The magician long glance at Echo, flipped a gold coin.
"You want to learn tricks, eh?"
He flipped a coin — a worn Solin — into the air again and caught it with two fingers.
"Nothing's free. Three Solin for a lesson.No charity work, boy."
"What in the world is a Solin?"
Echo rubbed the back of his neck and gave a crooked grin.
"Solin...? Don't worry, i have so many of them."
His pockets felt light as air, not even a single butterfly.
"Teach me one, I'll pay after."
The magician grunted.
"After, huh? You one of those 'trust me' types?"
"Do i look like a thief?"
Echo replied.
The magician turned away, waving a hand like he'd already regretted it. "Fine. One lesson. If you botch it, you walk — got it?"
Echo trailed the magician into a narrow alley tucked between two tall brick buildings. The morning bustle faded behind him, replaced by the quieter sounds of dripping gutters and the flutter of laundry on lines overhead.
The magician pulled a gold coin from his coat and held it up between two fingers.
"Watch closely."
He showed Echo both hands — empty — then, with a smooth flick of his wrist, the coin vanished.
"Wait, where did It go?"
Echo blinked, scanning the magician's hands.
"That's the whole trick. It's about misdirection and timing. Your fingers move slow, your eyes too honest. Try it."
Echo hesitated, then mimicked the motion. The coin clinked to the ground.
"Again. Tuck it between your fingers while pretending to pass it. Sell the illusion with your eyes."
It took a dozen more tries, but Echo slowly got the rhythm — roll the coin back with his thumb, mask it with the other hand, keep the attention away from the sleight.
When he finally made it vanish cleanly, he beamed.
"Oh man! This is easy now!"
"You like it, huh?"
the magician grinned.
"Great. Now… give me my three Solin."
Echo froze for half a second, then offered a sheepish grin.
"Oh yeah. Don't worry—"
In one fluid motion, he palmed one of the magician's own gold coin from the practice stack and bolted down the alley.
"Hey! You worthless street-scum!"
The magician shouted, boots slamming against cobblestone as he gave chase.
Echo tore through the narrow alley, clutching the stolen gold coin. He darted into the open street, nearly crashing into a group of women carrying baskets.
"Sorry!" he called out, not slowing down.
He weaved through the crowd, knocking into a server balancing a tray. Plates clattered to the cobblestone. At a sidewalk café, he clipped the edge of a table, sending cups and cutlery flying. Chairs toppled. A man cursed as his tea spilled across his lap.Chairs scraped as people jumped up in confusion.
Behind him, the magician roared.
"Stop, thief!"
He turned down a side street, heart racing, sweat dripping from his brow.he darted around a corner and spotted a set of half-open double doors — crates stacked just inside.
Without thinking, he slipped into the delivery depot. It smelled of old wood, burlap, and something earthy — maybe potatoes. He crouched behind a pile of crates, heart hammering, listening for footsteps. Outside, the magician's voice grew distant, then faded into the usual buzz of city noise.
Echo wiped his forehead and grinned.
"Phew, that was close..."
Echo stepped cautiously out of the delivery depot, his eyes scanning the street. The magician was nowhere in sight.
He took a different path this time, sticking to the narrow walkways and blending with the early crowd. After some wandering, he found a small open space near the market square—a spot tucked between a tailor's stall and a lamplight post. With a quick glance around, he started his show.
At first, no one noticed. But soon, a few curious children gathered. He made coins disappear between his fingers and reappear behind their ears. He stumbled now and then, but laughter made up for it. More children came, giggling and clapping. A few adults paused to watch. Some dropped pence into the cloth he laid out. A kind woman tossed in a Solin with a smile.
"Nice, i made 25 pennies and one... gold coin today!"
Two hours passed. His stomach growled loud enough to draw stares. With a handful of coins, Echo made his way to a nearby bakery. The warm smell of fresh bread wrapped around him like a blanket. He bought a small loaf — still warm from the oven — and stepped outside.
Sitting on the edge of the pavement, he bit into it like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
"Those bread cost 5 pennies.This world has really cheap price more than my world."
