The morning sun barely touched the streets of Glora when Waza stepped out. The docks confrontation from last night still pulsed in his mind, the hum in his veins louder than ever like a secret the city itself was trying to tell him.
Selene walked beside him, calm, alert, her movements precise as ever. "Today," she said, eyes scanning the alleys, "we map this side of Glora. Not the flashy towers, not the streets tourists see the veins beneath the city."
Waza nodded. Observation first. Learning second. Action, always measured.
The streets here smelled of damp stone and old smoke. Small vendors shouted over each other, carts rattling as they moved. Yet, even among this ordinary chaos, Waza felt the patterns the unspoken rules of territory, the power lanes where influence moved like currency, invisible but heavy.
A gang of three recognizable by their silver bandanas stepped into view. They noticed Selene and Waza immediately, their stance cautious but not aggressive. Waza felt the Vein whisper again, sensing their hesitation, their allegiance.
"Keep walking," Selene muttered. But Waza paused. He was curious. Observation wasn't just survival; it was understanding power.
One of the silver-bandana men stepped forward. "You're new around here," he said, voice rough but controlled. "This lane… it has rules."
Selene's hand brushed Waza's shoulder. "We're learning," she said. "Nothing more."
The man studied them for a long moment, then nodded once and stepped aside. The rest of the gang lingered, watching. Waza noticed how influence flowed fear, respect, and recognition woven together in every gesture, every glance. He filed it away.
As they moved deeper, Waza's attention split. His veins pulsed stronger, guiding him subtly toward a narrow alley lined with old neon signs. The hum here wasn't just in his body it was in the walls, the pavement, the pipes above. This part of Glora was alive.
Selene noticed his pause. "You feel it, don't you?"
Waza didn't answer immediately. He crouched near the wall, placing his palm lightly against the stone. Light shimmered faintly under his skin. "The Vein… it's stronger here."
She crouched beside him. "Good. Then today isn't just observation. It's testing. Feel it, listen to it, understand it."
They moved slowly, deliberately. Waza's eyes caught the flicker of movement ahead shadows slipping between stacks of crates, indistinct but purposeful. Selene whispered, "Quiet Hand. They're scouting. Keep your distance."
Waza's pulse quickened. Last night's confrontation had been a taste, but this this was the city itself teaching him. Every corner, every alley, every hidden passage had a story, and the Vein sang them aloud in whispers only he could hear.
Hours passed in careful steps, silent exchanges, and keen observation. By evening, Waza and Selene had mapped the minor factions of this side of Glora, cataloged who moved where, and identified areas of influence and weakness.
Selene finally exhaled, leaning against a lamppost. "Not bad," she said. "The city is yours to read now. But remember, observation alone doesn't win. Knowing when to act… that's everything."
Waza looked at her, then at the streets before them. The hum in his veins had quieted slightly, but not completely. He smiled faintly. "Then let's see who acts first."
And somewhere in the shadows, the eyes of Glora silent, calculating, and unblinking were already watching.