The fog parts just enough to reveal a figure. At first, I think it's another shadow, but it steps forward deliberately, eyes glinting faintly in the gray haze. The city seems to bend subtly around it, acknowledging its presence.
"You should not linger here," the figure says, calm, deliberate. "But you will. And that is your choice."
I nod, though my throat tightens. Curiosity anchors me.
"The city tests you. It remembers those who came before, those who failed. And it remembers the heir…" Its gaze pierces me. "You may leave. You may stay. Or you may bend it to your will. But every choice has cost."
It steps back, blending into the fog. The silence afterward is oppressive. Shadows twist, whispering: "The heir… the choice… the cost…"
I move forward cautiously. Every step I take bends the streets, twists the alleys, shapes the fog. Pavement pulses faintly beneath my boots, alive and aware. I lift my hand, willing the city to open a path, and the fog thins just enough. Relief surges, fragile and fleeting.
But the city resists. Buildings lean with subtle hostility. Shadows detach from walls, forming distorted faces, fragments of memory and accusation. Windows glare down, doors shift unpredictably. The whispers sharpen: "Do you control it… or does it control you?"
I stumble yet force myself onward. Each street, each misstep, every hesitation ripples through the city, shaping it as it shapes me. The Stranger's words echo faintly: "Every choice has cost."
I realize the truth: the city is alive, intelligent, aware. And I am the heir.
Step by step, shadow by shadow, I learn to claim it.