Arthur emerged from the plaza with the creature's corpse still in his vision, but his mind already racing forward. Skylandia never paused, and neither could he. Every echo of movement across broken stone reminded him of how the world judged strength and timing, and how quickly territory could slip away if ignored.
The bodies of the scavengers had long since been dragged into shadowed alleys by other hands, those responsible for keeping order in the sector. Arthur noted this fact without emotion. There was no justice in it, only survival. He had witnessed enough to know that anyone relying on luck or mercy would be erased before noticing the first warning sign.
He shifted his injured leg, testing balance and flexibility, knowing that even a minor misstep now could be fatal. Each step carried him across the fractured plaza, keeping to cover where possible. Broken statues, remnants of Skylandia's forgotten past, offered temporary refuge, and Arthur used them without hesitation. He counted each step in his mind, not out of ritual, but for situational awareness, reinforcing the network of calculations that his body executed instinctively.
A faint murmur reached him, the sound of conversation muffled by stone and wind. Arthur paused and tilted his head. It was human. Not armored, not carrying the efficiency of the enforcement squads. A small group—three men, one woman—moved cautiously along the edge of the sector. Their movements were hesitant, almost panicked, as though they had only just realized the dangers Arthur already navigated without thought.
Arthur observed silently. He could feel the tension emanating from them. Their fear was a tool, revealing priorities, weaknesses, and what they valued most: survival. He did not consider intervening. Each individual's choices mapped themselves naturally across his awareness. Misstep, hesitation, poor planning. These were all weaknesses to be cataloged for later, if necessary.
The woman glanced upward at a section of the crumbling buildings. Arthur noticed the pattern immediately: they were surveying the area, checking the platforms above for potential threats, unaware that someone with eyes trained for such movements was already watching them. He did not flinch at their fear; he simply noted it.
A decision formed in his mind, swift and certain. Observation first, engagement only if necessary. He slipped across the plaza floor, shifting from shadow to shadow, watching their path intersect with the same area he had claimed minutes earlier. He could strike. He could test their reactions. But experience cautioned patience. Immediate action was not required. Timing and control were paramount.
A sudden movement caught the corner of his vision. A scavenger had wandered too close to the edge of a shadowed platform. Arthur froze, every muscle coiling instinctively. The man paused, unaware of the presence above him, unaware of the small figure crouched in deliberate patience. His hands fumbled with a makeshift weapon. The slightest sound would betray him.
Arthur waited. Then, slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, allowing a fragment of sound from the ruined plaza to mask his own movement. The man continued forward, oblivious. Arthur measured the angle, the distance, the wind across broken stone, and decided against intervention. The man's path would intersect with others soon enough. Skylandia's balance did not require him to act at that moment.
He continued forward, silent and precise. As he moved, he scanned for potential vantage points, calculating escape routes, likely ambush spots, and areas where he could manipulate confrontation to his advantage. Every fragment of broken stone, every leaning pillar, every collapsed statue became part of an invisible map in his mind. It was not skill. It was instinct honed by circumstance and necessity.
At the plaza's edge, he encountered evidence of the enforcement group's earlier work. Tracks in dust, slight depressions in stone, marks where bodies had been dragged. Arthur studied each carefully. The paths indicated discipline, efficiency, and the allocation of resources. They were organized, trained, and effective—but predictable. Even perfection has its flaws, and Arthur cataloged each with precision.
From a distance, he noted a building partially intact with a stairwell leading to a higher floor. It offered visibility across a broad expanse of the sector. Arthur ascended cautiously, testing the stair for weaknesses and listening for vibrations in stone that could betray hidden occupants. The interior was empty. Dust swirled in thin shafts of light, revealing patterns of decay. Nothing moved except the wind, and Arthur allowed himself a brief measure of calm.
From his new vantage, he surveyed the sector. Scavengers scurried below, attempting to recover remnants of supplies. Enforcement squads moved with quiet authority, correcting minor disturbances. Skylandia unfolded beneath him in layers of movement and control. Arthur noted the flow: who controlled what, which areas were contested, which were unstable. Every shift and pause was information.
A shadow passed near the edge of his vision. Arthur tensed, analyzing its movement. A rival scout, perhaps, or a creature adapted to human presence. He adjusted posture and stance, waiting for the full reveal. The shadow elongated and vanished into the darkness of a crumbling archway. He did not pursue. Curiosity was irrelevant; certainty was everything.
Minutes passed. Hours, perhaps. Time measured differently when survival dictated attention. He remained still, watching, learning, recording silently. Skylandia's lessons were ongoing, unyielding. Each choice carried weight. Misstep could be fatal. Success demanded control, awareness, and the ability to act decisively when all options were laid bare.
Eventually, the sector quieted. The scavengers disappeared into shadowed streets. The enforcement squads returned to their positions, unaware of Arthur's presence above. He descended carefully, touching each stone to ensure stability. His body protested, injury reminding him of limitations he could not ignore. Skylandia did not forgive carelessness.
Arthur returned to the plaza center. The creature's corpse had been moved. A faint mark in dust indicated removal. He studied the space, noting the ways in which others interacted with the world he had just claimed. The lesson was clear: claiming a space required more than elimination. It required understanding how control manifested in subtle ways, how fear, respect, and obedience intertwined.
He made his decision. He would leave the plaza. Not out of defeat, but because presence alone was insufficient. To hold space in Skylandia required more than awareness; it required enforcement, interaction, and demonstration. He was not ready for that yet.
As he moved toward the ruins beyond, Arthur felt it: a subtle vibration in the air, a presence distinct from human, from the enforced squads, from scavengers. Something watched. Something aware. Something patient.
He paused. Every instinct screamed caution. Skylandia was full of threats, but this one was different. It was not immediately hostile, but it was not neutral. Its attention was directed at him, assessing, measuring, calculating, much like he did to the world around him.
Arthur exhaled slowly. He would meet it eventually. But not now. Timing, patience, and understanding would dictate the first move. Every engagement in this world required advantage. Every life taken or spared left a mark. And Arthur would leave the plaza having observed, survived, and learned enough to remain ahead.
As he walked, shadows shifted around him, stones creaked, and wind whispered through fractured architecture. Skylandia was teaching. And Arthur was listening.