The City of Shifting Odds did not welcome newcomers.
It evaluated them.
As Kayan and Lyra stepped off the stone platform, the ground beneath their feet rearranged itself with a soft, unsettling ripple. The street re-formed into a broad avenue paved with translucent tiles, each one reflecting a different version of the sky above.
Kayan blinked.
The sky blinked back.
Clouds rearranged themselves into unfamiliar constellations, then dissolved, replaced by fractured light and drifting geometric shapes—architectural remnants of probabilities that had almost happened.
"This place doesn't like fixed answers," Lyra said, watching his reaction. "Try not to expect consistency."
People passed them.
Or rather—people resolved into existence as they approached, then blurred again once they moved on. Some were solid and sharp, their Probability Traces strong and stable. Others flickered like bad memories, existing only when observed directly.
Kayan felt… uncomfortable.
Not afraid.
Exposed.
For the first time since his birth, the world wasn't ignoring him.
It was circling him.
"You're destabilizing local odds," Lyra murmured under her breath. "They can feel the gap you create."
"Can they see me?" Kayan asked.
"No," she replied. "But they can feel where certainty drops."
They reached a wide plaza dominated by a massive structure at its center: a floating polyhedron of rotating crystal panels, each etched with flowing symbols that rewrote themselves constantly.
A Civic Anchor.
"This city survives because of that," Lyra explained. "It enforces a minimum threshold of probability coherence. Without it, the city would… dissolve into possibilities."
As if summoned by the explanation, a group approached.
Five figures, dressed in layered coats threaded with glowing probability filaments. Their Traces were sharp, disciplined—trained.
City Wardens.
The one in front tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he focused on Kayan.
"There's a disturbance," he said. "An absence."
His gaze slid to Lyra. "You brought something illegal into the city."
Lyra smiled politely. "I brought a person."
"A person has a trace."
Kayan felt it then.
Pressure—not crushing, but probing. The Wardens were running a localized probability scan, attempting to force his existence into measurable parameters.
The world leaned inward.
Kayan's heartbeat slowed.
Instinct rose.
The void inside him expanded—not violently, but deliberately. He didn't push back.
He simply… stopped responding.
The scan collapsed.
The Wardens staggered slightly, their filaments flickering.
"What did you—" one of them began.
Lyra stepped forward smoothly. "A misunderstanding. He's under my jurisdiction."
The lead Warden studied Kayan again, uneasy now.
"Be careful, Cartographer," he said. "The city does not tolerate anomalies for long."
They withdrew.
Only when they were gone did Kayan exhale.
"That was… close."
Lyra nodded. "You just passed your first test."
"Test?"
"This city eats threats," she said. "You didn't trigger its defenses."
"Because I erased them?"
"No," Lyra corrected. "Because you didn't try to dominate them."
She turned toward the Civic Anchor.
"Power here isn't about force," she continued. "It's about position. Influence. Understanding where not to exist."
Kayan followed her gaze.
For the first time, he understood.
This city wasn't ruled by kings or armies.
It was ruled by statistics.
And somewhere above them, unseen, something adjusted its calculations.
The city had accepted him.
For now.