Outside the valley tavern, Ino took a slow breath.
This time, he was determined to be ready.
He'd dressed in full Dreamweaver attire and even retrieved the Philosopher's Stone from a nearby well, shaping it into a ring he now wore on his hand.
Most people, when hearing the words "Philosopher's Stone," probably thought of immortality first. But that was only half its brilliance. Its other ability, transmutation - was arguably just as powerful.
Turning stone to gold.
Not literally limited to gold, of course. Gold was simply the most stable and difficult material to replicate, so it made a fitting benchmark. The stone's true power was permanent transformation. It could reshape reality itself, granting its wielder anything they desired.
In a way, it was the perfect match for the Dreamweaver's umbrella, tools built not to follow the world's rules, but to rewrite them.
Bend reality. Make wishes come true.
Outside the tavern, Ino glanced down at his hand, the red glint of the ring catching the light.
He had prepared so thoroughly for one reason. This was the first time he was entering a story entirely of his own free will.
That thought made him chuckle bitterly.
All this time, and he had never really chosen for himself.
His first descent into a story had been forced, drawn in by Hans. And because of that tilted beginning, everything that followed had been slightly askew.
Now, at last, he had the chance to return to the origin point.
He steadied his breath, adjusted his grip on the umbrella, and gently pushed open the tavern's double beechwood doors.
---
Night had finally stilled the city.
Under the pale moonlight, the once-bustling city-state slumbered in eerie quiet. Its architecture resembled something out of the 18th century - cobblestone streets, wrought iron balconies, tall townhouses clustered in ordered rows.
But the place... felt strange.
There was chaos here. Malevolence, even. But beneath it ran undercurrents of kindness, like wildflowers growing between cracks in broken stone.
It didn't feel like the usual prewritten tale, crafted by some distant narrator. This place felt real.
Too real.
Along the main street, towering lampposts stretched over ten feet high. Their light was bright - blinding, almost. The entire street gleamed like daylight, though it was long past midnight.
But when Ino got closer, he noticed something odd.
These weren't electric lamps. They used an older, rawer technology - calcium carbide lanterns.
A mixture of carbide and water produced the gas that burned with a dazzling flame, nearly as bright as early electric bulbs. Crude, but surprisingly effective.
For a moment, he marveled. The city wasn't primitive by any means.
But something was wrong.
The silence was too complete.
By the time a city invents artificial street lighting, nightlife should thrive. Taverns should echo with laughter, windows should glow with lanternlight, footsteps should click across the stone roads.
Here? Nothing.
Not even a whisper.
Far above, in the city's central district, the clocktower loomed against the night sky.
At its highest level, a broad-shouldered man in silver armor stood silently at a window, overlooking the streets.
His armor gleamed under the carbide lamps, polished to a mirror sheen. From behind, he almost looked like a statue - like light itself was pouring off his frame.
Behind him, vast gears turned with a soft hiss and clunk, powered by steam. Pipes crisscrossed the walls like arteries, and a massive brass flywheel rotated with mechanical grace. The place felt both sophisticated and unsettling, like the skeleton of a slumbering beast.
"The gears are fine. No irregularities," said a cool, clear voice.
A young woman stepped out from behind one of the giant cogwheels, a carbide lantern in hand, its flame twice as bright as the ones outside. She wore a gray robe, her expression calm, analytical.
The armored figure turned.
A middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a jaw like stone. Black hair streaked with silver. Neatly trimmed beard. His gaze had the weight of authority - someone used to commanding armies, not raising his voice.
"I still feel like something slipped through," he muttered.
He was Nord, the city's warden.
And tonight, his instincts were screaming.
"The central mechanism won't misfire," the young woman replied. "Not unless the intruder is beyond its detection."
Nord frowned. "Beyond detection?"
The woman nodded grimly.
She was Celia, a mechanist sent from the Grand Hall to assist this provincial city. Unlike Nord, she wasn't a local. She had read the records.
Every time something bypassed detection... it meant disaster.
"Could be a false alarm," she added quickly. "Maybe someone just passed through."
Her logic was sound, her voice even. But behind the calm, she was bitter.
Celia had once been proud of her talent, youngest mechanist in the Hall's history. But if she had a choice, she'd have traded that talent for luck.
Luck would've kept her away from this nightmare.
Part of her regretted ever joining the mechanists. If she'd chosen the Scarlet Rose instead, she might be dealing with bureaucrats and corruption, not lurking unknowns in silent cities.
At least the corruption was predictable.
And unlike other orders, young mechanists were utterly unprepared for anomalies.
"Mechanist" sounded fancy, but in truth? She was just a glorified repair technician.
The silence outside grew heavier.
Even the shadows seemed to hide from the moonlight.
In this suffocating quiet, every step rang out like a gunshot.
Ino moved down the street with his suitcase, curiosity lighting up his features. The buildings were fascinating, ornate, industrial, with hints of Art Nouveau twisted into steampunk absurdity. Pipes curled around lampposts. Clock faces were embedded in walls.
He was fairly certain this city thrived on steam and mechanics. Some magical traces lingered, sure, but overall it followed a very different system from what he was used to.
And still, it was the silence that bothered him most.
He passed street after street, all brilliantly lit. But not a single inn was open.
Not one.
What Ino didn't realize was that his footsteps were causing no small amount of panic inside the houses he walked past.
The people here knew the patrol schedules. The sound of armored boots was familiar.
But this? This wasn't a patrol. These were the slow, wandering footsteps of someone unknown.
And in this city, anyone walking the streets at night without a reason... was either a lunatic or something far worse.
Residents stayed quiet, holding their breath, praying he'd just walk on.
Which, thankfully, he did.
And when the last of his footfalls faded into the distance, relief swept through dozens of tense shoulders.
Sleeping rough was a skill all travelers picked up eventually.
Ino had curled up in a small alcove formed by an indented wall, using his coat as a blanket and the umbrella as a headrest.
He opened his eyes as the first hints of dawn cracked across the eastern sky.
But this sunrise wasn't gentle.
It exploded into the heavens.
The black veil of night was torn open, shredded by some invisible force. Layer by layer, the darkness peeled away, until all that remained was the blinding blue of morning.
A colossal energy surged over the horizon, grand and overwhelming.
It was just the rising sun.
And yet, Ino instinctively reached for the umbrella to block the light.
Then, just as suddenly, the light softened.
He hesitated.
That was... odd.
But he didn't have time to dwell on it.
As daylight took hold, the city began to stir. Gears clicked to life, steam hissed through metal pipes, and the silence finally gave way to voices and movement.
Across the street, a building that clearly resembled an inn opened its doors.
Ino stood and stretched.
His first priority was information. If this really was a city powered by steam instead of electricity, one free of the magical-electrical conflict - then it opened up entirely new possibilities.
This was going to be interesting.