After leaving the weapons merchant, Jack continued wandering around the city. Chimneys from the upper district’s aether refineries released faint trails of blue-tinted aether-steam into the clear sky. Up above, two military dirigibles, the only ones of their kind, floated between reinforced aerial mooring rings suspended on titanic sky chains. Their hulls were studded with bronze rivets, and their propeller fins shimmered with rune enchantments designed to stabilise flight and repel wayward birds. Smaller skycraft buzzed between them; messenger hawks reimagined, their metallic wings clinking as they zipped between towers, delivering encoded scrolls or fresh aether capsules.

  Jack recalled that within a decade, sky taxis would be introduced; elegant, enclosed skimmers that could carry a dozen passengers each, available only to the wealthy. But for now, almost all airborne craft served the crown. Plans were underway to build a fleet of military dirigibles to protect the Kingdom’s borders from its many enemies. Soon, squadrons of elite soldiers would operate dozens of the dirigibles. A new class of aerial scouts, sky-knights, glided beside them in gear-spun wingsuits that folded like clockwork bronze scarabs when grounded.

  “Not for me, thanks,” Jack muttered as he imagined himself jumping from a dirigible while relying on mechanical wings to keep him from splatting on the cobbles below. “They must be mad!” He shuddered at the thought.

  Though still experimental, the sky-knight combat class was visually impressive, their glass-lens helmets and sweeping, blue canvas cloaks casting long shadows over the city during training flights. The class was so new that only eight teenagers had been offered the Novice Sky-Knight class. All the new recruits were children of nobles in the military. None had the years of experience to level to Apprentice Sky-Knight.

  Passing by a shop selling spell scrolls, he remembered that he was supposed to visit a temple to choose his class. Caught up in the wonderful distractions and the fun of the day, he had lost track of time.

  He paused and surveyed his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the nearest temple. The first time he had chosen a class, he had gone to a temple dedicated to Hermes, the God of travel, trade, thieves, and scribes. That temple lay far from where he was now, and the thought of spending too long away from his family made him feel already late.

  Jack thought back to the day he had selected the Novice Scribe class on his sixteenth birthday, a lifetime ago. It was a simple procedure of placing a hand on a Choosing Stone with no fuss or fanfare. True to tradition, he had entered Hermes’ temple alone, ensuring that no one could sway his decision. He’d read through the options, and with no surprises, he chose Novice Scribe before heading home to celebrate with his family.

  As he made his way towards the nearest temple, his belly began to rumble. A quick glance at the sun told him his stomach’s protests were valid. He winced, realising that his visit to the temple would have to wait a little longer. “A quick snack won’t take too long. Then I’ll go straight to the nearest temple,” he convinced himself.

  With a bright smile, Jack hurried through the bustling streets, weaving his way past people as he made for a spot he knew well. I haven’t had one of Arman’s savoury wraps since I was nineteen, he mused. I used to love the old man’s cooking. I wonder where he went?

  He was in so much of a rush he bumped into a little girl. “Oops… I’m sorry,” he said, catching her before she tumbled over. “You alright?” he asked. The girl nodded and he continued on with his quest for food. “Poor thing,” Jack muttered as he rushed through the streets. The little girl was filthy. Probably an orphan.

  Arman’s food stall had been a beloved fixture on Royal Library Square for the first nineteen years of his previous life. Then, without warning, the friendly old man’s stall shut down. Jack never saw or heard from Arman again, leaving him with only the memory of those treasured flavours.

  Approaching The Square, the Royal Library towered high above its neighbours, its red brick fa?ade standing in stark contrast to the newer sandstone buildings that clustered around it. The library’s arched stained-glass windows looked down on the streets of Lundun like the disapproving eyes of noblemen presiding over commoners. The heavy wooden doors were adorned with rivets that protruded from the aged wood like dull porcupine quills. No sane man would ever knock on those doors. Instead, to attract the attention of the academics within, one pulled a decorative rope that rang a bell so loud the people on the street would stop and stare. This was why most visitors preferred to ask the frowning Anubian guards for entry rather than be subjected to the noisy ceremony of the bell.

  Jack spared the Royal Library a cursory glance as he headed for his favourite food stall. He should still be here. He doesn’t leave for a few years, he thought, slowing his pace when he saw the queue. “There he is.”

  Arman had a long line of customers and a warm smile to greet each and every one of them. The spicy, fragrant aroma of the meats, mingled with the sweet scent of honey, tickled Jack’s appetite so much that he couldn’t help but drool. He rocked on his heels as he watched the people in front of him order and receive their wraps.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Arman’s appetising savoury delights, served with sweet and spicy sauces, had earned city?wide fame. The heat from the fire pit, which cooked the spit-roasted lamb, radiated a comforting warmth under the bright, colourful fabric awning.

  Before Jack could step up to take his turn, his name was called over the head of the person before him.

