The morning haze rolled in like a sleepwalker—too early to commit to fog, too late to pretend it hadn't seen anything.
Yaya sat cross-legged on the tea stall's counter, sipping warm rice milk from a chipped cup and narrating the lives of ants crawling on the edge.
"That one's in charge. She's got stripes," she whispered.
Granny Wen glanced over. "They're ants."
"Exactly," Yaya replied, completely unfazed. "They need leadership."
Ye Han didn't argue. He was watching the square.
Three ISA enforcers stood at the far end, speaking with one of the district coordinators. Their uniforms were more decorative than functional—clean lines, polished badges, pristine gloves. They weren't the dangerous kind. They were the kind that made sure the dangerous ones looked official.
One of them laughed.
Ye Han didn't.
---
[Warden's Ledger – System Entry]
Public Exposure Risk: Minimal
Stabilized Echo Field: Active
Aura Displacement: Suppressed
Page Conflict: Pending Resolution
Passive Tension: 66% [Holding]
---
Granny Wen set a bowl of fried yams in front of him with more force than necessary.
"You're staring again."
He blinked. "I'm thinking."
"Don't overdo it," she said. "Your brain might get lonely."
Yaya grinned, bits of yam on her lip.
"Granny," she asked between bites, "why do dungeons make monsters but not furniture?"
Granny blinked once. "What?"
"Like… why doesn't a dungeon just drop a comfy chair?"
Ye Han coughed into his sleeve.
"No, really," Yaya pressed. "If it can make monsters, why not a sofa?"
He looked at her. "I don't think comfort is a dungeon's goal."
"Then they need better management."
---
Across the square, a man stumbled into view.
Not like he was drunk—more like he didn't trust the ground. His boots were mismatched, his coat too long, and he carried a brass compass that spun even when he wasn't moving—as if it pointed to something the world couldn't see.
The man's breath came sharp, shallow—like the air didn't want to stay in his lungs.
"Who's that?" Yaya asked.
Granny Wen narrowed her eyes. "Traveler. Seen him twice this month. Carries a shard, maybe. Always muttering to himself."
Ye Han watched the man sway left, then right, as if being pulled by strings.
The compass in his hand pointed behind him. He followed it anyway.
---
"What's a page?" Yaya asked suddenly.
Ye Han froze.
She looked up. "You said I'm a page. What does that mean?"
He hesitated.
"It's not really a book," he said. "You called it that before—but it's more like… something that remembers things for me. On its own."
Yaya tilted her head. "Like a diary?"
Ye Han paused. No one had ever asked him that before.
"Sort of," he said. "But it… remembers more than just words. It keeps feelings. Echoes."
"Echoes like shouting?"
"No. Echoes like—" He tapped his chest. "When something someone said stays in here. Not as sound. Just… meaning."
She chewed on that. "So I'm in your chest?"
"Don't say it like that."
She smiled.
---
[Warden's Ledger – Summary View]
Pages Held: 3
— Yaya (Stabilized)
— Ren (Stabilized)
— Lian (Harmonizing...)
Echoes Active: 2 / 3
Passives Equipped: 3 / 3
System Load: 68% [Stable]
Next Unlock: Emotional Threshold Reached
Warning: Third Echo nearing overload
---
The compass man had stopped.
He stood just a few stalls away, eyes locked on Ye Han. Not with recognition—more like fixation. The compass spun wildly in his palm, then clicked to a stop.
He took one step forward.
Granny Wen noticed. "Han."
"I see him."
"He's holding a shard."
Yaya scooted closer to Ye Han.
The man's mouth moved.
"Ledger's wrong," he whispered. "Too many pages. Too loud."
Ye Han stood slowly.
And the compass needle snapped clean off.