I still couldn’t quite believe the past few months of my life. I, Alice Abbott, or as the locals know me, Alice Hecate, had gone from dusty university libraries, broken up by the occasional trip to quaint little towns on Earth, to a world of miracles, monsters, and magic.

  I arrived here by wishing on the stars during a meteor shower, and almost immediately found myself swept into the world of the Holy Temple. I remember the day I first met Vena, a kind blonde orphan girl who would become a cleric. I remember Justicar Gray, whose lie-detecting magic confirmed that I wasn’t a threat. I remember the awe of seeing miracles, real miracles, as priests channeled divine light to heal the sick and wounded.

  And I remember how quickly I had to stop being a scholar and start becoming a fighter.

  The Freelancer Guild gave me a place in this new society. I learned to shape lightning and spearwork under the harsh discipline of my mentors, Garo and Edmund. There I also met friends: Calr with his skeptic’s cynicism, and Kan with her quiet strength. Together we hunted the filthy, overgrown rats in the sewers. What began as pest work spiraled into something far darker: the discovery of cultists from the Old Realm. That led to spy work with Nakera and Kuru, and finally baiting the cult into a fight on the Pikar Steppe.

  I still think of myself as the same introverted scholar, but I know I’ve changed. I made my first kill. I used my lightning not just for experiments or to recharge my smartphone, but to fight against monsters, and to end a human life. And what scares me most is that I don’t regret doing it. I fear that I have the aptitude to be a killer, a warrior, even though all I’ve ever wanted to be is a scholar.

  Yet there were triumphs too. I introduced the concept of vaccination to the temple.

  And now, after all that, I was standing on the roof of a building in Hano watching over a magical city, as if nothing in the world could be more ordinary.

  Nina stood beside me, stone-gray pigeon-feather wings folded against her back. Her black hair was loosely draped over her pastel wrap, one of the sarong-like dresses she wore as though she’d simply knotted a single cloth around herself. She looked every bit the dreamer, an inventor whose mind skipped from idea to idea like a bee from flower to flower. Tonight, her newest creation sat gleaming on a wooden tripod: A Telescope.

  I leaned over it, breath catching in my throat. Though it was late in the water-day cycle, the pale blue sun still glowed faintly against the horizon, and its soft light left enough darkness to reveal a sky freckled with dim stars. And beyond them, looming like a ghost lantern, a gas giant hung in the void, close enough to be seen as a bright dot with the naked eye, but through the telescope, it became breathtaking.

  “This is amazing,” I whispered. My hands turned the little brass knob Nina had carved to adjust the focus. The planet grew sharper, vast rings circling its brawn-orange surface, storm bands twisting across its thin, restless atmosphere.

  “Yeah,” Nina said, smiling as her wings gave a little twitch. “Your diagram really helped me. Once I understood how light bends through glass, building it was manageable.”

  She then held up a second device proudly.

  “I was also able to make this!”

  It was a collapsible spyglass, the kind I only knew from pirate movies, sliding in and out with a satisfying click.

  I lowered the telescope for a moment, looking at Nina, then back at the stars. I thought of Earth, how I used to dream of discovery, of digging through history to understand what people believed, how they lived. And here I was, staring at another planet under a foreign sky, in a world where faith, magic, and science were no longer opposites but faces of the same dice.

  The thought gave me shivers. This was no longer just an adventure. It was the beginning of the next chapter.

  I picked up the spyglass and turned it toward the city, curious to see what details I could pick out. Nina was still lost in the stars, humming quietly to herself as she tested the telescope, her wings twitching whenever she got the focus just right.

  Her workshop wasn’t tall, just a one-story building tucked into a quieter corner of Hano’s market street, so the vantage point wasn’t perfect. Still, the spyglass made the city feel close and more alive. A few blocks away, I found the Holy Temple, its pale stone glowing faintly under the dying blue sunlight. Through the glass I could make out individual windows, and I wondered if Vena might be inside one of them, tending to some late prayer or healing duty.

  I tried to find the Freelancer Guild next, though that was more of a challenge. Normally, I used the magical portal hub to get there; walking across the city felt like too much of a trek. From Nina’s roof, the freelancer guildhall was half-hidden behind the bank building and the tall spires of the merchant guild. I thought I caught a glimpse of its upper floors, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe next time I should ask the temple to let me climb one of their towers. Now that would be a view.

  Turning the spyglass westward, I found the city wall. The stone battlements caught the last rays of the setting sun, giving them a burnished purple look. I searched for Lieutenant Garo, my old lightning teacher, who usually manned the western watchtower. But it was late in the Waterday, and he wasn’t there. He worked most of Firedays anyway.

  I shifted south, curious about the parts of Hano I hadn’t explored yet. Warehouses and primitive factories dominated the district. I remembered Malik and his crew going there, selling rat corpses to make fertilizer with decay magic. Further along, I spotted weavers working cloth, tanners scraping hides, and furnaces glowing with molten ore.

  My gaze wandered to the southern wall, and I quickly noticed a difference. The guards here were tense, more alert than their western counterparts. The reason became clear when I spotted an officer conducting a readiness inspection. Considering the Old Realm cult had been in league with High Rock, Hano’s main rival in the contested realm, it made sense that they’d be vigilant. Being ready for war wasn’t just wise; it was crucial.

  Then something unexpected happened.

  The officer turned sharply, almost as if he had felt my eyes on him. I froze. No, surely not. There was no way he could actually see me from that distance. Right?

