This robe is ridiculous.
Alucent tugged at the sleeves for the tenth time, watching them flop over his hands like oversized socks. The hem kept catching on his heels. Whoever used to wear this thing was either a giant or shaped like a scarecrow.
Proper attire. That's what Sir Vorn's note said. Well, this is what I've got. Hope he's not expecting fashion week.
The cold smacked him in the face the second he stepped outside. Forty degrees, maybe less. His breath puffed out in white clouds that disappeared fast. But underneath the bite of winter air, there was something else. Something that smelled expensive.
Wood polish? The really good stuff Mom could never afford.
The street stretched out in front of him, lined with these weird gas lamps that didn't flicker. Not even a little. The flames just sat there, perfectly still, like someone had told fire to behave itself.
That's... not normal. Gas flames dance. They're supposed to dance.
Each cobblestone fit against the next so perfectly he could barely see the seams. His old neighborhood had potholes you could lose a car in. Here, even the street looked like art.
Then the market hit him like a wall of noise and steam.
Holy shit.
Steam-powered everything. Brass fittings catching the light, throwing golden sparks back at him. Vendors shouting over the mechanical racket, their voices carrying years of practice at being heard over the noise. The whole place clanked and hissed like it was alive.
This is what happens when your technology actually works instead of breaking down every six months.
Half the stalls were selling furniture made from some dark wood that looked indestructible. Chairs that could probably survive getting hit by a truck. Tables carved with patterns that made his eyes water if he stared too long.
And the journals. Jesus, the journals.
Leather covers with actual glowing runes. The kind of craftsmanship that would cost more than his old rent. But here people were just... buying them. Like they were normal.
A soft chime rang out from somewhere above his head, and he looked up.
The Scribe's Tower rose three stories over everything else, all stone and brass and windows that reflected the morning light. The sound seemed to come from the air itself.
Magic clocks. Of course there are magic clocks.
Steamwagons rumbled past without horses, following copper lines laid into the street. Above his head, people rode pulleys between buildings like it was the most natural thing in the world.
This place runs on steam and magic and whoever designed it was either crazy or brilliant. Probably both.
Outside the Tower, someone was doing a demonstration with what looked like a fancy pen. Young guy in work clothes, he thought at first, but as he got closer...
Not a guy. Woman. Maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. Practical dress, leather apron, hair pulled back tight. Sharp face that had learned not to show weakness.
And a scar on her left cheek that definitely had a story she didn't want to tell.
The pen in her hands moved across a journal, leaving glowing symbols that dried as he watched. She looked up when his shadow fell across her work.
Her eyes did that thing. That quick assessment that said outsider, pretender, doesn't belong here.
"Excuse me," he started, then immediately hated how uncertain he sounded. "I'm looking for information about this ring." He held up his left hand. "And about the name Luci. I thought maybe someone here might—"
"Outsider." Her voice cut through his words like a blade. "Those are old names. That ring means something different now."
She turned back to her work like he'd stopped existing.
Ouch. Okay, that's a no then.
"Raya!"
The voice carried authority like a weapon. Everyone in the plaza straightened up automatically.
Sir Vorn stepped out of the Tower like he owned the world. Maybe fifty, silver hair, top hat that made him even taller than his already impressive height. A monocle caught the light as he studied Alucent like a jeweler examining a questionable diamond.
His suit fit like it had been painted on. Every line perfect. The cane in his right hand wasn't just for show either, brass fittings and carved symbols suggested it did a lot more than help him walk.
This guy's been accumulating power for decades. And right now, all of it's focused on me.
"Sir Vorn," Alucent said, trying for the right amount of respect. "I got your summons about the cottage and maintaining the runes."
"Indeed." Those eyes locked onto the ring, and Alucent felt the attention like physical weight. "Your arrival has been... anticipated. The Green Council has specific requirements for maintaining our runic infrastructure. Your unique qualifications make you particularly suited to these responsibilities."
Unique qualifications. What does he know that I don't? And why does his interest in this ring feel more like a threat?
Raya had stopped her demonstration completely. Her eyes moved between them with the wariness of someone who recognized dangerous undercurrents.
She knows something. Something that makes her want to stay far away from whatever I represent.
"The Rune Covenant has maintained its traditions for generations," Sir Vorn continued. His voice carried the weight of institutions. "These traditions exist for excellent reasons. Disruption tends to produce... unfortunate consequences."
Translation: Stay in your lane, don't ask uncomfortable questions, and maybe you'll survive this.
The morning air carried steam sounds and the constant hum of power flowing through the city. Eryndral kept doing its thing around them, but Alucent felt like he was standing at the center of something he barely understood.
"I look forward to learning about my responsibilities," he replied, choosing words carefully, "And contributing to your community's stability."
Sir Vorn's smile had all the warmth of winter concrete. "Excellent. Report to the Tower at the second chime. We have much to discuss."
As the older man disappeared back into the Tower, Raya packed her stuff with quick, efficient movements. She glanced at Alucent once more, and he caught something that might have been sympathy.
Or pity.
"Word of advice," she said quietly. "In Eryndral, curiosity about the wrong subjects can be hazardous to your health. Some questions are better left unasked."
She walked away before he could respond, leaving him alone in the plaza as the clock chimed the half hour.
The borrowed robe felt heavier now.
But belonging was a luxury he couldn't afford. Understanding was the only currency that mattered, and he was already running a deficit.
The second chime was coming. Time to find out what "unique qualifications" really meant.
And why everyone seemed to know more about his ring than he did.