even now, the church bells in the First Ring could be heard faintly—songs of ceremony, of divine guidance for those preparing to Awaken.
Tomorrow, they would be among them.
Maybe.
He blew a breath through his nose and drew a small line on the stone beside him.
"I'm terrified," he admitted.
Maia laughed softly. "I'll take terrified over cocky. You know—like Jaro."
Koda grimaced. "Don't say his name. You'll summon him."
She smirked. "He's probably already at the Hall, bragging about which church he's going to align with."Koda let the chalk rest against the stone. "He'll get one. They always do, the ones from the mid-rings. Wealth buys faith, I guess."
Maia was quiet for a moment. Then: "But not us?"
"I don't know," Koda said.
"I want it to be real. All of it—the blessings, the patrons, the purpose. I want to believe that it's not just luck or bloodline or… politics."
The hum pulsed again. Faint. A heartbeat below his own.
"You're already more honest than half the world," Maia whispered.
"That should count for something."
He glanced at her, finding her eyes already waiting.
"I hope the Holy Mother takes you," he said quietly. "It fits."
Maia blushed and looked away. "And you?"
"I just want to be seen." He smiled sadly. "Not as a failure. Not as 'another orphan of Oria.' Just… me."
Far below, a patrol passed—their polished boots clicking, their robes etched with the glyphs of Divine Librarians, keepers of law and light.
Koda turned back to the chalk and drew a second line next to the first.
"One more day," he said.
"Then we find out if we're meant to be anything."