It was even bigger up close—impossibly, absurdly large. The buildings were so gargantuan that from just outside the city’s outer wall Damian had to crane his neck to see the tops of the towers, his jaw falling at the sheer impossibility of it all. Mira’s cart rolled into the wall’s shadow, and the towers vanished from view for a moment, breaking the spell they’d cast over him.

  Over the last few hours, the road had grown steadily busier as smaller paths merged until it was wide enough for a dozen carts abreast. Thousands of people crowded the gate, coming and going from the city. Caravans of wagons trudged along beside them, pulled by horses and stranger beasts. A long-legged, blue-feathered bird, twice as tall at the shoulder as a horse, strutted past the slow-moving carts, a resplendently dressed man perched atop a saddle of bright cloth. Behind them, a giant lizard carried a miniature cloth hut on its back, which Mira said was called a howdah. Most striking of all, there were non-humans among the crowd.

  Once, just once, a beast-kin trader visited Bekham. Leonin, they’d said. Lineage of lions. His furred skin and feline face had deeply unsettled Damian, and he’d kept his distance. In hindsight, that had been rather rude of him, but he’d only been eight at the time.

  Now Damian saw dozens of beast-kin scattered through the crowd. Some resembled the panthers he sometimes spotted in the woods around Bekham; others looked like bears. A few he didn’t recognize at all, with strange skin and unfamiliar features. One stood out—literally—a full head and shoulders above the tallest humans. They looked almost human from the chest up, with goat legs below and a human torso, arms, and head crowned by a pair of large antlers. Stranger still, their skin was pale green.

  There was so much to look at that Damian felt like his head might explode. So, so much more than he could take in at once. His chest tightened, and his breath hitched. It was too much: every strange, fascinating thing tugging at his attention until he felt like he was beginning to unspool. He drew in deep breaths, searching for something, anything, to focus on. His boot, maybe? The wood of the cart beneath him?

  A little tug in his stomach cut through the chaos. When he focused on it, he felt [Locate Chosen One] guiding him, pulling gently toward the city, past the carts, the strange people, and the animals he’d never seen. It was steady, a reminder of why he was here. He was close now. He could do this.

  “Hey, kid,” Mira said, snapping him out of his mini–panic attack. “Shouldn’t be any problem when we reach the gate. Some spells’ll check you for contraband, it’ll feel like a warm breeze. I suppose I never asked, but no drugs or cursed items on you, right?”

  “Um... no,” Damian said cautiously. The thought of being scanned by a potentially hostile spell didn’t do much for his anxiety.

  But Mira seemed unconcerned, and Damian wasn’t carrying anything cursed. At least, he didn’t think so. Definitely no drugs. Unless healing potions counted... they wouldn’t, right? He shifted uncomfortably as the cart rolled closer to the gate.

  “Hey, do—”

  Damian faltered mid-sentence as warm, invisible fingers brushed against his skin, his arms, his chest, even his face. They slipped through his hair, as if trying to feel every inch of him. It lasted only a few moments before the hands released him, but the sensation was thoroughly unpleasant.

  Damian shivered despite being comfortably warm in his cloak. In fact, he realized he was very warm. His earlier discomfort was quickly forgotten as the temperature rose. Suddenly, his heavy cloak felt unnecessary. He started taking it off, and Mira did the same.

  “There’s an enchantment over the city,” she explained, tucking her robe into the cart behind her. “Keeps it warm even in blizzard conditions. It’s nice.”

  “It is nice...” Damian murmured, sweeping his gaze around at his first real look at the city.

  The gate opened onto a large plaza choked with activity. People moved in every direction, most with purposeful efficiency. The buildings surrounding the plaza rose at least five stories high, casting long shadows that might have made for a chill if not for the magically warm air. At the center stood a plinth bearing a marble statue nearly a dozen feet tall.

  It depicted a man in a simple robe. He was noticeably skinny, on the edge of emaciated, with his robe flowing off him as though he stood in a strong wind. His face was old but hard, and he was bald except for a sharp goatee. The most prominent feature however were several chains, painstakingly rendered in marble, draped over his body and dramatically posed as though lashing behind him with his robes.

