The night air smelled different here sharp, metallic, and unfamiliar. Waza stood at the edge of the bridge connecting Glora to the neighboring city, its skyline jagged against the fading purple sky. Beyond this line, the rules changed. Streets whispered in new tongues, alleys moved with different rhythms, and power wasn't just in muscle it was in presence, reputation, and fear.
Selene adjusted her hood, eyes scanning the distant streets. "This is where it gets interesting," she said. "Everything you learned in Glora… it's a starting point. Here, you'll test it."
Waza nodded, quiet. The Vein pulsed faintly beneath his skin, attuned to the subtle currents of life and danger around him. He could feel energy shifting in the crowd even from this distance figures moving with precision, others observing from shadows, and some too bold, showing power they didn't fully control.
As they stepped off the bridge, a new faction made its presence known: The Obsidian Hand. Unlike the gangs in Glora, their control was subtle no loud fights, no open displays of cash or weapons. Just influence. Quiet. Deadly.
A man with a shaved head and a scar tracing down his cheek approached them. His eyes were calculating, assessing, almost testing. "Selene," he said, tone neutral but edged with authority. "And you brought… the new one?"
Selene's lips curved into a faint smirk. "He observes. That's enough."
Waza stayed silent, letting the man's gaze meet his. The Vein throbbed faintly, giving him instincts he had yet to fully understand. He didn't move, didn't flinch. Just stood, absorbing. The air felt thicker here, charged with quiet authority.
"Observation is a skill," the man continued, circling him slowly. "Most fail because they see what they want to see, not what is."
Waza tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the truth. Inside, he cataloged every movement, every gesture, every word the language of control, dominance, and submission.
Selene leaned close. "Remember, Waza, you're still learning. Don't be tempted to act until you fully understand."
Across the street, a group of women watched from the shadows not as threats, but as silent operators. Their presence added weight to the Obsidian Hand's power. Waza noted them, memorized their positions, and filed them away in the quiet corners of his mind.
The scarred man finally stopped in front of Waza, eyes piercing. "You survive by knowing what's around you, who controls it, and who might challenge you. Miss any of it, and you vanish."
Waza remained still. No words. No reactions. Just observation.
Selene's hand brushed lightly against his arm. "You're ready to see their world, but not yet to play their game," she whispered.
And as they moved deeper into the neighboring city, Waza understood one truth: power here was different, and every glance, every movement, could be a trap or a key.
The streets of Glora had taught him observation. The neighboring city would teach him strategy.