The city lay quiet after the storm of battle. Broken stone, blood-streaked alleys, and the groans of the wounded reminded everyone who had survived that a new force had risen.
Rayon stood atop a high rooftop, hollow eyes scanning the horizon. His recruits moved silently below, repairing, cleaning, and reorganizing. But he didn't speak. He wasn't thinking about territory, recruits, or even the Hunters. He was thinking about himself—and the threads he could weave.
Rayon flexed his fingers. The Hollow Strings responded immediately, writhing slightly before settling into the air like liquid shadows. He could feel their pull on the environment, the faint tugs on perception in those below, and the subtle influence on thought patterns.
He let the strings flow around him, testing limits. Small thoughts became suggestions, minor movements nudged without anyone noticing, even subtle sensory perceptions adjusted for his advantage.
This is just the surface, he thought. There's so much more I can do. The Strings aren't just weapons—they are perception, reality… control.
Rayon closed his eyes and focused. He felt the strings connect not only to the physical, but to the mental—the senses of those around him. Touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste, intuition… all were subtly adjustable. He could guide them, influence them, bend them.
A thought flickered: perfect hypnosis. Not just suggestion, but complete control over an individual's perception, reaction, and six senses. A dangerous art, one that could be taught only by experience, observation, and subtle nudging.
Rayon smiled faintly. Not yet. But soon. The right moment, the right pressure… I'll understand it fully.
He tested on the city itself. Hollow Strings flowed silently, nudging a drunkard to stumble, guiding a merchant to a nearby alley, influencing a petty thief to look elsewhere. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but the effect was cumulative.
Control doesn't come from force alone, he mused. It comes from weaving the environment, the people, and perception together. That's the art.
And as he experimented, Rayon realized something darker: the more he pushed, the more his own senses adapted. He could feel intent, detect fear, spot hesitation, and predict actions before they fully formed. He was evolving—beyond the gutter-born boy he once was, into something far more dangerous.
Rayon opened his eyes. Hollow Strings danced across his knuckles, fingers curling and flicking like a predator testing the edges of its cage. His recruits watched silently, unaware of the full extent of what their leader could do.
The Hunters will come, he thought. Kaelen and the others. They'll arrive thinking they understand the game. But the game isn't just about fighting—it's about knowing, controlling, and bending every thread before they can act.
The city slept beneath him, oblivious. And Rayon's web stretched silently, unseen, unstoppable.