The city roared around me, flashing lights, sharp sounds, endless movement. It was nothing like the quiet mountain where I'd grown up. Here, everything was loud, rushed, and overwhelming.
I stood at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at a building that stretched so high it seemed to pierce the sky. Its glassy surface reflected the lights below, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that made my head spin. "Humans" I muttered wondering how they came up with this and of what use.
A horn blared, sharp and angry, snapping me out of my daze. I turned quickly, my heart almost popping out of my chest, to see a yellow boxy thing—Grandfather called them "cabs"—speeding past, its driver yelling something that sounded less like words and more like growls.
"Blend in," Grandfather had said. "Don't draw attention to yourself."
Sure. Easy for him to say. He hadn't left me with a guide on how to survive a world where even the ground vibrated beneath your feet.
I forced myself to move, weaving through the throng of people that filled the sidewalk. My nose twitched as scents bombarded me from every direction—sweat, smoke, metal, food. So much food. My stomach growled at the smell of something sweet and greasy coming from a stand on the corner.
A woman holding a strange rectangle to her ear walked straight into me, her sharp perfume stabbing at my nose. "Watch where you're going!" she snapped, not even looking up as she continued talking to... whoever was on the other end.
"Sorry," I muttered, even though she was already gone.
I sighed, glancing around. The sea of faces blurred together, none of them sparing me a second glance. It was strange, how people could be so close yet so separate, each of them wrapped in their own world.
I stopped at the edge of another street, the red glow of a light casting a strange warmth on my face. People moved when it turned green, a synchronized flow that I tried to follow, though my timing was off. Someone bumped into me from behind, muttering under their breath, and I stumbled forward, my steps awkward and unsteady.
"Stay hidden. Don't let your instincts show," Sooner or later, I'll need to learn how to navigate life without his voice always popping up in my head as instructions. He didn't even say how to ignore the urge to sniff the air every time something odd caught my attention or how to resist turning my head at every sharp noise.
A loud crash echoed from somewhere nearby, and I flinched, my body tensing as my instincts screamed at me to run. No one else reacted. People barely looked up from their phones or their hurried steps.
My breath came fast as I tried to calm myself. "They don't hear like you do. They don't see like you do," I reminded myself under my breath.
I took a deep breath, trying to sort through the chaos around me. The smells. The sounds. The lights. It was too much, too fast.
"Blend in," I whispered. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, clenching them into fists to keep myself grounded.
As I wandered aimlessly, my thoughts drifted back to the mountain. The forest had been alive, yes, but it was simple. I could track every shift in the wind, every crack of a twig. Here, the city felt like a storm, every piece moving in a different direction, impossible to follow.
The city stretched endlessly in every direction, a maze of tall buildings and weaving crowds. The honking of cars layered over the constant hum of voices, engines, and distant music. I couldn't figure out how people navigated it all without losing their minds.
A man passed me, carrying a large drink with a lid and a straw. I stared after him, fascinated by the bright liquid inside. What was it? Some kind of human potion? My nose twitched as I caught a faint whiff of sugar and something artificial.
Before I knew it, I'd walked straight into a metal pole. The clang echoed, and I staggered back, rubbing my forehead. A kid nearby burst into laughter, his finger pointing at me like I'd just done something worthy of a comedy show.
"Careful there, buddy," someone called out, their tone mocking but not unkind.
I muttered an apology to no one in particular and ducked my head, my ears burning.
The pole didn't smell like anything useful, but it was sturdy. Stupidly sturdy. My parents had always said my curiosity would get me into trouble. Turns out they were right.
I moved quickly after that, weaving through the crowd and trying not to look as out of place as I felt. The smells of food grew stronger as I approached a row of small carts lining the sidewalk. My stomach growled loudly, and I hesitated.
One of the carts had a display of what looked like meat skewers, the smoke curling upward and carrying a delicious, charred scent. I approached cautiously, watching as the man behind the cart flipped the skewers over a grill.
"You buying or just staring, kid?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
I blinked. "Uh... buying?"
The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Got cash?"
I froze. Cash? My parents had always traded, usually with pelts or other goods. Was "cash" another word for that? I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the only thing in there—a small rock I'd picked up from the clearing near the truck. It was smooth and dark, almost shiny. Surely that counted as valuable, right?
"Will this work?" I asked, holding it out.
The man stared at the rock, then at me, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
"Yeah, kid. Sure," he said, waving me off with a laugh. "On the house. Take one."
He handed me a skewer, and I accepted it, unsure why he'd changed his mind. As I walked away, I took a tentative bite, the smoky flavor exploding on my tongue. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.