  Mira followed his gaze and grunted. “That’s Marduk. A few hundred years back, or so they say, a [Stonemason] over level 50 made it for the city. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Beautiful wasn’t the word Damian would’ve used. The carving was incredible, so exquisitely detailed, it wouldn’t have surprised him if it moved like a living thing. A masterwork worthy of a level fifty [Mason]. But beautiful? No. To Damian, it was haunting.

  “Yeah,” Damian said quietly, trying to be polite.

  It was slow going through the crowd, but eventually they reached the main street leading deeper into Jahrmarkt. To Damian’s dismay, the buildings only grew larger. How many people lived within these walls? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? Ten hundred thousand? He didn’t even have words for that number.

  “That there’s the largest temple to Marduk in the world,” Mira said, pointing to the tallest building on the horizon. “Second largest temple to any god.”

  “Huh,” was all Damian could manage. It was large, square, covered in arches and carved gargoyles. It looked strange, symmetrical, and cast a shadow worthy of a mountain over the city.

  “Where can I let you off, kid?” Mira asked.

  Damian felt lightheaded, but he mustered a response. “Oh... anywhere’s fine. I’ll need an inn, I guess.”

  Mira winced. “It’ll cost you. Space is at a premium here, if you haven’t guessed. A city this big attracts monsters, and rebuilding the wall would be... well, there’s no one high enough level to do it. So, we just keep growing up.”

  “Yeah,” Damian muttered, still dazed. “I can see that.”

  The ever-affable Mira snorted. “You’ll get used to it. I’ll drop you by an inn that won’t completely squeeze your coin purse.”

  “Okay.”

  A moment later, Mira pinched Damian, and he nearly jumped off the cart in surprise. He gave her a startled “what was that for?” look, more annoyed than actually upset.

  “This is the part where you thank me for going out of my way for you,” she said smugly.

  “Right,” Damian said, settling back into his seat while keeping his gaze on her hands. She didn’t pinch lightly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Now that Damian felt grounded after his second freak-out, he started noticing more around him. Above, thick chains hung between buildings across the street, connecting seemingly at random. Clothes and ribbons were draped over them, creating layers of color that fluttered in the air and drew the eye from the gray buildings. Some of the larger chains had smaller ones dangling below, clinking softly as the wind caught them. The sound and motion made for a surreal scene, like a forest of stone and metal.

  “Here,” Mira said suddenly as the cart rolled to a stop.

  Damian blinked, looked around, and realized the building beside them had a sign marking it as an inn. It would take some getting used to, these towering buildings being something as humble as an inn, a store, or a home. He wondered if everyone here had incredible legs, given how many stairs they must climb.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Cautiously, he stepped off the cart and scurried around the horse as traffic rolled past on their left. The road was wide enough for moving carts, stopped wagons, and a raised walking path on either side. It had never even occurred to Damian that people and wagons might need separate spaces.

  “Kid?” Mira prompted, and Damian looked up. “You’re a good kid, but keep your head on a swivel, yeah? It’s not unsafe, but the city’s got a bit of a crime problem. Ironic, I know.”

  Damian hesitated. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “A crime problem?”

  “No—ironic.”

  She chuckled. “It’s like—you know what, never mind. You’re a good kid with a good head on you. Just be careful, yeah?”

  “Right,” Damian said. “I will. And, um... thanks again. For everything.”

  “Hah!” Mira laughed, leaning over her knee. “We’ll make a [Gentleman] out of you yet. Good luck, kid.”

  And with that, she flicked the reins, and her cart rolled back into traffic. Damian watched her go for a while. Though he’d only known her a few days, she was the only familiar bit of safety he had in this strange city, and he was a little sad to see her go. When she disappeared into the crowded street, he turned toward the inn she’d left him at. He still had some daylight left, but it was best to secure a place to stay before anything else.

  “Two silver?” Damian echoed, though his voice was nearly lost in the rowdy common room.

