I wake before the city does.
Not because I need to.
Because my body never fully learned how to trust sleep.
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar in a comforting way—plain concrete, faint cracks that form shapes if I stare long enough. One of them looks like a bird. Another like a wound that never quite healed.
I lie there for a moment, listening.
No alarms.
No Arios notifications.
No emergency pings crawling across my thoughts.
Just the hum of the building.
Just breath.
I exhale slowly.
Three in.
Two hold.
Five out.
Mizuki would be proud. Or annoyed that I still count out loud sometimes.
I sit up and run a hand through my hair. It's longer than it should be. I keep forgetting to cut it. Every time I look in the mirror, I hesitate—like changing something might make me lose track of who I am again.
I don't remember choosing this room.
But it feels… mine.
That's enough.
***
Sanctum is quieter in the early morning.
The halls don't echo yet. The lights are dimmed to a warm amber instead of the sharp white used during operations. Somewhere below, someone is already awake—footsteps soft, deliberate.
Yuna.
She always wakes early. Not because she likes mornings, but because mornings don't surprise her.
I pass her near the kitchen.
She's leaning against the counter, mug in hand, hair tied back loosely. She looks… normal. Which I've learned is its own kind of discipline.
"You're up," she says.
"So are you," I reply.
She hums. "Habit."
I grab a cup and pour myself tea. It's weak. I always forget to steep it long enough.
She watches me for a second, then speaks.
"You sleep okay?"
I consider lying.
Instead, I shrug. "I slept."
She snorts softly. "That wasn't the question."
I take a sip and wince at the bitterness. "No dreams. Which is… better."
She nods. She understands what better means in my vocabulary.
Silence settles between us. Not awkward. Familiar.
"You're not training today," she says.
"I know."
"You're not allowed to feel guilty about it."
"I know that too."
She gives me a look. "You're still doing it."
I smile faintly. "Some habits survived a thousand years."
She relaxes a little at that. Sips her coffee.
"You going out?" she asks.
I glance toward the window. The city is still stretching itself awake—lights flickering off, people beginning to move.
"Yeah," I say. "Just… walking."
"Good," she says. "Try being a person."
I nod.
I don't tell her how strange that still feels.
***
Outside, the air is cool and sharp.
The city smells like metal, rain, and bread baking somewhere nearby. I walk without destination, hands in my pockets, blending into the morning crowd.
No one looks twice.
That's new.
I pass a group of students arguing about rankings. A vendor setting up a stall hums off-key. A Mundane man sweeps the sidewalk carefully, as if afraid the ground might object.
I slow down when I notice that.
He glances up, startled when he sees me watching.
"Morning," I say.
"M-morning," he replies, unsure.
I nod and keep walking.
A thousand years ago, people bowed. Or stared. Or avoided my shadow like it burned.
Now they just… exist.
It's strange.
It's good.
***
I stop at a small café near the transit line.
It's cramped, loud, and smells like burnt sugar. I like it.
The barista looks tired. Young. She doesn't recognize me.
"What'll it be?" she asks.
"Whatever you recommend," I say.
She squints. "You trust strangers easily."
I think about that.
"Only when it doesn't matter," I reply.
She laughs and makes me something sweet and overly complicated.
I sit by the window.
I watch people pass.
I try not to measure them by power.
By potential.
By threat.
Just… people.
Arias is quiet today.
That worries me.
Usually it comments. Tracks. Calculates.
Now it just observes.
I let it.
***
Around noon, I end up at a public park.
Children run around a fountain. Someone's dog barks incessantly at pigeons. A group of Ascendants practice minor ability tricks—not to fight, just to show off.
One of them notices me.
A young man. Tier 2 maybe. Fire-type.
He squints. "Hey… aren't you—"
I shake my head gently.
He hesitates, then shrugs. "Sorry. Thought you were someone else."
"Common mistake," I say.
He grins awkwardly and goes back to his friends.
I sit on a bench and close my eyes.
The sun feels warm.
For a moment, an image tries to surface—another sun, another sky, banners fluttering in heat.
I push it down gently.
Not now.
This is my day.
***
In the afternoon, I help an old woman carry groceries.
She scolds me for lifting too much at once. Tells me I'll hurt my back.
I almost laugh.
She thanks me and presses a candy into my hand like it's payment.
I accept it like it matters.
Because it does.
***
By evening, I'm tired in a way that has nothing to do with power.
I return to Sanctum just as the lights come on.
Kaizen's voice echoes from somewhere, arguing loudly about budget allocations. Mizuki passes me in the hall, tablet in hand, muttering about idiots and oversight committees.
She stops when she sees me.
"You look… different," she says.
"Good different?" I ask.
She studies me, then nods. "Grounded."
"I went for a walk," I say.
She blinks. "That's it?"
"That's enough."
She exhales slowly. "Yeah. Maybe it is."
***
Night settles in.
Back in my room, I sit on the bed and unwrap the candy. It's cheap. Artificial. Too sweet.
I eat it anyway.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling again.
The bird-shaped crack is still there.
So is the wound.
But tonight, neither feels threatening.
Arias finally speaks, quietly.
[Observation: Your vital stability improved today. Emotional baseline normalized.]
"Good," I murmur.
[Query: Do you regret not training?]
I think about the café. The park. The old woman. The candy.
"No," I say. "I needed this."
Arias pauses.
[Acknowledged.]
I smile.
Tomorrow, the world will watch again.
The Court will plan.
The seals will strain.
But today?
Today, I was just Shinra.
And for now… that's enough.