"Just trying to figure out where I fit," Cel said finally.
The bartender's expression softened. "That's harder than fighting monsters, sometimes." He refilled the tankard one more time. "For what it's worth? You're young. Chosen. Enrolled at the Academy. You've got time to figure it out."
Time.
Yes. He had that now.
Cel drank the rest of his ale and stood. The world remained steady - no spinning, no stumbling. Just the same clarity he'd had walking in.
"How much do I owe you?"
The bartender tallied it up. Cel paid and turned toward the door.
"Hey," the bartender called after him. "Come back sometime. You're good company. Quiet, but good."
Cel nodded once and pushed through the door into the night.
The warmth at his back faded quickly, replaced by the sharp bite of cold wind cutting through the fabric of his cloak.
Then it came - a rush of energy flooding through his veins, vivid and immediate. His muscles responded instantly, tension draining from shoulders he hadn't realized were tight.
He looked up. The near-full moon hung overhead, bright and clear against the darkness. Its silver light poured down across the rooftops and cobblestones, washing everything in pale radiance.
Lunar Vigor filled his core with each breath, effortless and automatic.
Cel's hand fell from the door.
He should go back to the Academy. It was late - past midnight, probably. The streets were empty except for the occasional pair of city guards, their lanterns flickering in the distance.
But his feet didn't move toward the Academy district.
What was the point in going back?
His room at the Academy held nothing. A bed he'd slept in once. Four walls. The academy uniform they'd given him, which he wasn't even wearing. No belongings. No books. Nothing that marked the space as his.
He could keep walking and it wouldn't matter.
So instead, he wandered further. No destination in mind. Just one foot in front of the other, following whichever street looked most empty.
His hand moved to pull up his hood, then stopped halfway. There was no one watching. No reason to hide his face in empty streets. He let his arm drop back to his side.
The city unfolded around him in layers - wide merchant boulevards giving way to residential quarters, then back to commercial districts with their locked storefronts.
Evening dew slicked the cobblestones, making them gleam faintly in the moonlight. His boots made soft sounds against the stone - the only noise besides distant wind and the creak of hanging shop signs.
The moon tracked overhead as time began to blur.
Eventually, footsteps echoed from a cross-street ahead - measured, steady. Two sets.
Cel slowed but didn't stop. A moment later, two city guards rounded the corner, their armor catching moonlight. They carried halberds and wore the royal crest on their chests - the seven divine marks woven together into a single symbol, each deity's power equal and intertwined.
The older guard, a man with gray threading through his beard, raised a hand. "Hold there."
Cel stopped.
Both guards approached, their postures relaxed but alert. The younger one carried a lantern, though the moonlight made it almost unnecessary.
"Bit late for a child to be wandering the streets," the older guard said. His tone was gentle, concerned. "Where are your parents? You lost?"
"I'm not a child."
The guard's eyebrows rose. He glanced at his partner, who looked equally uncertain.
"I'm a Chosen," Cel continued. "Enrolled at the Academy."
Both guards straightened slightly. The older one's expression shifted from concern to something closer to embarrassment.
"Ah." He cleared his throat. "Apologies, young master. We didn't—the hour is late, and we thought..." He trailed off, clearly unsure how to finish.
"It's fine."
The guards exchanged another glance. The older one touched his forehead in a brief salute. "Thank you, young master. Safe travels."
They moved past him, continuing their patrol. Their footsteps faded down the street behind him.
Cel kept walking.
The capital was safe - safer than anywhere else in this world. The outer walls kept rift-creatures at bay. Patrols like the one he'd just passed maintained order within. Crime existed, but it was small. Pickpockets. Drunken brawls. Nothing that threatened a Chosen.
He drifted through different districts, watching the architecture change. Older buildings with carved facades. Newer construction in clean geometric lines. A district where every building seemed to be made of the same pale stone, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
The buildings gradually began to thin and the street widened. A wall rose ahead - not the outer wall, but one of the inner defensive rings that divided the capital into sections.