  The price for a room for the night was four times what he’d paid in Skogheim. While he certainly had the money, if he stayed for any extended period of time, he’d run out fast. At least, at this rate.

  “That’s right,” said the cheery [Innkeeper]. He was a stout man in a simple leather apron over a white shirt and stained brown workpants. Everything about him was rounded and smooth, polished by years of work. “That includes breakfast and dinner, and it’s the best rate you’ll find in the city. My [Innkeeper’s Honor] on it. It’s what makes me a [Trusty Innkeeper], after all.”

  The man used the skill, and Damian believed him. Something deep inside told him that if the [Innkeeper] were wrong, there’d be consequences. But if he was right, two silver a night was as cheap as it got. That was... well, he’d have to move quickly.

  He paid the man and pocketed the key.

  Outside again, the chaos felt just as intense as before, but this time he had his own two feet beneath him and a clear goal. Pressing on [Locate Chosen One] in his mind, he felt the pull turn him deeper into the city. One foot in front of the other, and he was on his way. All he had to do was follow his skill until... until he couldn’t anymore. Simple.

  Navigating Jahrmarkt turned out to be simpler than Damian expected. Unlike Skogheim—and certainly Bekham—all the roads were perfectly straight, meeting at clean right angles. Everything was so square and tall that the city had a strange sameness, each street feeling vaguely familiar. It was both confusing and easy to navigate, in a dizzying sort of way.

  But as similar as the streets looked at first glance, they were anything but. Restaurants, merchants, guild halls, banks, blacksmiths, inns, bathhouses—dozens more Damian had never even heard of. At one such place, a group of nearly naked women made him blush furiously, and he fixed his gaze on the sign above the door: Lumora’s Favor—The Finest Brothel in Jahrmarkt. Plenty of places called themselves the best or finest, but Damian had no idea what a brothel was, much less what would make it the finest.

  Another sign caught his eye; two snakes curled around a staff. They didn’t seem to be selling anything, as far as he could tell, but plenty of people were coming and going, which piqued his curiosity. Despite himself, Damian wandered closer, wondering if they really had snakes or what exactly the building was. He’d never seen a snake before, only heard tales of great sea serpents and sand snakes from the southern deserts.

  Inside, there were only a few people sitting in chairs and a desk which a young woman sat behind, dressed in an almost blindingly white outfit. When Damian approached, she smiled at him. He was certain it was some kind of skill, the way it disarmed him.

  “Hello, do you have an appointment?”

  “Er... no,” Damian said. “I was just wondering what this building is. I’ve never seen the snake symbol outside before.”

  “Oh, that’s a caduceus, symbol of healing,” the woman explained. “This is Saint Meridith’s Hospital—hallowed be his Word. We help the sick.”

  Damian blinked in surprise. Did sick people need help? He’d always just gotten better with soup and bedrest. It seemed a little silly to travel somewhere for soup and a bed. You should have that at home.

  “I see,” Damian lied.

  The woman smiled again. “Are you new to the city? You don’t see many hospitals outside Jahrmarkt.”

  “I am.”

  “Lucky you. I wish I could see everything for the first time again.”

  Contrary to his nature, Damian felt oddly encouraged to keep talking with the young woman. “Like what? I mean, if I’m trying to see things for the first time.”

  “Hm...” the woman hummed. “The Grand Bazaar, for sure. Also the port, the House of Lights, and the Grand Cathedral.”

  Damian mentally noted her list. Someone behind him was already waiting for the [Receptionist’s] attention, so he quickly thanked her and slipped out. How bad could the world be if there were places dedicated to helping people in need?

  The little pull at his gut distracted him again as he went back out onto the street. Or rather, it refocused him. He’d been drifting, but he had a mission. A purpose. Following his inner compass, he walked the streets, ignoring the vendors’ calls and doing his best to resist any skills tossed his way. Luckily, he wasn’t anyone’s priority target, and the few skills that did hit him were broad and easy to shake off. Focusing on his own skill helped cut through the noise.

