Dea had just finished unloading the full, tangled mess of the power system—every nuance, every metaphor stacked like arcane poetry, each word soaked in celestial flair. It had been less of an explanation and more of a divine info-dump, artfully wrapped in sparkles and ego.
And then she just… vanished.
No chance to ask questions. No gentle "any doubts?" follow-up. Not even a smug little bow. Just a shimmer of divine light and poof—exit stage left.
Adam was still standing there, jaw slack, brain caught somewhere between a critical system reboot and existential paralysis. His eyes didn't even blink for a solid ten seconds.
Luna, by contrast, was brushing off her skirt with what looked like practiced ease. A few flecks of divine glitter clung to her sleeves, which she shook off with a touch more force than necessary. Then she adjusted her collar. Twice. It didn't need adjusting.
Adam turned to her, staring like he'd just witnessed a magic-induced aneurysm. "How are you not completely brain-fried right now? She literally just rewrote reality in sparkly metaphors."
"I'm not 'not brain-fried,'" Luna replied airily, running a hand through her hair. "I'm just… less visibly combusting than you."
"Less visibly—Luna, she said something about soul-threaded memory channels and pact-anchored spirit lineages and just—kept going. I don't even know if those were real words."
Luna gave a tiny shrug, hands folding behind her back. "Most of it wasn't new. I mean, I grew up here, remember? You're the one from… wherever it is you came from." She waved vaguely at the sky, as though that summed up the complexity of inter-world reincarnation.
Adam narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I'm the outsider. I get that. But don't act like that flood of celestial nonsense was normal."
She flashed him a grin. "Oh, no. Dea's extra, even by goddess standards. All that glitter? Totally unnecessary. But the core stuff? Bits and pieces of it I've heard before—ritual lore, theories, stories. None of it was secret."
Her smile lingered a bit too long before she looked away, smoothing her skirt again. The fabric didn't need it. Then she smoothed the same spot a second time. A third. Subtle.
Adam noticed.
He didn't say anything.
Instead, he raised a brow. "So is this kind of knowledge common? For people here, I mean."
Luna gave a mock thoughtful hum and tilted her head, tapping a finger against her chin like a professor mid-lecture. "Depends who you ask. Ask a scholar? Probably. A high-ranking mage? Definitely. A farmer? Eh… maybe if they're into obscure bedtime stories. But if you've got even a passing interest in the arcane, you'd pick up fragments."
Adam nodded slowly. "Right. So I'm just behind."
"Oh, massively," she said, clearly enjoying herself now. "But hey—considering you started today thinking 'magic' was just a word in fantasy books, you're not doing terribly."
He gave her a sideways glance. "That was almost a compliment."
"Almost," she agreed, smirking.
But then she shifted her weight again. One foot to the other. Quick, small movements. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, then did it again two seconds later when nothing had moved. Her smile was intact, but her eyes flicked sideways and didn't quite meet his.
Adam saw it. He wasn't sure what she was trying to hide—whether it was the weight of Dea's words, the shock of everything that had happened in the last few hours, or just the exhaustion finally catching up to her—but he saw it.
She was trying hard to act like she had it together.
He didn't call her on it.
Instead, he crossed his arms and looked up at the empty sky where Dea had been. "You think she always exits like that?"
"If she doesn't, I'll be disappointed," Luna muttered. "Would ruin the brand."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Luna turned to him again, her tone a touch more measured, just a notch lower.
"For someone from a world with no magic, you're holding together pretty well. You didn't faint. You didn't scream. You even asked a decent question. That's… something."
He blinked. "That your way of saying I've graduated from 'utterly lost' to 'mostly hopeless'?"
She smirked. "Call it progress."
And just like that, her voice returned to normal—bright, confident, snappy. Her back straightened. No more collar adjustments.
But her foot tapped. Just once.
Adam pretended not to notice.
Adam didn't comment on her nerves. He simply offered Luna a quiet, reassuring smile—just enough to ease her tension without calling attention to it.
She exhaled slightly, shoulders relaxing. For a moment, the silence between them felt almost calm.
Then—
"I mean, it definitely helps that I have a little forest fox spirit contracted to me myself," Luna said, almost too casually. "Though it doesn't often appear in physical form."
She stood a little taller as she said it, planting her hands on her hips like it was no big deal. Like she hadn't just dropped another revelation out of nowhere.
