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When Gods Commute — Description

You hear her before you see her.
A deep, rhythmic thoom… thoom… thoom rolling between the buildings like distant thunder. No one reacts anymore. A few tourists still glance up, but the locals keep scrolling, sipping coffee, waiting at the crossing.
Then her shadow stretches across the street.
She doesn’t even look at you.
Head down. Phone in hand. Water bottle dangling casually between her fingers. White sneakers landing with impossible precision on the asphalt, each step swallowing half the road as if it were nothing more than a painted line.
You don’t need to look up to know she’s one of them — one of the wealthy Ascended. The ones who chose to become monumental.
She passes.
And then it hits.
A dense wave of scent rolls through the street — warm skin, sharp perfume, lingering workout sweat, and the heavy cotton trace of worn socks drifting down from far above. It presses into your lungs like humidity before a storm.
You hold your breath.
Everyone does.
For a moment, the air feels too thick. Too close.
Then she’s already three blocks further, her steps fading into the ordinary noise of Berlin traffic.
Breathing becomes easy again.
Someone beside you mutters, “Training.”
You nod without thinking.
If she had slowed down, it would’ve meant she was heading home.
The light turns green.
The city resets.
Until the next set of footsteps.