The next day passed in pieces.
Kaien rose early, though he hadn't slept well. He dreamed of footsteps in water and voices that spoke in a language he couldn't remember learning. When he opened his eyes, the dreams scattered like smoke, leaving only the weight behind.
He washed his face in the communal basin near the well. The water was cold and shallow. A line had already formed behind him. No one spoke. Just the shuffling of feet and the scraping of buckets against stone.
Work was slow. Deliveries were fewer now. Some merchants had begun preparing for the Selection, hoping to sell herbs or charms to ambitious youths. Others simply closed their stalls, waiting to see what the trials would bring.
Kaien walked through quieter streets, past closed shutters and covered altars. Even the fountain near the center of the slums was bare, the ash swept away, the offerings removed. The children who usually played nearby were gone. The silence felt heavier than usual.
He passed the apothecary again. This time the door was locked.
At the edge of the old tannery, he stopped to rest. A group of men were arguing two blocks down, voices too far to make out but sharp enough to carry. A woman nearby pulled her children inside.
Kaien sat on a half-buried crate and watched the sunlight creep across the alley. Every so often, a shadow moved behind a window. Every so often, a bird cried from a rooftop and then fell silent.
He waited there a long time, just breathing, just existing.
Eventually, someone approached. Not Rin. Not a vendor.
It was the old blind woman from the fountain.
She walked without a stick. Her eyes were the same—clouded, pale, but somehow pointed straight at him.
Kaien stood slowly.
She stopped two steps away.
"You feel it now," she said. Her voice was soft. Dry. "The hum beneath your ribs. The cold that doesn't go away."
Kaien stared at her.
"You should not be here," she whispered. "But you are. And the world is folding to make room."
He said nothing. He didn't know what to say.
She turned, slowly, as if the conversation was over. As if that was all she had come to give him.
"Wait," he said. "What are you talking about?"
She paused.
"You already know."
Then she walked away, bare feet soundless on stone.
Kaien stayed there until the light faded.
When he finally returned to his corner of the slums, night had already settled. The wind had died down. The air smelled like dry leaves and something older.
He lay on his bed of cloth and wood, eyes open, staring at the ceiling until sleep found him without permission.