Adam froze, mid-breath. His mouth, which had just opened to speak, closed again with a soft click.
A beat passed.
"Ti-Time to head to Elysia!" he said brightly, a fraction too loud, his voice stumbling just enough to give him away. And with that, he turned and walked toward the clearing.
His long golden hair flowed behind him, catching the light as it brushed against his legs, and his bright blue eyes—clear as cut gems—seemed just a little unfocused. Not dazed exactly, but… suspended. Like his brain had chosen to file Luna's newest bomb under deal with later.
"Hey, wait up!" Luna called, abandoning her triumphant pose in a hurry to catch up.
Adam chose to ignore that in his movements and Luna huffed and hurried her walk into a swift jog to catch up, punching his shoulder as she reached him and he let out a soft laugh in return.
Unheard by him in his stupor though, was a soft but slightly mechanical giggle that sounded suspiciously like Dea except for the metallic feel in his head. The same one that had announced the Dea Core.
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Adam almost felt like he could cry.
Not out of pain. Not even out of relief, though there was plenty of that. It was something deeper. A slow build of wonder and disbelief, a breath held for hours finally released. After walking through the dense, stubborn heart of the forest—its gnarled roots and curtain-thick foliage, where light barely filtered through—he could finally see the sky again.
Blue.
Unreasonably, impossibly blue.
Above, the leafy canopy thinned, rays of sunlight spilling through like golden threads. The trees fell away in slow surrender, revealing a stretch of open earth ahead. He stopped walking. Just for a second. Just to take it in.
This was the first time, in what felt like days, that the horizon hadn't been crowded with trunks and leaves and thorns. The wind kissed his skin freely, and the sun touched his hair like it belonged there.
And there, just ahead, the forest ended.
He took a cautious step onto the flattened earth of a dirt path, its surface worn smooth by use—not by monsters, he hoped, but by people. Real people. Civilization.
He blinked once, twice.
Then he ran.
Not out of panic. Not out of necessity. Just… because he could.
He sprinted, boots kicking up little puffs of dust. His long coat fluttered behind him, golden hair catching the light in shimmering ribbons. Laughter escaped him—genuine, messy, and unfiltered. The kind that slipped through without permission.
Behind him, Luna followed at her own pace, the ghost of a smile brushing her face.
He barely noticed her. His focus was fixed ahead—where the forest finally, finally opened up into something else entirely.
A city.
A real city.
Elysia.
They hadn't entered through the front—no grand gates, no guards in polished armor checking travelers and merchants. That was the proper route, the safe route. They'd come in through the back. A road no one used unless they had something to hide or something to prove. A narrow path that wound out of the forest like it had been forgotten by time itself.
No checkpoints. No questions.
Only dust beneath their feet, and now—stone.
Adam slowed as the first cobbled brick came into view. Then another. Then a whole path of them, laid neatly and leading directly into the southern quarter of the city.
He stepped onto it with a kind of reverence.
The sensation was small, but unmistakable. Rightness. Like the ground itself had been waiting for him. Like the city had been waiting.
And then it unfolded.
The southern market of Elysia burst into view like a storybook illustration come to life—layered and full of motion. It was like color had been waiting just behind the trees, and the moment he stepped out, it all came spilling forward.
People. Stalls. Voices. Music. Smells.
So many things at once, he couldn't separate them. He just stood there for a while, completely frozen.
The buildings in this part of the city weren't grand or overly tall. Most were one or two stories, with smooth stone walls and painted wooden balconies, their shutters thrown open to let in the breeze. Awnings stretched from the shopfronts, casting shade onto the streets below.
Brightly colored fabrics draped across the stalls—reds, oranges, emerald greens, ocean blues. They fluttered in the warm breeze like sails on a ship. The stalls themselves were wooden, but polished smooth and stained dark. Some were propped up with old beams, clearly patched over time, but that only added to their charm.
And the people… they were everywhere.
Adam had never seen so many people moving at once. It wasn't just walking—it was dancing, almost. The way the crowd flowed in and around itself with practiced rhythm. Children weaving between legs, women bargaining over baskets of spices, merchants shouting out deals from behind baskets overflowing with fruits and herbs. A trio of girls laughed as they shared a stick of candied nuts. A boy sat cross-legged by a fountain, sketching something intently.
