WHEN THE CITY STARTS LISTENING

The city didn’t wake up all at once.

It twitched.

Akiro noticed it in the smallest ways first: streetlights humming a fraction too long before turning off, pigeons refusing to land near certain corners, a subtle vibration under his feet, a feeling like static crawling just under his skin whenever he passed a shrine.

He stopped walking midway down an alley and pressed his palm against the brick wall. It was warm.

That was new.

Seems the city’s running a fever, he thought.

Rin watched him from a few steps back. She’d stopped asking what was wrong every time he paused. She was learning his tells the way one learns the timing of traffic lights—imperfectly, cautiously, with the understanding that mistakes could hurt.

“You feel it again,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” he said. He exhaled slowly. “But also…focused. Like it’s paying attention now.”

She didn’t pretend to understand. That was one of the things that made Rin unsettling even before magic entered the equation. She accepted abnormal information the way most people accepted weather reports.

“Wardens are scattering,” she said. “Three seals reported thinning overnight. No Unbound signatures nearby.”

Akiro frowned. “So, it’s not them.”

“No.”

“Then it’s me.”

She didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

The air felt heavier, more aware, like someone—or something—was testing his presence in every direction. A subtle pressure tickled under his skin, and the hair on his arms rose. It was neither fear nor anticipation—something more primal. A recognition that something had changed in the framework of the city itself, and he was the pivot.

They passed a convenience store. The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful chime. Inside, a teenager in an apron stocked shelves while scrolling on his phone.

Normal life continued with aggressive enthusiasm.

Akiro slowed, watching the reflection in the glass. He barely recognised himself anymore, sharp eyes, tense posture, like someone always bracing for impact.

He touched the faint scar on his wrist. It hadn’t been there a month ago.

“I’m still here,” he muttered.

Rin glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t tell her about the dreams. About standing beneath the shrines and feeling them watch back. About waking up with names on his tongue that evaporated before he could hold them. That felt like crossing a line. And lines he’d learned mattered.

The next few blocks passed in silence. Not because they didn’t have words—it was because the city’s pulse made them unnecessary. Akiro could feel energy clinging to corners, pooling under certain streets, coiling around telephone poles like thin snakes of raw potential. Every abandoned alley and suppressed district he had ever walked now seemed alive, whispering. He felt the weight of it, and he shivered.

“You’re tense,” Rin said finally. “The mark—” She gestured at his wrist. “—it’s reacting.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “It’s like it’s trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”

“Or something you need to,” she replied. Her tone was quieter than usual, almost reflective. “…You’ve felt that, haven’t you? Every time we cross a suppression line, every time a seal flickers?”

Akiro nodded. “Every time. It’s…alive. Watching. Waiting.”

Rin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And now it’s…paying attention directly to you.”

“Do I even want it to?” he asked. His voice carried more tension than he realised. “…Because the way it’s looking at me, I don’t think it likes hesitation.”

“You hesitate,” Rin said plainly. “Which is fair. Unlike you, it’s not human.”

Akiro exhaled sharply. “…It feels like the city’s mad at me.”

“Maybe,” Rin said. “…Or maybe it’s mad that it needs you.”

The words hung between them. There was no reassurance in them. Only truth.

Akiro’s hand brushed again against the scar. It pulsed faintly, almost as if it had a heartbeat of its own. “…I thought I was ready for this,” he admitted. “But ready doesn’t feel like this.”

“You’re not,” Rin said flatly. “…And that’s why you are.”

They walked past a shuttered bookstore. Faded posters clung to the windows, advertising events that had happened years ago. A cat slunk along the alley wall, tail high. The cat paused, its fur bristling slightly. Something in the shadows stirred. Akiro froze, hand instinctively hovering over the mark.

“…You see it too?” he whispered.

Rin didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were scanning the distance, noticing the shimmer of the air where magic brushed against reality. “…I don’t know,” she said finally. “…Or maybe it’s just the city reacting. Either way—stay close.”

