I wake up slower this time.
That alone feels like progress.
No sudden jolt.
No instinctive reach for power that isn't there.
No echo of a hall that no longer exists.
Just the soft awareness of my body remembering where it is.
Morning light leaks through the window in thin stripes. Dust drifts lazily in the air, catching the glow. For a long moment, I just watch it.
A thousand years ago, light meant vigilance.
Now it just means… morning.
I sit up, stretch, feel the quiet ache in my shoulders. The ache is human. I welcome it.
Arias is silent again.
Not dormant.
Not gone.
Just… respecting the space.
That might be the strangest thing of all.
***
I shower, dress, and step into the corridor.
Sanctum is alive now. Not frantic. Productive.
People pass me with nods, casual greetings, familiarity earned not by legend but by proximity. Someone complains about a malfunctioning lift. Someone else laughs too loudly.
I like these sounds.
They're unimportant.
In the kitchen, Kaizen is already there, leaning against the counter with a protein bar half-unwrapped.
He looks at me, squints, then snorts.
"You look like you actually slept."
"Careful," I say. "I might make it a habit."
"That'd be disappointing," he replies. "Hard to mythologize a well-rested anomaly."
I pour myself coffee this time. Stronger than the tea yesterday. Bitter, grounding.
Kaizen watches me over the rim of his mug.
"You know they're watching you more closely today," he says casually.
"I know."
"You don't seem bothered."
"I am," I reply. "I'm just choosing not to show it."
He nods. "Good strategy. Makes them nervous."
Silence stretches between us.
Then, softer, "You holding up?"
I meet his gaze.
"Yes," I say honestly. "Today, I am."
He claps my shoulder once and leaves without another word.
That, too, feels human.
***
I spend the morning in the archives.
Not because I'm looking for answers.
Because I want to touch things that have survived without me.
Books.
Records.
Mistakes written down so they wouldn't be repeated—and repeated anyway.
Akari finds me there, of course.
She always does.
"You like this place," she says, settling onto the floor beside a stack of old files.
"I like quiet," I reply. "And things that don't expect anything from me."
She hums. "That's a lie."
I glance at her.
She smiles gently. "You expect something from yourself."
I don't argue.
She opens one of the files and scans it briefly.
"People are talking," she says. "Not loudly. But… differently."
"About me?"
"About choice," she answers. "That's worse."
I lean back against a shelf. "I didn't mean to start anything."
"I know," she says. "Neither did you, a thousand years ago."
That lands heavier than she intended.
I close my eyes briefly.
"Does it ever stop?" I ask. "The ripples?"
Akari considers the question seriously.
"No," she says. "But they change shape."
***
At noon, I train.
Not power.
Control.
Mizuki oversees it remotely, projecting parameters onto a blank wall while muttering about idiots who thought observation could replace understanding.
I practice grounding techniques. Breathing. Focus. Letting sensations pass without reaction.
It's harder than fighting.
Arias assists carefully, offering data only when I ask for it.
[Heart rate stable. Cortisol elevated but declining.]
"Stop narrating," I mutter.
[Apologies.]
I almost smile.
***
Later, I sit with Yuna on the roof again.
She's sharpening her weapon with slow, methodical strokes. The sound is rhythmic. Calming.
"You're quieter today," she says.
"I think I used up most of my words yesterday."
She nods. "That happens."
We sit there for a while.
Then she speaks again.
"You scare people," she says plainly.
"I know."
"You don't mean to."
"I know."
She glances at me. "You scare me sometimes too."
I meet her eyes, surprised.
"But," she continues, "you've never scared me into silence."
That matters more than I know how to say.
"Thank you," I reply instead.
She goes back to sharpening.
***
Evening brings a small incident.
A dispute near the outer gate. A Tier 3 Ascendant arguing with a Mundane worker. Voices raised. Power flaring—not enough to hurt, but enough to intimidate.
I arrive before it escalates.
The Ascendant recognizes me.
Fear flashes across his face.
Not awe.
Fear.
I hold up a hand.
"Stop," I say.
He freezes.
I don't threaten.
I don't glare.
I don't invoke authority.
I just stand there.
"This ends now," I say. "You walk away."
He hesitates.
Then he does.
The Mundane worker stares at me like I've changed gravity.
"Th-thank you," he says.
I nod. "You didn't need me," I reply. "You just needed someone willing to say no."
He doesn't understand that yet.
But he will.
***
Night comes quietly.
I return to my room and sit on the edge of the bed.
The ceiling cracks are unchanged.
But I am.
Arias speaks once more, voice thoughtful.
[Observation: You are redefining equilibrium at a local scale.]
"I'm just living," I say.
[Correction: Sometimes that is enough to disrupt systems.]
I lie back and stare upward.
Tomorrow, there will be plans.
Observers.
Threats wearing polite faces.
But today?
Today, I walked.
I listened.
I refused when it mattered.
And I rested.
For a man without a name, that feels like progress.