Darius stepped out of the hospital, the new Netacts settled comfortably over his eyes, and the city around him erupted into an overlay of shimmering digital detail. Tiny forecasts floated by, showing weather predictions for the hour. Recommendations for “must-see spots nearby” highlighted themselves in subtle pulsing icons as he moved, while a glowing path traced out a line ahead of him, ready to guide him anywhere he asked. It was a view of the city unlike anything he’d ever seen, like peeling back a layer of the world he thought he knew. His old Netacts had nothing on these.
But beneath the astonishment, his resolve had hardened. He’d realized two things in that hospital room: first, he wasn’t about to fall in line with the Guardians and their cover-ups. And second, he’d honor his mother by becoming stronger, no matter what it took. The pain was fresh, raw, but he wouldn’t let it make him weak. Not here, where his resolve was all he had.
As he walked, the world around him seemed to stretch into something almost otherworldly. Here in the wealthy inland district, everything was pristine, eerily perfect. Towering obelisks rose on either side of the walkway, their obsidian black glass so polished that each building reflected the next in a dizzying cascade. The scent of clean rain filled the air, despite the absence of any actual rainfall—likely the city’s filtration systems, purifying even the breeze. Under his hand, the railing along the waterway was as smooth as marble, cool to the touch, its surface embedded with subtle patterns that caught the light in waves, like a pearl in the sun.
The people here moved with a kind of detached elegance, dressed to blend seamlessly into the sophistication of the surroundings. They strode down the sidewalks with a quiet air of confidence, their expensive coats and polished shoes a silent statement of status. Darius caught a few sidelong glances, each lasting only a heartbeat but carrying the unspoken judgment that he didn’t quite belong. It wasn’t an assumption; it was fact. Darius knew he looked out of place in his rumpled clothes and windswept hair. And as much as he hated it, he’d have to fit in if he wanted to stay under the radar.
A quick inquiry to his Netacts brought up directions to a high-end clothing shop nearby. With a subtle overlay guiding his steps, he moved toward the store, feeling that he stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd around him. The Darius of yesterday might have felt self-conscious, but here, it was almost freeing.
Within minutes, he reached a quiet, upscale boutique, and an attendant ushered him inside, offering a slightly perplexed look. Darius expected to browse the racks, but before he could look around, a slender, immaculately dressed man with silver-rimmed glasses stepped forward. His gaze swept over Darius like a cold scan, noting every wrinkle, every loose thread.
“I’ll need to see proof of funds before proceeding,” he said in a smooth, clipped tone.
Darius blinked, taken aback but not surprised, and sent over a screenshot of his balance: 80,000 credits, courtesy of Ash. The tailor’s eyes barely flicked to the number, but Darius could see the faint flicker of approval.
“My name is Tyrell, and I’ll be your tailor today,” he said, his tone shifting to a low professional hum. “What look are you going for, and what’s your budget?”
Darius tugged at the hem of his sweater, glancing around at the store’s polished displays. “Just something that fits in around here, but nothing too flashy. I’ve got about a thousand credits to spend.”
Tyrell raised an eyebrow, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We can do a bit better than that… but I’ll need closer to fifteen hundred.” Darius nodded his approval, and Tyrell set to work, his eyes scanning every inch of Darius with quick, calculating precision.
After a series of fast, measured adjustments, Tyrell disappeared into the back. Darius could hear the shuffle of fabrics and the clink of hangers. Moments later, Tyrell re-emerged with a jet-black coat with silver pinstripes not unlike Ash’s pants, a charcoal-gray sweater soft to the touch, and a pair of matching silver pinstripe black slacks with a perfect balance of durability and comfort. Tyrell handed him a pair of shoes, a hybrid between athletic footwear and dress shoes, their design both functional and sleek.
“These pieces fit your budget and purpose,” Tyrell said, giving an approving nod as Darius slipped into the outfit.
Darius turned to the mirror, catching his reflection. The person looking back wasn’t the disheveled, half-awake kid he’d seen that morning. Instead, he looked… composed, like he could walk these streets without drawing stares. A small, reluctant smile crept onto his face, and for a brief moment, a spark of excitement lit his eyes. But just as quickly, the reality of why he was here cut through the moment, twisting the spark into a painful knot. His mother would have loved seeing him like this—she would have beamed at him, eyes shining with pride.
