The building was quieter than Kael expected.
He had followed the street only as far as necessary—enough to confirm that the alley did not end in a dead zone, enough to understand that people moved here with purpose, not fear. When he finally pushed himself upright, it had taken longer than it should have. His legs trembled as if they'd forgotten the agreement they once had with the rest of his body.
Walking took him to the nearest structure that looked like it expected strangers.
It was large, built from the same stone as the alley but finished with cleaner edges. Wide doors stood open, attended not by guards or wards but by a single desk set back from the entrance. Light poured from inside, pale and even.
People went in.
People came out.
None of them looked surprised to be alive.
Kael paused at the threshold and waited for someone to stop him.
No one did.
Inside, the air was warmer. Not comforting—just regulated. The hum threaded through the walls and floors like a heartbeat too precise to be natural. It vibrated faintly in his bones.
The space opened into a broad hall. Counters lined the walls, each marked with symbols he did not recognize but instinctively understood as functional.
Order, he realized.
Not peace. Order.
He joined the shortest line.
Ahead of him, a woman argued quietly with an attendant.
"I passed the aptitude trial," she said. "Twice."
The attendant did not look up. "Your score places you in auxiliary support."
"I've fought before."
"So have many."
She stepped aside, jaw clenched.
When it was Kael's turn, the attendant asked for identification.
"I don't have one."
The attendant sighed and gestured to the counter. "Hand."
The surface warmed instantly. Light flared beneath Kael's skin.
Pressure followed.
Not pain. Resistance.
The device hummed louder, then stuttered.
The attendant frowned.
"Again."
Kael removed his hand, then placed it back.
The pressure came faster this time, sliding around his ribs, coiling in his chest.
The device flickered violently, then went dark.
Silence spread.
The attendant swallowed. "Please wait."
A taller official approached.
"What happened?"
"Scan failure. Twice."
The official studied Kael. "Name?"
"Kael."
"Family name?"
"Ardent."
She repeated it once, quietly.
"Hand."
The device responded sluggishly.
A single unreadable line appeared.
The official frowned.
"That's not possible."
The attendant leaned closer. "What does it say?"
"It says nothing."
She looked at Kael.
"You are unregistered."
The word landed heavy.
"What happens now?" Kael asked.
"There are procedures," she said. "Probation. Limited access."
She gestured to a side corridor.
"I'll take it," Kael said.
She studied him, then nodded.
"Escort him. Log the anomaly."
"Under what category?" the attendant asked.
She paused.
"Unclassed."
As they walked, Kael felt the faint resistance return, tightening subtly, as if something unseen had adjusted around him.
The system did not know where to place him.
That was dangerous.
It was also familiar.