Clang… crack… distant shouts…
From the edge of the scaffold, I watched the city square erupt. Smoke curled into the sky like ink in water, flames licking the edges of barricades hastily erected by factions who had only just realized the world had tilted beneath their feet. Carrow's men collided with Krain's in choreographed chaos an orchestra conducted by fear and miscommunication.
I traced their movements like a cartographer mapping earthquakes. One stumble, a glance too long, a hesitation before pulling a trigger. Each told a story, each could be nudged. My hand rested against the cold railing, feeling the vibration of the ground below, the pulse of lives about to bend to my calculation.
whir… clatter… muffled cry…
A civilian tripped, scattering a crate that rolled into the path of two arguing soldiers. One pivoted, stumbled, drew his blade too late. The other followed instinct, missing by inches. Perfect. Accidents like this were the scaffolding of control. I noted positions, body language, the rise and fall of panic like notes in a score.
My eyes flicked upward at the first burst of smoke from the smoldering market. Faction leaders shouted orders over the din, unaware their signals had been rerouted, misread, delayed all by choices I'd made before breakfast. My grin was quiet but precise. "Ah, organized panic. My favorite hobby."
Crackle… clash… hurried footsteps…
I moved along the scaffold's edge, adjusting a hanging lantern so its shadow fell across a doorway. Just enough to mislead. A patrol veered the wrong way. Another stumbled into a stack of supplies I'd pre-positioned. Tiny manipulations, but enough to cascade. Chaos was a tool; a fire, a weapon. And the first flames had only just begun.
In the crowd below, eyes widened in terror, fists clutched at collars and weapons alike. I cataloged every micro-reaction, every flicker of hesitation. Fear, anticipation, confusion it was all data. And I intended to use it.
Bang… shatter… shout…
A Molotov hit a barricade nearby. The fire sparked, and for a moment, the square became a living painting of heat and smoke, limbs and fury. I allowed myself a dry chuckle. "If only they knew the real game was happening above them."
I pulled back into the shadows, letting the hum of the city beneath the scaffolds mask my retreat. The rebellion was in motion, the pieces moving exactly as I wanted. Yet even I could feel it this was bigger now, wilder than I could fully contain.
I paused, surveying the chaos one last time. The factions fought for territory, for dominance, for survival. I fought with observation, with misdirection, with patience. And it was far more elegant.
"And they say chaos can't be art," I muttered under my breath, stepping back into the labyrinth of corridors that had become my playground.
Soft murmur of distant flames…
The first rebellion had begun. And I was the unseen spark.