He paid and thanked Tyrell, his voice quiet, and slipped back outside, his footsteps quickening to escape the silent weight pressing on his shoulders. The resolve settled even deeper inside him. Now he had a few more things to sort out: a cheap, unconnected phone for searching in peace, something to eat, and a hotel room to serve as a base for training his abilities.
A short walk brought him to Bris’ Supply, where he picked up a basic phone and some onigiri. The shop felt familiar, like a small anchor to the life he’d left behind, but the moment passed as he stepped back into the orderly streets. His new clothes blended perfectly with the crowd, and he moved among them, unnoticed, a shadow in the pristine world of New Toronto’s inner district.
As he walked toward a hotel, he found himself drinking in the details of the city. The sidewalks stretched wide, with green patches of meticulously maintained plants spaced evenly along the path. Trees, their leaves rustling softly, grew at intervals, giving the streets a quaint, almost surreal harmony. Every leaf, every petal looked perfect, like the city itself was sculpted rather than grown. High above, thin bridges crisscrossed between towers, creating a labyrinth of shimmering glass and metal. His Netacts pinged with updates and suggestions, tempting him to explore, but he brushed them aside.
Every corner seemed to reveal a new architectural marvel—a delicate fountain here, an ornate statue there, each crafted with such detail that it seemed impossible. He imagined his mother beside him, her face lighting up as she took it all in, her eyes dancing with wonder. She would have marveled at the contrast to the coast, admiring every small thing he missed. The memories weighed heavy, but he let himself indulge in them, just for a moment.
He arrived at the hotel shortly after, stepping through a door that opened in a smooth, circular motion, like the aperture of a camera lens. He couldn’t help but marvel at the engineering that went into the place—keeping doors like this in working order near saltwater must be an unending battle with corrosion. As he approached the front desk, a portly man with an overly bright smile beamed at him, his expression as fixed as if it had been painted on.
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“Good afternoon, young master! Do you have a reservation, or would you like to make a booking today?” the man asked, his smile widening just a fraction, though it never reached his eyes. Darius felt a twinge of discomfort he couldn’t quite place. He wasn’t used to this forced pleasantness; back on the coast, people were honest, often blunt. This man felt more like a salesman in a costume.
“Hi. I just need a room for the next few nights. Do you have any available? Doesn’t matter which,” Darius replied, hoping to get through the exchange quickly so he could finally relax, take a shower, and test out his new abilities.
“You’re in luck!” the man chirped, his smile stretching into something sharklike. “We have the penthouse available. I’ll book you in immediately.”
“Wait, how much is that?” Darius interjected, his guard instantly up at the mention of anything “penthouse.”
“Only 60,000 credits for five days! A steal by any standard. May I start by processing your payment through your Netacts and taking your information?” The man’s eyes glinted with something like hunger. Did he work on commission?
Darius blinked. “Sixty thousand for five days? I could rent a decent apartment for a year with that.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up, his expression briefly flickering with disdain before he regained composure. “You must not be from around here. Very well, let’s see if we can find accommodations more in line with your, ah, budget.” His tone grew faintly condescending as he flicked through options on his own Netacts display.
“I’ve got a standard suite available for three nights. Then, we can arrange to move you to another room afterward if you choose to extend. How many nights would you like?”
“Three nights for now,” Darius replied, relieved at the more reasonable choice. He completed the booking and paid the still steep, but significantly more manageable, 10,000 credits.
Darius’s jaw hit the floor as he stepped inside. The room was massive, and even with his limited experience in luxury spaces, he could tell this was the definition of opulence. The white marble floor stretched across the entire suite, with veins of gold and silver gleaming faintly under the glow of recessed lighting. The floor radiated a subtle warmth underfoot, heating the space in a way that was both efficient and indulgent. Expansive windows on the far side of the room offered a sweeping view of the glittering, manicured streets below but the endless ocean horizon beyond was obscured by all the tall buildings. It felt like looking out into another world—perfect, removed, and a little surreal.
In the center of the living room, the television rose from the floor in a whisper-quiet motion. It was as thin as dried seaweed, an elegant panel that, when turned off, blended almost seamlessly into the polished marble. Darius let out a low whistle as he watched it ascend, trying to remember if he’d ever even seen a TV that looked like that, let alone one that came from the floor.
