The city has been restless today. Not in any alarming way, but more like a world stretching after a long sleep, aware of the ache in its bones.
Throughout the morning, soft fluctuations whispered through the power conduits winding beneath the plaza. Nothing dramatic, just brief dips and rises, the sort that make the lights hum a little deeper in the halls before settling again. A handful of technicians have blamed it on recalibrations, on the lingering adjustments of a citadel still finding its rhythm. Yet even they spoke with furrowed brows, as though noting a heartbeat that wasn’t there yesterday.
Stranger still, the air carried a faint metallic tang that drifted through corridors and open walkways, vanishing before anyone could quite track its source. Some swore they heard low vibrations threaded through the wind. Not machinery, not conversation, more like the city muttering to itself.
The loom chambers reported brief surges in their readings, though no looms were active at the time. A few crystalline panels flickered in response, shimmering with a soft gold that looked almost like a warning… or a welcome. Hard to say which.
By late afternoon, even the twin suns seemed to linger differently over Vorlaxion, their light catching strange patterns in the spires with brief glimmers, like reflections of something that wasn’t there a second before. Citizens paused in their path, looking up with puzzled expressions before shrugging and moving on.
Nothing is wrong. Not exactly.
But nothing is still, either.
There is a sense, subtle, steady… that the city is listening.