He pulled the gold coin from his pocket, turning it in the light, observing the coin.
"Oh wow… so this is called a Solin? No wonder it looks so fancy…"
He tucked it away, a faint smile on his lips. For the first time since arriving, things didn't feel so heavy.
After resting for a while, Echo wandered through the city once more. The crowd had thinned, and the lively market sounds dulled behind him. With every turn of a street, the buildings grew older, the cobblestone narrower. He walked without much thought — until his throat dried out and his steps grew sluggish.
"That bread got me dehydrated..."
No signs of a well, a fountain, or even a shop in sight. The stone buildings had begun to fade into wooden homes, fences lined with hanging laundry, and distant hills brushing the skyline.
Eventually, he reached an archway bearing a worn wooden sign: West Calandria.
The air here felt different — quieter. More humble. Chickens wandered along the dirt road, and smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Children chased each other between carts while older folks sat on porches, exchanging murmured greetings.
Echo shaded his eyes with a hand.
"This place look different than the middle part of the city.... Maybe I can find a shop or something around here..."
He kept walking, boots stirring up dust, hoping to stumble into water — or at least someone kind enough to offer it.
As Echo walked further down the dusty path, a familiar chill crept up his spine.
For the briefest moment—no longer than a breath—the world twisted again. Shadows peeled from corners, dozens of unblinking eyes emerged from nowhere, tracking his every step. The sky dimmed, color drained from the ground, and the path bled red.
He stopped, blinked hard.
"Not this again..."
He clutched his chest.
But just as quickly, it vanished — as smoke in sunlight. The world returned to normal, the dusty road stretching ahead beneath the calm morning sky.
Echo shook his head and moved on.
Soon, he spotted a small wooden shop tucked between two sloped houses. Its crooked sign read Brayle's Goods, and faded paint clung to its shutters. A tiny bell jingled as he stepped inside.
Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars, bread, small pouches of dried meat, and clay bottles. A faint scent of old wood and spice filled the room.
Behind the counter stood an older man in a patched vest, wiping a mug with a rag. He looked up with a polite smile.
"Ah, welcome. Looking for something?"
Echo stepped closer, brushing the sweat from his brow.
"Do you sell any water, by chance?"
The shopkeeper scratched his chin.
"Sorry, lad. We don't stock water — folks around here fetch it from the well. But I do have milk, and a few sweet biscuits, if you're interested."
"Oh... do you know where the well is?"
Echo replied.
The man pointed toward the window.
"Back down the road, left at the fork — just past the old windmill.
"Thanks for the direction."
The wind grew still as Echo followed the shopkeeper's directions. The further he walked, the quieter the village became. Birds no longer chirped, and not a soul wandered this far west. Trees leaned over the path, casting jagged shadows along the dirt.
Soon, he saw it—a crooked stone well, old and half-swallowed by creeping moss. A wooden roof sagged over it, and a frayed rope dangled in the center.
As he stepped closer, something twisted in his gut. The air grew heavier, colder. The shadows thickened unnaturally around the well's base.
"Why do i feel heavy for some reason.... ?"
A deep sense of dread coiled in his chest, but thirst gnawed at him. He grit his teeth and grabbed the rope.
The pulley creaked, stiff from time and disuse. Echo winced as he slowly pulled, muscles straining, rope rough against his palms.
When the bucket rose into view.... It wasn't filled with water.It sloshed with thick, crimson liquid — blood.
He froze, every inch of him tensing.
"What the hell..."
Without thinking, he let go of the rope, but the bucket didn't fall.
It hovered, swaying in midair, defying gravity.
From its surface, something moved — slow at first. A ripple, a bulge... until a face began to rise out of the blood.
Eyes stretched unnaturally wide. No eyelids. No pupils.Just empty, milky orbs.
And a smile — horrible and sharp — spread ear to ear across a featureless, crimson-soaked face.
Echo's heart slammed in his chest.
"What in the world..."
The thing lunged.A blur of red and teeth.
He stumbled backward in panic, foot catching on the stones. His head struck the ground — hard.
Everything spun.
Then, black.