Akiro stepped closer. “…Is this what it feels like to be…needed?”

Rin didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was soft, almost private. “…It’s the cost of being present.”

He swallowed. “…Present for what?”

“For all of it,” she said. “…Every street, every shadow, every pulse you’ve felt and ignored. You can’t run from this anymore, Akiro.”

He flinched. “…A part of me thought it could?”

Rin’s gaze met his. “Hope. That’s the only reason everyone thinks they can run from something bigger than themselves.” Rin said, walking away.

They reached a small plaza at the edge of a suppressed district. Fountains sat dry, statues cracked and chipped. Magic lingered faintly in the air, a subtle hum under the city’s heartbeat. Akiro felt the pressure spike.

“…It’s stronger here,” he said. “…And…it’s upset.”

“Or impatient,” Rin corrected. “…Either way, it’s noticing you more than before.”

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the vibration under his skin. “…I can feel the weight of every seal in this district. Every block. Every shrine. I can feel where it’s weak.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rin said sharply. “…Not fully, not without understanding the cost.”

“I already understand the cost,” he muttered. “…But understanding doesn’t make it easier.”

“You want it to be easy?” Rin asked. “…Because it won’t be. Not ever.”

“No,” he admitted. “…I just want to know what I’m dealing with. To know I can survive it.”

Rin shook her head. “…Survival isn’t the point. Control is. Influence. Presence. Right now, that’s all you have, and it’s already too much.”

They paused at the edge of the plaza. Akiro’s mark throbbed faintly under his skin. Something cold brushed his neck—paranoia rather than a touch—and he spun, fists clenched. Nothing. Only the city itself is reacting.

“…It’s testing me,” he whispered.

Rin’s eyes narrowed. “…It’s learning you. Mapping you. Waiting to see how far it can push.”

He laughed bitterly, a short, jagged sound. “…I feared the Unbound. The Wardens. Ilya. But, for some reason, I’m not scared of this.”

“It doesn’t have a face,” Rin said. “…But it’s more dangerous than all of them combined.”

Akiro clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar pulse under his skin, the scratch of the scar against his sleeve. “…I know. And yet…Here I am.”

Rin’s shoulders eased slightly, almost imperceptibly. “…That’s the thing about you. You keep showing up.”

He exhaled a long, shaky breath. “…I don’t know if that’s bravery or stupidity.”

“Probably both,” she replied, almost warmly. “…But it’s effective.”

A subtle hum rose under their feet, and the tiles beneath the plaza shifted slightly, the residue of suppressed magic vibrating in response to his presence. Akiro’s breath caught, hand rising instinctively to the scar.

“…I feel it moving,” he said, voice tight. “…It’s flowing under the streets, under the city, converging here. On me.”

“You sure?” Rin asked quietly. “…because it’ll respond to every heartbeat, every step and every choice you’ll—. Either you guide it…or it guides you.”

He swallowed, staring at the uneven pavement. “…I’m tired,” he admitted. “…Of being reactive. Tired of waiting for it to notice me. Tired of wondering if I’m the anchor or the target.”

“You are both,” Rin said firmly. “…And you’ve already proven that. By staying present, by surviving, by refusing to be a tool. That matters.”

Akiro shook his head. “…Not enough.”

“Maybe not,” Rin said. “…But enough for now. And that’s all we ever have.”

The city pulsed beneath them again, faintly glowing, whispering. Something ancient, patient, aware, shifted in the underground lattice.

“…I don’t know if I can control it,” Akiro whispered, staring at the scar. “…But I won’t hide anymore. I can’t.”

Rin grabbed his hand. “…Then don’t. One step at a time.”

Akiro nodded slowly, swallowing the weight of the city’s fever and his own heartbeat. “…One step at a time,” he echoed, voice steadier than he felt.

The city whispered back.

And for the first time, it sounded almost like an agreement.