The city woke before dawn.
From the doorway of the ruined sanctum, Jade watched the alleys stir to life—if life was the right word. Vendors dragged their carts through puddles, setting up stalls beneath sheets of patched cloth. Smoke rose from broken chimneys, thick with the smell of burning refuse.
He hadn't slept. Hunger had gnawed too deeply for that. His stomach ached, but his mind stayed sharp. Every cough, every whisper outside fed him information: prices, routes, fragments of slang. He was mapping the city in his head piece by piece.
When the sky turned from gray to the dull orange of morning, he stepped out.
The slums sprawled beneath the shadow of towering spires—the upper district, where the real power lived. Between the two, a wide market acted as a border. It was there that the difference between wealth and hunger became a spectacle.
Jade's bare feet left wet prints as he moved toward the noise. The closer he got, the more the air changed. The smell of rot gave way to something cleaner, tinged with iron and heat.
The marketplace was chaos in order's disguise. Carts lined both sides of a cracked stone street, each one glowing faintly with Essence runes—symbols that hummed like insects. People traded in shards, powders, vials that pulsed softly in their containers.
Jade stopped at the edge, careful not to draw attention. The beggar's rags he wore already marked him as something disposable.
He studied quietly. Essence wasn't abstract here—it was economy. One vendor poured glowing dust into a lamp, making its flame burn twice as bright. Another sold small stones that hummed when touched, promising "martial resonance." Even food shimmered faintly, enhanced by energy to keep it fresh.
Everything cost Essence. Everything was Essence.
"Move, beggar."
The shout came from a boy not much older than him—though cleaner, dressed in a short robe embroidered with symbols that pulsed faintly along the hem. A student. He carried a thin metal staff across his back and an arrogance too practiced to be natural.
Jade stepped aside without a word. The boy gave him one disdainful glance before walking on.
That glance was worth more than gold. It told Jade everything he needed to know about how this world worked.
Power wasn't just strength—it was permission. It dictated who could exist without question.
He found a quiet spot between two empty stalls and sank to the ground, pretending to rest. His eyes stayed half-lidded, observing. A man nearby was explaining something to a group of apprentices, using a glowing crystal as demonstration.
"Essence flows through the body like breath," the man said, his voice calm but proud. "For the mage, the mind shapes it. For the warrior, the flesh channels it. But every person has a core—a center that must awaken to harness it. Without that, you're no more than a husk."
The apprentices nodded solemnly. Jade's heartbeat slowed. That word—core—echoed in his mind. He had felt nothing when he tried to sense Essence yesterday. Did that mean his core was broken? Or unawakened?
It didn't matter. If something could be awakened, it could be understood.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud clatter nearby. A scrawny girl had tripped, scattering fruit across the stones. A merchant shouted and raised his hand, energy gathering along his palm like a shimmer of heat.
She froze, eyes wide.
Before the strike landed, another hand caught the merchant's wrist—a middle-aged man in patched robes, a faint mark on his cheek glowing with pale gold light. "Enough", he said quietly. "She's a child."
The merchant hesitated, then lowered his hand with a curse. The man helped the girl to her feet, handed her a bruised apple, and walked on.
The mark on his cheek faded, leaving no trace.
Jade had seen it. That glow wasn't random—it had rhythm. Controlled, deliberate. Not divine. Repeatable.
He leaned back, feeling the first stirrings of curiosity sharpen into focus.
That was what he needed: rhythm. Not talent. Not blessing. Just the pattern that made Essence move.
Hunger roared again, dragging him back to the body's limits. He forced himself to stand. He wouldn't beg, not yet. Observation was one thing—dependence another.
He followed the flow of the market until he found a waste pit where vendors dumped spoiled goods. The stench was brutal, but a few others were already digging through it—old men, thin women, silent and fast. Jade joined them, his movements measured. He found half a loaf of moldy bread, scraped the worst of it off, and ate. It tasted like ash, but it was enough to quiet the pain.
When he finished, he sat against a wall, watching people pass.
A group of armored guards walked by, insignia glowing faintly on their chests—a stylized eye surrounded by runes. Aetherion Guard. They moved with precision, their armor humming softly, alive with Essence threads woven through the metal.
The sight burned itself into his mind. That was control. The seamless blending of magic and discipline. The balance between power and restraint.
He wanted that—not the armor, but the understanding behind it.
As the sun dipped, shadows lengthened, and merchants began covering their stalls. A faint hum filled the air as the crystals above the streets flared to life, bathing everything in cold light.
Jade stood slowly. His body still ached, but the fatigue had shifted into something steadier—a sense of direction.
He didn't have a core. He didn't have talent. But he had eyes, a mind, and time.
And from what he'd seen today, those three things could be deadlier than any gift.
He turned back toward the slums, the last light fading behind him. The path ahead wasn't marked by prophecy or fate—it was carved one observation at a time.
Each breath, each mistake, each moment of pain would build the rhythm he needed to grasp the laws beneath Essence.
The world rewarded power. That much was clear.
But it had never met someone who planned to learn power from the dirt up.
And as the night wind carried the scent of ash and iron, Jade whispered again to the dark:
"If I can't be chosen by power… then I'll make it choose me."