  “Jack, where have you been? An old man might think you are avoiding him, no?” Arman chimed in his merry, sing?song voice. “Have you replaced me with another vendor?” the old man mock complained. “Do I have competition, or is it a young lady’s favour I’ve been replaced by, yes? She has stolen your heart and one of my favourite customers, no?” he teased while handing a wrap to the customer he was serving.

  To ensure he was offered the Novice Scribe class, Jack had been too busy practising to visit Arman’s stall. He’s exactly how I remember him. He smiled at the old vendor’s fun banter. Always teasing me about girls. In his previous life, he would go bright red as Arman teased him, but not this time. He might look sixteen, but he had over forty years of life experience behind him.

  Arman leaned on his stall, his belly spilling onto the counter, chuckling at Jack’s expense while giving him a critical eye. “Not yet, no? No young ladies for Jack yet, but soon, yes, very soon. Arman can tell.” He gave Jack a beaming smile so bright it competed with the reflected sunlight off his greasy skin and bald head. Rolling up the sleeves of his colourful shirt, he asked, “So, what can I get you, young Jack?”

  Jack licked his lips and stepped forward, reaching into his coin pouch, only to recall with dismay that he had spent every last coin on the dagger. No. This can’t be happening, his shoulders drooping as if he’d lost a bad bet. It had been so long since he’d savoured one of Arman’s delicious wraps. Please, don’t let me miss my final chance to enjoy such fine food. He looked up from his empty pouch at Arman, shocked and heartbroken. She could’ve left me with a few coppers.

  His stomach growled in protest at the memory of the mean weapons merchant taking all his coin. That unpleasant gurgling noise drew a boisterous belly laugh from the old food vendor, and Jack’s face turned bright red.

  Arman offered him a knowing smile and wagged an aged finger at the young man before him. “We have danced this dance before, yes? Not the first time you have stood before my offerings of food with that look.” Arman shook his head. “What did you spend it on, ha? So eager are young boys to spend their coin as soon as they get it that they forget that their bellies empty fast and will soon be as empty as their coin pouches. Yes?”

  Jack offered a wry smile.

  Arman’s finger never stopped wagging. “Did you forget it takes a lot of food to grow an ox?” He huffed through his nose and squinted at Jack with one eye closed. “Lucky for you, your father is as forgetful as you, yes? Always forgetting his coin pouch is your father, leaving it amongst a pile of dusty books on his desk.” The old man gestured at the Royal Library. “Arman is not cruel enough to make a starving man climb so many stairs to pay me, not when he is one of my best customers, no?”

  Jack beamed, enjoying the show. This wasn’t the first time he’d visited the food stall without a single coin in his pouch.

  Arman, his belly resting on the counter, handed Jack a wrap of succulent meat and vegetables and tapped his nose conspiratorially as he leaned in. “I’ll put this on your father’s tab,” he whispered. “He will never know. This between me and you, yes?” He then patted Jack on the shoulder.

  Jack nodded with enthusiasm and cradled the ‘free’ wrap while the still-laughing Arman attended to his next customer, welcoming them like an old friend.

  Finding a worn public bench, Jack settled down to enjoy his heavenly wrap. He inhaled, allowing the rich aroma of spiced, marinated lamb to fill his senses. “Hmm, smells so damn good,” he murmured.

  The moment he took his first bite, a soft groan of delight escaped from his lips as the flavours burst onto his tongue. By the Gods… even better than I remember.

  Jack relaxed and soaked in the hustle and bustle of the chattering crowd, their conversations mingling with the gentle murmur of the nearby fountain as he savoured every bite. As he ate, he wondered why, after all the street food he’d sampled in his past life, that nothing could ever compare with Arman’s wraps?

  This is almost as good as Mom’s cooking. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the thought, making him feel as though he’d committed an act of sacrilege against the Gods. Jack pulled the wrap close to his chest to hide it while looking around to ensure his mother wasn’t nearby.

  Before long, Jack was down to his last few bites. “They’re so damn good. I want another one…” he murmured. His eyes drifted to Arman’s stall and considered if he could get away with a second mouthwatering wrap. Dad would pick up the tab, wouldn’t he? He watched the old vendor serve another customer as he took his final bite.

  As he contemplated trying his luck, licking his fingers so as not to waste a drop of sauce, a familiar sound echoed across the plaza. It was the tired creak of the heavy wooden doors of the Royal Library opening across The Square.

  Jack’s attention was drawn to the sound of loud laughter as a small group of people emerged from the Royal Library and stepped onto The Square. The group huddled together, joking and patting each other on the back before parting ways. He searched through all the dark-suited men, hoping to spot his father among them. He recognised several librarians and scribes from his past life, yet his father was nowhere to be seen.

  His blood ran cold when his gaze fell upon Baron Greaves leaving the Royal Library. Greaves was impossible to miss, adorned in his ridiculous top hat and fancy crimson waistcoat and an air of smug self-importance.

  Before Jack even realised what he was doing, he was on his feet, shadowing the almost forty-year-old noble and the two beastkin guards flanking him.