The city began to change three days before the awakening.
Not in any grand way. No banners, no proclamations. Just small signs that only those paying attention would notice.
Carriages bearing unfamiliar crests rolled through the eastern districts. Well-dressed stewards walked streets that usually only saw hawkers and beggars. Even Willow Rest received a visit—two men in grey robes who spoke politely to Aunt Lan and left behind a stamped notice.
The Awakening Hall would open in four days. All children of age were to present themselves.
That was all.
Life at the orphanage continued as it always did.
Li Shui rose before dawn, finished his chores, trained his body in the narrow courtyard behind the building, and ate his meals in silence. If anything had changed, it was the way people looked at him—longer glances, quieter voices when he passed.
Everyone knew he would be tested.
Da Niu tried to act normal. He failed.
"You're splitting the logs too evenly," he complained one morning, leaning on his axe. "Makes the rest of us look bad."
Li Shui did not slow his rhythm. The axe rose and fell, steady as breathing.
"Then split yours better."
Da Niu barked a laugh. "Hear that? Cold as ever."
But his eyes followed Li Shui's movements carefully. No wasted strength. No unnecessary motion. Even without resonance, Li Shui moved like someone who understood power.
Ah Lan watched more quietly.
She had begun copying resonance-related notices from the streets—old pamphlets, fragments of academy handouts—anything she could get her hands on. At night, she read them by candlelight, lips moving soundlessly.
On the second evening, she slid one such paper across the table toward Li Shui.
"Read."
Li Shui glanced down. It described resonance grades, compatibility, palace formation. He scanned it once and pushed it back.
"You're wasting ink," he said.
Ah Lan frowned. "You didn't even ask what grade you might get."
"I don't need to."
She stared at him, then scoffed. "You're impossible."
Xiao He was the most excited.
He followed Li Shui everywhere, asking questions that had no answers.
"Will it hurt?"
"Can resonances glow?"
"If yours is water, can you make fish?"
Li Shui answered none of them. He simply let the boy cling to his sleeve, as he always did.
On the third day, something changed.
Li Shui noticed it during his morning training.
The courtyard stones were damp from last night's drizzle. He moved through a familiar sequence—push-ups, controlled breathing, slow strikes against the air. When his palm cut forward, the air felt… heavier.
Not resistant. Responsive.
He stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Listened.
There was a faint coolness against his skin, like mist brushing past. When he inhaled, his lungs filled too easily, too smoothly. His heartbeat slowed without effort.
The sensation vanished the moment he focused on it.
Li Shui stood still for a long time.
He did not tell anyone.
That afternoon, while carrying water buckets from the well, Xiao He slipped and nearly fell. Li Shui reacted without thinking, stepping forward and grabbing the bucket—
The water inside did not slosh.
It held.
Perfectly level, as if the surface had frozen in place.
Li Shui's grip tightened.
The moment passed. The water spilled normally, splashing over the rim. Xiao He laughed, unaware of anything strange.
Li Shui said nothing.
That night, rain fell harder than usual.
Li Shui lay awake on his bunk, eyes open, listening to the sound of water striking stone, wood, metal. Each drop felt distinct. Each rhythm clear.
It was not loud.
It was close.
Not inside him—but not entirely outside either.
Three days later, the city bell rang.
The Awakening Hall opened.
Children gathered in groups, escorted by guardians, academy instructors, or—like those from Willow Rest—by no one at all. Aunt Lan stood at the gate and watched them leave, her back straight, her hands clenched behind her.
"Come back," she said simply.
Da Niu clapped Li Shui on the shoulder before heading off with another group.
"Doesn't matter what you get," he said. "Just don't forget how to swing an axe."
Ah Lan adjusted the strap of her bag, then paused.
"…Be careful," she said.
Xiao He hugged Li Shui's waist with all his strength. "Bring me something shiny!"
Li Shui pried him loose gently.
"I will bring myself back," he said.
The Awakening Hall stood at the city's center—a circular stone structure older than most of the surrounding districts. Lines of children stretched from its gates, nervous energy buzzing through the air.
Li Shui took his place at the back.
He did not rush. He did not fidget.
As the sun climbed higher, names were called. One by one, children stepped inside. Some emerged glowing with pride. Some left in silence. A few cried.
Li Shui waited.
By the time shadows lengthened, there were only a handful left.
A steward checked the list, paused, and looked up.
"Li Shui," he called.
Li Shui stepped forward.
He crossed the threshold of the Awakening Hall without hesitation.
Behind him, the doors closed.
And somewhere deep within, something vast stirred—still unawakened, but no longer entirely asleep.