The city never truly slept. Beneath its glittering skyline and neon haze, shadows thrived. The streets buzzed with a rhythm only those who lived on the edge could hear.
In a cramped attic room above a forgotten bookstore, a young man sat cross-legged, his eyes closed.
Around him, a quiet orchestra of life stirred—a sparrow preened its feathers by the open window, a mouse scurried across a pile of paper scraps, and a black cat perched on the desk, its gaze unblinking and intent.
Through their eyes, he saw everything.
The alley behind the mayor's mansion, where a courier exchanged a briefcase for a nod.
The underground club, where a deal was sealed with a handshake too firm to be casual.
The rooftops, where a pair of operatives whispered urgently, unaware of the crow overhead.
This was his domain. Nothing occurred in the city without his knowledge. The city spoke through its smallest inhabitants, and he was the one who listened.
As he observed, a conversation among the city's elite caught his attention—men from prominent families gathered in the quiet luxury of a secluded garden. Intrigued, he focused his senses through a nearby pigeon perched innocuously on a railing.
"Have you heard of the Awakening?" one man asked, his voice low and sharp.
"Yeah," another replied. "Something about the rising mana concentration."
"I'm not talking about that," the first man snapped. "I mean the ancient beasts—the ones from the old stories."
The group fell silent, tension thickening in the air. Finally, another man scoffed. "You can't seriously believe that. It's just a myth—something delusional people made up to sow fear and chaos."
"No," the first man said, leaning forward. "Let me tell you something. Not many are privy to this, but long ago, when the planet was a mana haven, powerful beasts roamed the earth. Creatures of unimaginable strength. Then, something happened—the mana began to decline sharply. And as a means of survival, those beasts went into hibernation, waiting for the day the mana concentration would rise enough to sustain them again."
The others stared at him, their skepticism melting into unease.
"Do you mean to say—"
"I mean to say they're waking up," the man interrupted, his voice grim. "And when they do, this world will change forever."
The young man in the attic drew back, his connection severed. The black cat growled low, its ears flattening. The sparrow fluttered to the ceiling, chirping nervously. Even the mouse stilled, its small body tense with instinctual fear.
Something big was coming.
And he had to be ready.