Cel followed it until he found stairs. They ran up the wall's exterior in a long straight climb, wide enough for soldiers to move in formation. He climbed without hesitation.
The walkway at the top stretched wide - enough room for soldiers to move in formation if needed. Crenellations lined the outer edge, their gaps offering views of the city below and the darkness beyond.
He moved to the outer edge and looked out.
Even from here, several districts away, the outer wall was visible - a massive barrier of stone that encircled the entire capital. Beyond it lay darkness. Not the comfortable darkness of night, but something deeper. Emptier.
The world outside human territory.
Cel's hands rested on cold stone as he stared out at that boundary. The wall stood as humanity's declaration: this far and no further. Everything within was controlled, patrolled, protected. Everything beyond belonged to the rifts and the creatures that crawled through them.
Two worlds, divided by stone.
Inside the walls - clans, families, hierarchies. Places where people belonged to something larger than themselves. His father's house. The Academy. Even the Reckoning, with its numbered ranks and unified purpose.
Outside - nothing but survival. No expectations. No names that carried weight. Just you, the next threat and the question of whether you'd live through it.
Cel had been cast out of one world but couldn't fully enter the other.
He belonged nowhere.
His fingers tightened on the stone. The cold bit into his palms.
The moon moved overhead, its light shifting across the landscape. Minutes passed, or maybe hours.
Finally, he turned and walked back down the stairs.
The days blurred together.
Morning came and Cel walked. Sometimes he had direction - the Moon Church, the Golden Hart. Sometimes he didn't. His feet carried him through districts he'd never seen, past buildings he'd never remember.
He visited the church every day.
Most days it was empty - just him and the stone altar, the quiet, and the faint scent of old incense. He didn't pray. Just sat in the back pew and let the silence settle over him.
On the third day, Lyra was there.
She was arranging flowers at the altar when he entered. Her hands moved with practiced care, adjusting stems until the arrangement satisfied her. When she turned and saw him, her face lit up.
"You came back."
They talked. She asked about the Academy, about settling into the capital. He answered carefully, keeping his responses vague but not dishonest. She told him about her week - a book she'd been reading, her frustration with particularly difficult embroidery patterns.
The conversation felt easy. Natural. Like talking to someone he'd known his whole life.
Because he had.
When she finally had to leave, she smiled and said she hoped to see him again soon. He nodded, watching her walk away.
After that, he saw her twice more that week. Both times, they talked. About small things. Safe things. Nothing that would make her look too closely at the stranger who kept appearing when she prayed.
The rest of the time, he wandered.
Markets where vendors called out prices for vegetables and salted meat. A plaza where street performers juggled fire while children watched. The craftsmen's quarter, where the ring of hammers on metal echoed from open forges.
But every evening, he ended up at the same place. The tavern.
The bartender remembered him now. Didn't ask questions, just poured the ale and occasionally talked to him.
Alcohol still did nothing. He drank anyway.
On the fourth night, a drunk man stumbled into him on the way out. The man mumbled an apology and lurched away.
On the seventh night, two men started fighting over a card game. The bartender separated them with practiced efficiency, throwing both out into the street. The tavern settled back to normal within minutes.
Cel watched it all with the same detached interest he gave everything else.
The city moved around him. People lived their lives - working, arguing, laughing, planning.
None of it touched him.
He walked through it like a ghost, present but not participating. The moon rose every night and filled him with power he didn't use.
Until the tenth morning, when he finally turned his steps back toward the Academy.
The building looked the same as when he'd left. Clean lines, organized grounds, no one in sight. He passed through the main entrance, his footsteps the only sound.
The receptionist looked up from her desk as he approached. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Ah, there you are!" She pointed a finger at him. "Where in the seven hells have you been? I've been trying to find you for days. You—" She cut herself off with a sharp shake of her head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."
She stood abruptly, shuffling papers aside. "Hurry! The entrance ceremony is starting."