As I turned a corner, chewing thoughtfully, I nearly collided with a woman walking her dog. The little creature yipped loudly, its tail wagging as it sniffed at my leg.
"Sorry!" the woman exclaimed, pulling the leash back. "He's just excited."
I crouched down instinctively, staring at the tiny dog. It barked again, and I tilted my head, sniffing the air. It smelled faintly like a wolf, but smaller. Weaker.
The dog barked a third time, and I barked back.
The woman froze, her eyes wide. "Uh... what?"
The dog wagged its tail harder, clearly thrilled, but the woman looked less amused. "Right. Well. Have a nice day." She pulled the leash taut and walked away quickly, glancing over her shoulder as if I might follow.
I straightened, realizing too late that normal humans probably didn't bark at dogs.
"Blend in," I muttered to myself. "Right."
The sun dipped lower as I continued to wander, the shadows of the buildings stretching long across the streets. The city felt no less overwhelming than when I'd started, but at least I'd stopped walking into things. Mostly.
I paused at a corner, staring at the crowd bustling past. Their expressions ranged from focused to distracted, each person moving with a purpose I didn't understand. What were they all chasing?
A faint scent caught my attention, barely there but enough to make me freeze. It was bitter, with a strange metallic tang. Not as strong as the one in the clearing, but similar enough to make my chest tighten.
I turned slowly, trying to pinpoint its source, but the crowd was too thick. People brushed past me without a second glance, their scents mingling and confusing the trail. My pulse quickened as I scanned the faces around me.
Nothing.
The scent faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me standing there, heart pounding and breath shallow. I didn't realize how tense I was until I forced myself to move again, my muscles aching from being so tightly wound.
When I finally made it back to the apartment, the sky had turned a deep shade of purple, the first stars beginning to peek through. Grandfather was sitting at the small table, a mug in his hands. He glanced up as I walked in, his expression unreadable.
"Enjoy your little adventure?" he asked, his tone flat.
I hesitated, unsure how much to say. "It's... different out there."
He nodded, taking a sip of whatever was in his mug. "You'll get used to it."
I wasn't so sure.
"Tomorrow, you go to school," Grandfather said as he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor.
"School?" The word felt strange on my tongue, almost foreign. I wasn't sure I'd heard him right.
He didn't even glance back as he disappeared into his room. "You'll understand when you get there," he said, his tone flat, matter-of-fact. "We need to make you look and behave more like a human—not some person that fell out of space."
I blinked at the empty doorway, the weight of his words slowly settling in. School.
The idea wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Father had mentioned it once, in one of his rare, quiet moments. He'd said it was a place where humans gathered to learn. A place filled with books, papers, and strange tools meant to teach them how to live in their world. He'd told me about the sounds—laughter, chatter, the sharp clanging of bells. At the time, it had sounded almost magical.
Now, the idea felt like stepping into a cage.
I sank back into my chair, staring at the dim glow of the single lightbulb that swung faintly above me. The room was too quiet, the muffled hum of the city outside only amplifying the silence. My mind raced, imagining what this "school" might be like. Rows of humans sitting in lines, staring at one another, waiting for me to mess up. Would they sense it right away? That I wasn't like them?
The thought made my chest tighten.
I pushed up from the chair and paced to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass. The city glimmered below, its lights sprawling in every direction. People moved quickly on the streets, cars zipped by, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.
What would they think of me, those humans in the school? Would they be able to tell that I didn't belong? That I wasn't one of them?
My reflection stared back at me in the glass, my features shadowed by the dim light of the room. I could almost hear Father's voice, calm and steady: "Your instincts will keep you safe, Kyle. Trust them." But instincts didn't help you blend in. They didn't help you sit still in a room full of people and pretend you were just like them.
"School," I muttered again, testing the word. It felt heavy, foreign, and yet strangely... intriguing.
For the first time since leaving the mountain, I felt something stir inside me. It wasn't fear, though that was still there, curling in the pit of my stomach. It was curiosity.
What was it like to live among humans? To walk their halls, sit in their classrooms, and learn their ways? Father had always spoken about the dangers of their world, but he'd also told me about its wonders. Maybe school would give me a glimpse of that.
Or maybe it would be the place I slipped up, and everything fell apart.
I sighed and leaned my forehead against the glass, the coolness soothing the dull ache building behind my eyes. Outside, the city continued its restless dance, unaware of the boy watching from the shadows.
Tomorrow would come. Whether I was ready or not.