  He was getting closer—he could feel it. The direction was changing faster now, meaning he was circling around [The Chosen One], assuming his skill was really leading him to one. When it finally shifted sharply, he turned the corner and froze at the sight.

  Ahead, the tall buildings gave way to something lower, but what they lacked in height they made up for in eye-watering color and architecture. Damian had assumed the scattered vendors and shops he’d seen across the city were what trade looked like here, but he’d been spectacularly wrong. Compared to this, the other storefronts looked like hovels beside the sheer opulence on display. Massive stones floated above the street, suspended by magic, and after a few seconds Damian realized they spelled out the words The Grand Bazaar.

  In the street, wooden rickshaws served food advertised with bright painted signs and shimmering illusions. One stall sold more kinds of fruit than Damian had ever seen in his life; another offered lanterns with flames in every color he could name and some he couldn’t. Behind them rose the merchant halls, even more impressive. The buildings were carved from stone, each a continuous piece of art wrapping along the walls and climbing up intricate arches and gabled windows. Every arch bore a crest or figure of shaped metal so lifelike it looked ready to leap from the wall at any moment.

  Then Damian blinked as one of the crests—a griffin’s head—did exactly that, bending its neck to glare and screech at a passerby.

  Damian drifted through the street in a daze, pulled this way and that by hundreds of competing skills and magical contraptions designed to snare his attention. He stopped to smell herbs at one stall, buying his favorite—something called lavender. In what felt like a single blink, he was inside a building watching a [Merchant] demonstrate three miniature golem-knights battling a winged animated metal dragon. The next moment, he was biting into a yellow-and-red fruit with purple flesh, sweet and sour and dripping down his chin. He handed over a silver piece without thinking, and the young merchant thanked him for his time.

  There were so many sights, smells, and sounds. So many things to do, and surely he was meant to do them all. Right? What other reason could anyone come to the bazaar for but to experience everything? He had a miniature golem knight, a fantastic fruit he couldn’t name, a pouch of lavender, a prayer chain, and still so much more to see.

  A small voice inside Damian screamed at him to get back to his quest, but he ignored it. The [Street Vendor] shouting [Just One Look] was much louder. A [Winning Smile] and [Silver Tongue] practically dragged him in another direction against his will. [The First Taste Free] had Damian sampling anything he was offered. Each skill muttered at him as a smiling [Merchant] offered him their wares.

  Damian stumbled through stalls and streets for what felt like weeks, but could’ve been hours, letting whim carry him from one sight to the next. His feet led him into a building thick with sharp incense and a tangy scent that made his head swim. Inside, rich purple silks draped the walls, and delicate golden chains with tiny bells brushed his shoulders as he staggered through the dim room.

  People sat in circles around strange glass-and-metal contraptions that puffed rainbow smoke through tubes and while the people took turns to breathe it in. What was this [Merchant] selling? Why was Damian here? How had he even gotten here in the first place? A small ember of panic flared through the fog clouding his mind. Cut off from the chaos of skills and noise outside, he was only beginning to realize something was very, very wrong.

  Damian’s stomach lurched as a sudden nausea overtook him. He clapped a hand over his mouth, searching desperately for somewhere to retch. Panicking, he stumbled toward a nearby group gathered around a large silver basin and fell to his knees beside it, just in time. What came up was bright purple and burned his throat as it rose.

  It was awful—but it cut through the fog in his mind like a hot knife through butter. Damian realized he’d been caught in the crossfire of a hundred [Merchants] and other people with other classes, all vying for his attention. All with skills. How long had he been wandering aimlessly, spending his limited coin? He gasped for air and wiped his mouth on his cloak, glancing around to regain his bearings.

  Where in the stars was he? A sharp twist in his gut made him think he’d be sick again, but then he realized it was [Locate Chosen One], tugging for his attention. His distance to the target was... zero. Damian frowned. How was that possible?

  A hand closed around his shoulder, and Damian nearly leapt out of his skin.

  “Hey, man—you okay?”