To his left, a sleek kitchen was tucked into the corner, gleaming with chrome appliances that looked as though they’d been pulled straight from a futuristic catalog. Everything about the suite seemed designed to impress, from the crystal lighting that cast delicate patterns across the walls, to the intricate wood paneling along the ceiling that mimicked natural waves—a nod, perhaps, to the ocean just outside.
After a few stunned moments, he dropped his backpack onto the polished leather sofa and crossed the room to the bathroom. It was easily the size of his entire bedroom back home. The walls were lined with textured stone tiles in muted gray, evoking a sense of calm, while a massive rain shower took up the far side of the room, encased in a frameless glass wall that made it look like it was floating. The controls were digital, adjusting the temperature, pressure, and even the scent of the water. Darius raised an eyebrow at that last option, selecting “sea breeze” with a touch, and a subtle hint of fresh salt air filled the room as he turned on the shower.
The warm water hit him like a physical release. He hadn’t realized just how tense he’d been, and now, with the luxury of privacy and comfort, he let himself stand there for a moment, head bowed, watching the water swirl down the drain. Memories of his mom’s apartment flickered through his mind—how the shower always sputtered a bit when you first turned it on, the slight draft near the bathroom window, and how she’d hum under her breath when she was in a good mood, filling their small space with a quiet, familiar warmth.
He stepped out, drying off with a plush towel that was softer than anything he’d ever owned. A neatly folded robe hung on the wall, dark gray with a texture so fine it felt like silk. He slipped it on, the fabric resting against his skin like a second layer. Walking back to the living room, he felt strangely out of place in the room's opulence, as if it were some elaborate dream he could wake up from at any moment.
As he settled into the oversized sofa, Darius took a deep breath, forcing himself to let go of the tension in his shoulders, the last fragments of unease. He was alone now, in this quiet, spacious room—a perfect testing ground, far from prying eyes or interruptions. Here, he could finally try to understand whatever it was that had pulled him halfway across the Driftspire He could feel the tension in the pit of his stomach, the curiosity that had been nagging at him ever since the hospital, and most of all, the question that burned at the edge of his thoughts: What am I really capable of?
He pulled up his Netacts display and searched for teleportation powers, hoping for clues. Most teleporters could move either themselves or objects, with a decent chunk capable of both. Rare, powerful teleporters could transport others and shift objects at a distance, without needing to touch them. He hadn’t been conscious of what was going on when he’d teleported before, so he couldn’t rely on memory to guide him. The only thing he remembered was a sensation: a deep, instinctual pull. Focus on that, he told himself. If he could just tap into that feeling again, maybe he could control it.
He crossed to one side of the spacious living room, drawing the blinds and dimming the recessed lights. The room took on a quieter, softer glow as he centered himself, choosing a spot across the room to aim for. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall what he’d felt before that first jump—the strange, stretching sensation, the sudden release, the feeling of floating outside of time. Darius visualized himself stepping through an invisible door that connected his current position to his destination. He felt a flicker of something but nothing happened.
He gritted his teeth and tried again, focusing all his mental energy on bridging the gap between here and there, willing himself forward through sheer force of concentration. Still nothing.
Darius clenched his fists, frustration mounting as he tried different techniques, muttering to himself between each attempt. He must have looked ridiculous, standing in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in intense focus. Half an hour passed with no success, his muscles tense from strain, his mind spinning with doubts. What if it had been a fluke? What if he could never figure it out again?
Then, an idea formed. He pictured a tunnel stretching between himself and the opposite side of the room, a space that bent and elongated until the two points were side by side. Heart pounding, he mentally stepped into that tunnel, inching forward.
Suddenly, the air around him tightened. The room seemed to distort, stretching and twisting as he felt his body lurch forward, pulled like a magnet to his target. With a blink, he found himself on the other side of the room. A wave of exhaustion slammed into him, like a tidal wave crashing down, as he staggered, dropping to his knees, gasping for air.
Panting hard, he let out a breathless laugh that turned into a whoop of triumph. His heart pounded with the thrill of it—he’d done it. Darius leaned back against the cool marble floor, feeling the enormity of what he’d accomplished settle over him. He’d managed it. He was a teleporter. He was an Empowered.