The city hadn't changed, but he had. Every step he took felt like the ground had shifted slightly beneath him. He could no longer walk streets without noticing the tremors, the faint pulse beneath walls and cobblestones, the way shadows clung longer than they should. Nothing was as it seemed. And yet, the streets looked the same. Life went on.
He didn't know how to explain it, not even to himself. That pulse, that pressure in his chest, had grown sharper, quieter, persistent. It wasn't just a sensation anymore; it was a rhythm. A signal. Something alive within him, testing boundaries he didn't yet understand.
As he turned a corner, he saw a child crouched on the edge of an alley, a stray dog next to her. She wasn't crying, wasn't screaming. She was watching a shadow ripple along the wall. Her hair was messy, falling over her face, but her eyes were too bright, too attentive. The pulse in his chest reacted immediately. It wasn't just instinct—it was recognition.
"Hey," he said, voice low, careful. "Are you… okay?"
The girl didn't flinch. She tilted her head slightly, regarding him with the same detached curiosity that the stranger had shown. Then she smiled faintly, almost mischievously.
"You feel it too," she said.
He froze. Not because of her words, but because of the calm certainty behind them. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't reacting to danger. She was observing.
"I… I don't know what you mean," he admitted.
"You don't have to," she said. "It tells you. If you listen." Her gaze flicked to the alley behind her, where shadows pooled unnaturally. "Most people never hear it."
He followed her glance and saw a ripple across the darkness, subtle, like smoke drifting backward. The pulse in his chest flared, faster now, insistent. It wasn't just him noticing this time. The girl's presence amplified it, made it sharper, more defined. He had no idea why, but it felt alive.
Then the shadow moved.
Not quickly. Not violently. But deliberately. A humanoid shape emerged, malformed, like someone had taken clay and twisted it wrong. Its eyes glowed faintly red, its movements jerky but purposeful. The child didn't move. He wanted to grab her, to run, but the pulse told him to wait.
Instinctively, he stepped forward. The warmth in his chest surged. He reached toward the shadow without thinking, and it hesitated, its form flickering. He wasn't controlling it—not yet—but his Essence had reacted, and the creature paused.
"Good," the girl whispered. "Not forcing. Let it feel you, let it learn."
"Learn?!" he almost shouted, but stopped. The absurdity of the situation—the pulse in his chest, the twisted creature, the calm child giving instructions—made him almost laugh. A tiny, dry laugh escaped. The girl glanced at him, and for a moment, her expression softened.
"You're funny," she said. "Most people panic. You… don't."
He frowned. "Funny? I'm scared out of my mind."
"That's different," she replied, almost seriously. "Panicking isn't noticing. Noticing is survival."
The shadow jerked forward suddenly, small and fast, and he felt the pulse spike. His chest tightened. The warmth in him surged outward, instinct guiding movement. The shadow stumbled back, its glow dimming. He hadn't acted by thought, only by reaction. His Essence had responded on its own.
The child clapped once, softly. "Good. You felt it. You didn't fight. You just… existed."
He stared at her, exasperated. "Existed? That's your advice?"
"Better than yelling," she replied. Then her gaze drifted to the street, as if sensing something beyond the visible. "Others will come. Some you won't hear. Some you will wish you hadn't."
The warmth in his chest dimmed slowly, leaving him slightly drained. The shadow slipped away into the alleys, disappearing entirely. The pulse in his chest lingered, a faint hum that refused to vanish.
"You'll need to get used to this," the child said. "The threads are everywhere. They watch. They test. They wait."
"I don't even know what threads are," he said.
"You will," she replied, stepping back into the alley's shadow. "But remember this—Essence isn't power. It's patience. And patience can kill you if you ignore it."
Before he could ask her name, she was gone. Only the faint ripple of her passing remained, subtle as a breath in the wind.
He exhaled. The city felt heavier now. Every corner, every alley, every shadow might contain something like the twisted thing he'd seen. He realized, slowly, that survival wasn't about strength. It was about noticing, understanding, and restraint.
And he wasn't ready for that. Not fully.
But he could feel the threads moving, waiting, humming, and he knew one thing for certain: the pulse in his chest would not be ignored.