The city had a rhythm, a pulse. Rayon felt it in the streets, in the back alleys, in the tension of every man who dared walk with fists clenched and eyes wary. And he listened.
He had spent the night after the alley fight mapping threads, tracing the faint, trembling connections between people, objects, instinct, and fear. He wasn't just seeing the strings anymore—he was feeling them, like a spider feeling vibrations along its web.
By midday, he had a plan.
Rayon's first recruits weren't brilliant or strong—they were desperate. Hungry, street-smart, abandoned. Perfect.
A boy who could pick locks with nimble fingers.
A girl who could move like a shadow, silent and deadly.
A former gang enforcer, brutal and fast, but greedy enough to be loyal—to the highest bidder… or the cleverest manipulator.
Rayon approached them one by one, not with threats, not with promises. He tugged at their strings.
Fear and greed: amplified in the enforcer, making him anxious to please. Hope and curiosity: planted in the girl, making her trust Rayon instinctively. Desire for survival: twisted in the boy, bending his decisions toward Rayon's plans.
By the time they realized they were being drawn in, they were already loyal. Not to friendship. Not to love. To Rayon. To his vision.
Rayon sat cross-legged on a rooftop, guiding them through their first operation: stealing supplies from a corrupt merchant's warehouse. His instructions were precise—but the real control was unseen.
The boy went for the lock. Rayon tugged subtly at his motor threads, guiding his fingers, ensuring speed and accuracy. The girl crept along the shadows. Rayon tweaked perception, making guards glance away at the perfect moment. The enforcer blocked doors, controlled by tiny nudges in his instinct threads, ensuring brute force landed without mistake.
From his vantage point, Rayon could see every heartbeat, every twitch, every subtle panic. He was everywhere at once. Every minor misstep was corrected before it could occur. Every guard distracted before they could react.
When the operation ended, they had what they needed. Supplies, tools, even coin. Not a single scratch. And all the while, they believed it had been their plan.
But it wasn't.
It was Rayon's
Rayon realized the depth of his power that night. Hollow Strings weren't just for combat—they were for control, manipulation, orchestration.
A single thought, a gentle pull, and he could:
Alter perception: make someone see what he wanted—or ignore what they should. Twist instinct: make a man stumble, a fist swing wrong, a heart race with fear. Weave strategy: multiple threads simultaneously, creating chaos or order as needed. Extend awareness: feel hidden dangers, anticipate reactions, control multiple people at once.
Power wasn't enough. Knowledge wasn't enough. But power and knowledge? That was godlike. And Rayon hungered for both.
By dawn, the slums had a whisper of his name. Not loud—yet—but carried in fear, in awe, in the subtle ways people felt manipulated without knowing why.
Rayon smiled, dark and hollow. He didn't seek fame. He didn't seek gratitude. He sought control. Obedience. Fear. A web that stretched farther than any alley, any street, any gang.
And soon… it would reach the city's heart.
Because once you pulled the right string, everything else fell into place.