The change was not immediate, but it was unmistakable.
Beyond the wall, the ground widened. Streets no longer pressed inward, and the air itself felt less brittle. Ivor became aware of it within a few seconds, a subtle thickness, like breathing through deeper water. Mana here did not cling thinly to surfaces the way it did in the Shrouded district. It moved and lingered.
The wolf's pace remained steady as they passed between buildings that were no longer thrown together out of necessity.
Stone replaced rotting timber. Wood was treated, reinforced. Each structure stood apart from the next, separated by narrow stretches of open ground. Some had enclosed gardens bordered by low walls, their soil dark and carefully tended.
People moved through the streets without keeping to the walls.
They stood straighter. Their steps were firmer. Bodies shaped by work and training rather than hunger. Clothing was intact and purposeful, layered fabric reinforced at the joints, leather threaded with dull metal, boots heavy enough to strike stone without hesitation.
Beasts were present here too, but not as they were in the Shrouded district.
Broad-backed bulls hauled carts stacked with stone and timber, their collars slimmer, fitted rather than brutal. Other beasts moved under direction instead of force, guided by handlers who walked beside them, hands resting loosely at their sides rather than gripping chains.
Ivor kept his gaze low, but his awareness stretched outward all the same. Mana brushed his skin without thinning, without scattering. Everything felt denser and more real. To him it felt like he went from a colorless world to a colorful world.
They did not head toward the inner city.
The wolf veered instead onto a wide road that curved away from the central flow, toward a quieter quarter where the buildings grew taller and more uniform. After several minutes, it slowed before a four-story structure built from grey stone.
The architecture was unique to him.
Clean lines. Reinforced corners. Narrow windows set deep into the walls.
The wolf came to a halt.
"Down," the hooded man said.
Ivor swung his leg over and stepped onto the stone. The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt the mana beneath it, settled deep and stable.
"Stay," the man said.
The wolf lowered its head immediately.
The man gestured toward the entrance and walked. Ivor followed, adjusting the strap of his bag.
The door closed behind them with a muted thud, cutting off the street and the wolf's presence.
Inside, the building was not empty.
The hall was wide, its floor laid with smooth stone. Benches lined one wall, several already occupied. A pair of men sat stiffly with hands folded, eyes forward. A woman near a notice board, reading without moving. Two boys close to Ivor's age sat together at the far end, and few young men stood in a corner discussing something.
Lamps hung at even intervals, their light steady and muted. Everything felt maintained. Observed.
Ivor was aware of how clean it was. He remembered places like this from old memories, but those memories were faded, indistinct, as if viewed through water.
The man stepped forward and removed his hood as they approached the counter.
He was younger than Ivor had expected. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Sharp-eyed. Clean-cut, short dark hair.
He placed the scroll on the counter.
The woman behind it looked up.
"Hello Oren!". The man gave a subtle nod.
She was unawakened.
Mana ignored her completely, flowing around her as if she were empty space. After his own awakening, the absence was striking to Ivor.
She broke the seal and read.
"Awakened from the Shrouded district," she murmured. Her brow lifted a fraction. She glanced at Ivor, then back to the scroll. "That's rare."
The young man leaned one elbow on the counter. "First this year?"
She gave a short breath that might have been a laugh. "First in two."
He blinked once. "Oh."
She set the scroll aside and pulled another from beneath the counter, uncapping her pen. Ink moved quickly across the page. Her eyes returned to the original document more than once.
Ivor let his gaze drift across the hall.
Notice boards hung along the wall, filled with posted orders, pictures, warnings. The colors were familiar, deep browns and muted blacks, but without rot. Without the desperation of the Shrouded district.
The woman rolled the second scroll closed.
"We'll need to assess your mana core grade," she said. "Routine."
She turned to the young man. "Wait outside."
Oren paused for half a second, then nodded and stepped back toward the hall.
The woman gestured for Ivor to follow and led him through a narrow side door.
The room beyond was small and bare.
At its center stood a low stone pedestal. Set into it was a shallow basin, smooth and pale, veined faintly with crystal. Beside it stood a tall glass beaker fixed into a metal frame. Four horizontal marks were etched into the glass at even intervals.
"Place your hand in the basin," the woman said.
Ivor did.
"Release mana at a steady rate. Not forcefully. Maintain it for ten seconds."
He nodded.
Mana flowed from his core, into his palm.
Blue mana began flowing out of his palm and into the basin.
The basin absorbed it immediately. Thin lines etched into the stone faintly lit up as the mana spread through them. A moment later, the glass beaker beside it responded.
Clear water appeared inside the beaker.
Ivor's eyes lifted slightly despite himself.
As the mana continued to flow, the water level rose at a steady pace. The clear liquid slowly took on a faint blue tint, as if the mana were dissolving into it rather than sitting on the surface.
He watched it, fascinated.
One second.
The level climbed without wavering.
Three seconds.
It reached the first mark and continued past it.
Five seconds.
The glow deepened, not brighter, but heavier, as though the liquid itself had gained weight.
The woman's pen slowed.
Seven seconds.
The level reached the third mark and stopped.
It did not spill over. It did not recede. It held.
Ten seconds.
"Enough," she said.
Ivor withdrew his hand.
The blue glow drained from the beaker, sinking back into nothing. The glass returned to transparency.
The woman looked at the markings. Then at him.
"High-grade mana core."
She said it evenly, but her eyes paused on him a little longer as she wrote. A new notation was added.
Ivor noticed her reaction. He said nothing, but his father's words surfaced unbidden. Mana cores grade.
Low. Medium. High. Supreme.
Medium was common. High was rare. Supreme was something spoken of vaguely, never seen.
She rolled the scroll closed and did not hand it to him.
"Let's wait outside while I complete the rest of the stuff," she said at last.
She opened the door and led him back into the main hall.
She did not call Oren.
She pointed to a bench along the wall. Ivor nodded and sat down as instructed.
He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the stone floor beneath his boots. His breathing remained steady, slow enough not to draw attention, but his awareness sharpened all the same. He had noticed the brief change in the woman's expression, the flicker she had failed to fully conceal.
His mother's rules lingered in the back of his mind.
So he stayed still, senses stretched outward, waiting for whatever would follow.