The world snapped back into place.
Jimmy stumbled forward onto solid stone and barely kept his balance.
He landed hard on the far rooftop, knees buckling, palms slapping against warm tile. The impact rattled through his arms, but he didn't fall.
He forced himself upright immediately.
No dramatic pause.
No victory breath.
He ran.
Behind him, the golden flare detonated where he had been.
Heat rolled across the gap between rooftops, but he was already moving.
The wind didn't surge violently this time. It didn't feel like being yanked by something larger than himself. It was thinner now. Focused. Like a thread instead of a rope.
Better.
Controlled.
His head still throbbed, but the dull emptiness had receded.
Bandwidth: 9%
Jimmy almost laughed.
"Single digits feel generous right now."
You are adapting.
"That sounds like praise."
It is not.
He vaulted a lower ridge and slid down the opposite side of the roof, landing in a crouch behind a cluster of chimneys.
Below, the city spread wide and uneven.
Now that he wasn't in immediate explosion-range, he could actually see it.
Slymare.
Stone everywhere.
Not the polished marble of monuments—weathered blocks stacked into tall, layered structures that felt built over centuries rather than years. Narrow streets twisted unpredictably. Iron lanterns hung from brackets along walls. Cloth banners draped between buildings in muted greens, deep blues, and crimson.
Beyond the closer rooftops, the city rose toward something larger.
Massive.
A fortress-like structure dominated the skyline—walls thick as mountains, towers crowned with battlements, and a central keep rising even higher, its windows reflecting light like watchful eyes.
The Empire of Altharion.
Even from here, Jimmy could feel it.
Authority.
Control.
Weight.
Bootsteps clanged onto the roof behind him.
He didn't turn.
He just moved again, cutting across the roofline toward a series of staggered buildings that descended gradually instead of dropping sharply.
He needed ground level.
Too visible up here.
The wind nudged him forward in subtle bursts.
Not teleporting.
Just… enhancing.
He reached the final roof and dropped into a narrow side street below.
His knees protested, but he absorbed the impact and rolled into shadow.
For the first time since waking in this world, no immediate explosion followed.
No boots thundered behind him.
Just the distant murmur of city life.
Jimmy leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
He forced himself to breathe slower.
In.
Out.
He could still feel the magic in the air now—faint, like static brushing across skin. Not overwhelming. Just present.
He focused on it.
Not pulling.
Not grabbing.
Just noticing.
Passive absorption engaged, A.L.L.I.E. said quietly.
Jimmy blinked.
"You didn't ask that like a command."
Because you initiated it.
He frowned slightly.
"I did?"
Yes.
The system panel flickered briefly in his peripheral vision.
Bandwidth: 12%
It was climbing.
Slowly.
He exhaled.
"Okay," he muttered. "So I can recharge."
Correct. Provided you refrain from panic-casting.
"Fair."
He pushed off the wall and edged toward the mouth of the side street.
Civilians moved through the broader avenue beyond.
Merchants are adjusting goods.
Children darting between legs.
A cart loaded with wooden crates creaked past, pulled by something that looked like a cross between a horse and a heavy-shouldered elk.
No one looked up.
No one seemed aware that an armed squad had just been chasing someone across the rooftops.
Jimmy stepped out cautiously.
He kept his hood up.
Walked.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
He passed a group of men in dark blue cloaks bearing a different sigil—this one a stylized tower surrounded by interlocking rings.
Academy.
He didn't know how he knew that either.
But he did.
They were speaking urgently.
"…circle-less execution," one said.
Jimmy's pulse spiked.
"Impossible," another replied. "No formation? No conduit?"
"Witness reports confirmed displacement without sigil."
Displacement.
So that's what they were calling it.
Jimmy lowered his gaze and kept walking.
If the Academy was talking about him, this had escalated quickly.
He turned another corner and nearly collided with a polished carriage rolling down the street.
Gold trim gleamed along its frame.
Four armored riders flanked it.
The crowd parted automatically.
No one needed to be told.
Authority flowed like gravity here.
The carriage curtains shifted slightly.
For half a second, Jimmy saw a pale face within.
Sharp eyes.
Watching the street with controlled detachment.
The carriage moved on.
He didn't know who had been inside.
But something about that gaze lingered.
He kept moving.
The further he walked from the fortress at the city's heart, the narrower the streets became.
The buildings leaned closer.
Less polished.
Less wealthy.
Guards were fewer here.
But not absent.
He passed a shop window displaying metal cuffs.
Heavy.
Inscribed with faint runic patterns.
His stomach turned.
Property of the Empire pending classification.
The guard's words echoed again.
Jimmy slowed.
He didn't need A.L.L.I.E. to explain what that meant.
If people were born with a single affinity here…
And if nobles controlled classification…
Then someone with "All"—
He swallowed.
"I can't get caught," he murmured.
Correct.
"Thank you for the optimism."
Realism is preferable to optimism.
He reached a small public square—if it could be called that. More like a widening in the street around a dry stone fountain.
He leaned casually against its edge, pretending to rest.
Listening.
Observing.
Across the square, a posted notice caught his eye.
He drifted closer.
The parchment was stamped with a green seal.
The same crest as the guards' armor.
The script was unfamiliar, but as he stared at it, something shifted.
The letters rearranged themselves.
Or maybe his mind did.
He could understand it.
By decree of Clan Vareth, all anomalies are to be reported immediately. Failure to comply constitutes treason. Rewards offered for verified identification.
Anomalies.
Rewards.
Jimmy's jaw tightened.
He glanced around subtly.
No one seemed to be studying the notice.
No one seemed eager to report anything.
But fear hung in the air like humidity.
People here survived by not interfering.
He turned away from the parchment—
And froze.
Across the square, on the second floor of a narrow stone building, someone stood at an open window.
Not a guard.
Not Academy.
Not a merchant.
A woman.
Young.
Blonde hair catching the light.
Posture composed.
She wasn't scanning the crowd like someone searching.
She was looking directly at him.
Jimmy felt it.
Not the casual glance of curiosity.
The steady assessment of someone calculating.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then—
She gave the faintest tilt of her head.
Not a greeting.
Not a challenge.
Recognition.
Jimmy's pulse thudded once.
Hard.
The wind stirred faintly around him.
Unbidden.
Observation: A.L.L.I.E. said quietly.
You have been noticed.
"By who?" Jimmy murmured.
Uncertain. But the probability of political significance is high.
The woman did not wave.
Did not call out.
She simply stepped back from the window.
And disappeared from view.
Jimmy remained where he was for three full seconds.
Then he straightened slowly.
He didn't know who she was.
He didn't know what she wanted.
But something had shifted.
The guards had been hunting prey.
That gaze had not been that.
That had been—
Interest.
Behind him, bells began ringing again.
Not alarm bells this time.
Something heavier.
More official.
Jimmy exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he murmured.
"This just got complicated."
Above the city, banners along the fortress walls stirred in the wind.
And somewhere within Slymare's heart—
Orders were being written.