The air was thick with scents—warm bread, roasted meat, something sweet and floral, and the earthy tang of herbs bundled in tight ropes. Smoke from nearby braziers curled into the sky. Incense burned in small clay dishes beside some stalls, a soft perfume meant to ward off both bugs and bad luck.
Adam's head turned constantly, eyes wide, like he couldn't decide what to focus on.
One stall was covered in necklaces and glass beads, each one glittering in the sun. Another sold flatbread stuffed with something green and steaming. Further down, a cart brimmed with scrolls—some rolled tight with ribbon, others unfurled to reveal messy runes or illustrations of strange creatures.
He passed by a caged songbird, its plumage iridescent, and for a moment the bird sang in time with the music being played by a string-player sitting by a low stone wall. The melody was soft, meandering, but beautiful. People threw him coins without even breaking stride.
Adam's chest felt tight, and he didn't know why.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't sadness.
It was… joy. Sharp and unfamiliar. The kind that threatened to break you open from the inside.
The market wasn't just alive. It was living.
Every stall, every sound, every smell—it all came together in a kind of harmony that felt accidental but was anything but. There was a rhythm to it all. A heartbeat.
And somehow, Adam felt like he was standing in the middle of something sacred.
Not in the heavy, religious sense. There were no sermons being shouted, no priests waving relics.
But he noticed things.
The faint ringing of a bell somewhere far off. The tiny stone shrines nestled into walls, half-hidden beneath vines. Little ribbons tied around door handles—blessings, he guessed. On some stalls, small symbols were carved into the beams. Circles inside circles. Wings. Open palms.
The guards, too, were a presence—subtle, but there.
By the central fountain—where the stone underfoot turned from dusty brick to pale, smooth marble—two stood watch. They wore ceremonial armor: white cloaks trimmed with gold, helmets shaped like upright rectangles, their faces fully covered except for a single vertical slit down the center and two narrow ones for the eyes.
Their swords were taller than Adam's shoulder, held upright in front of them, tips resting on the marble.
They didn't move. They didn't speak.
But they were noticed.
People gave them space—not out of fear, but habit. Respect, perhaps. Or simple awareness.
Adam didn't pay them much mind at first. Not until he stepped into the marble square and caught sight of the fountain.
He stopped short.
It wasn't extravagant. Not really.
Just… striking.
The statue was of a woman—robed, serene, arms outstretched as if welcoming the world. Water poured from her open palms into the pool below, crystal-clear and gently rippling. Lilies floated on the surface. Coins glimmered beneath the water, catching the sunlight like tiny prayers.
There was no plaque. No name etched at her feet. But she felt familiar.
Not personally. Adam didn't know her.
But she felt like someone worth knowing.
He approached slowly, boots clacking against the marble, and stood at the edge of the fountain.
The breeze shifted. A few droplets of water kissed his cheek, cool and clean.
It was the closest thing to peace he'd felt since waking up in this world.
Luna appeared beside him, saying nothing. She didn't need to. She'd seen this look before—on faces of pilgrims, newcomers, travelers from far-off provinces who'd never stepped into a city like Elysia.
And yet, something about Adam's expression was… different.
He didn't look reverent. Not in the usual way.
He looked enchanted.
Not by the Church. Not by the guards. Not even by the statue.
But by the city.
"This is…" Adam began, eyes locked on the fountain. Then he turned, slowly taking in everything again—the color, the motion, the music, the wind.
"…Elysia?"
His voice cracked slightly.
Luna nodded.
He turned back to the fountain. Then to the crowd. Then to the buildings rising behind it all. Towers in the distance. Banners. Birds wheeling through the sky.
"I didn't think it would look like this," he said. "I thought—cities would be all stone and silence. Walls and rules. Grey."
They stood in silence for a while.
Then Adam exhaled slowly and dropped onto the fountain's wide marble edge, running both hands through his hair.
"I don't think I was ready for this."
"For the city?"
"For how real it is," he said. "It's not some dream or sketch or vague idea. It's messy. Loud. People bump into each other and forget your name and shout over nothing and sell fried dough next to handwritten prayers."
He smiled at nothing in particular.
"It's alive."
Luna joined him on the edge of the fountain, folding her hands in her lap.
"You'll get used to it."
Adam looked around again. At the buildings, the crowd, the skyline.
"I hope not."