The morning sun spilled gold across the plaza, bouncing off polished stone and the glass of distant towers. The air carried the faint aroma of baked bread and roasted coffee, mixed with the metallic tang of nearby workshops. The streets hummed with life: vendors shouting prices, streetcars clattering along rails, and people moving with practiced rhythm.
A young man sat on the edge of a fountain, a small bread roll in hand. He chewed slowly, watching crumbs fall onto his worn jacket and brushing them away with a casual flick. His hair was dark and slightly messy, eyes flicking over the crowd without really focusing on anyone.
Across the plaza, Awakened in armor moved with quiet authority. Some carried long, gleaming weapons; others had subtle but unmistakable signs of power—arms that seemed sharper, armor that shimmered faintly. The young man watched them, curious, noting their presence but feeling no immediate threat.
He took another bite of bread and shrugged, trying to ignore the quiet buzz of unease that sometimes seemed to linger around the Awakened. They weren't dangerous, not yet—not to him—but he couldn't help wondering why some people seemed… different, somehow.
A child ran past, nearly knocking over a small stall. The man moved instinctively to steady the goods, and a nearby vendor chuckled. "Careful there," she said. He nodded and returned his attention to the bread in his hand.
The plaza thrived around him, bright and ordinary. Birds wheeled above the rooftops, merchants arranged their goods, and sunlight danced over the polished surfaces. It was a calm, normal morning—a morning that, he didn't yet know, was about to shift in ways he couldn't imagine.
At the far edge of the square, a faint shimmer caught his eye, almost like heat wavering on stone. He blinked. It was nothing—or so he told himself—and returned his attention to the bread, unaware that something, somewhere, had begun to stir.