  Who was I kidding? Of course, he could. Why wouldn’t a high-level freelancer, probably a lieutenant judging from his insignia, be able to sense when he was being observed, especially if he was in charge of the outer wall’s defense?

  The man raised his hand, and a circle of radiant light spun into existence next to him, like a glowing platform. With practiced ease, he stepped onto it, and then, just like that, he rose into the air, balancing as the disc of light spun faster and faster.

  “Oh no,” I muttered.

  The officer cut across the city toward me, the disc whirring beneath his boots like some magical saw blade. He came on with terrifying speed, gold hair whipping in the wind, his muscular form framed in the glow. It was both majestic and absurd, like watching a cat ride a Roomba, except this one could kill me in an instant.

  “Shit,” I hissed. My hands moved before my brain did. I ran to Nina’s side, grabbed the tripod with the telescope still mounted, and shoved the whole thing into my bag of holding. Only the spyglass remained in my hand, which suddenly felt like a child’s toy compared to the flying man cutting through the sky toward us.

  Did he not get vertigo, spinning around like that?

  To my relief, the man finally slowed and stopped. The lieutenant stepped onto the roof with us, boots landing off the glowing disc before it winked out beneath him. The sudden plunge back into dimness made the blue-sun twilight feel slightly heavier.

  His aura washed over me, dense and controlled. Stronger than Ki’a or Yon, but not quite at the level of Kerissa or Hanakudo. Enough to make my shoulders tense.

  He looked at me, then at Nina, his eyes sharp and assessing. Then his gaze dropped to my chest… no, to my freelancer badge pinned there.

  “You are a freelancer,” he said, frowning. “Why are you spying on the wall?”

  Nina looked too stunned to speak, so I took the initiative before she could blurt something foolish.

  “My name is Alice Hecate,” I said crisply, brushing my black hair back over one shoulder, making sure to highlight my VIP guild badge, “freelancer, and recently worked with Captain Yoka during the last counter-cult operation, sir.” I made sure to drop a superior’s name first thing; it usually bought a second of hesitation.

  He blinked at me. Good. I pressed the attack.

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  “This is my friend, Nina, a dreamer, inventor, and an absolute genius when it comes to glasswork.” I put on my most charming smile and thrust the spyglass into his hands. “You should try this, sir. I’m certain it will revolutionize guard duty… and sailing too.”

  His suspicion wavered. Curiosity cracked through. He raised the spyglass to his eye and gasped.

  “This is better than the Eagle Eye Soulbook.”

  “I know, right?” I leaned forward, eager. “Imagine how useful this would be for watchmen, especially those guarding the wall.”

  He lowered it, face shifting from awe to calculation. “How much would this cost?”

  Before I could stop her, Nina blurted, “You can have it for free, sir! I’ll make another.”

  I nearly facepalmed on the spot. Nina was brilliant at invention, but she was hopeless when it came to money. She’d charged the temple a pittance for her microscopes that should have been priceless. She’d forged a spear artifact and accepted six silvers for it, barely enough to cover the materials. And now she was about to give away another invention to the first officer who asked for it.

  I stepped firmly on her foot and gave her a look that screamed: shut up, let me handle this.

  “Yes,” I interjected smoothly, “it would be our honor to provide this proof of concept for you to take, sir. Show it to the rest of the freelancers' leadership and to Hano’s military. And if there’s interest in production, we can discuss future orders.”

  He blinked, then nodded. “Of course, we’d want more. But that would depend on the price.”

  “Exactly,” I said, seizing the rhythm. “And for that, sir, you’ll need to negotiate with our merchant contact, Lady Tan Je’e of Skylift Lake.”

  Nina inhaled, lips parting, no doubt ready to ask something idiotic like “When did we get a merchant contact?”, so I stomped her leg again.

  The lieutenant frowned, then studied me with a new expression, half suspicion, half amusement. At last, he smiled.

  “I am Lieutenant Tango Haske. It was good to meet you. Lady Alice,” He gave us a curt nod, conjured another disc of light beneath his boots, and spun away once more toward the south wall, vanishing in a whirl of brilliance.

  The roof fell quiet again, dim and still, and only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “What was that for?” Nina grumbled, bare foot rubbing her foot where I’d stepped on it.

  “Stop giving away your work for free,” I scolded, glaring at her.

  “You know I prefer to be paid in inspiration rather than money,” she said airily, as if that explained anything.

  “Yeah, well, the military isn’t going to give you Inspiration. They’ll want bulk orders, boring and repetitive.”

  “Then I’m not going to do it. Let them hire someone else to copy my work.”

  I groaned. “Girl, you have the economic savviness of a goldfish. That’s why I name-dropped Tan Je’e. She can hire people to handle the grunt work while you keep inventing, and still profit.”

  Nina squinted at me suspiciously. “How do you even know this Tan Je’e lady? She seems way above your pay grade.”

  “I’ve had business dealings with her before,” I said smoothly. “I am San Alice too, remember?”

  “Now quit stalling,” I said, giving Nina a push toward her workbench. “Grab another spyglass, we’re going to see her.”

  “Eeeeh, I only finished the one,” Nina whined, shoulders slumping.

  I stared, deadpan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Nina dragged the words out like a sulking child.

  “What do you think this is? You already gave a working prototype to the lieutenant!” I hissed. “I don’t know him. He might be an honorable fellow who wants you rewarded for your work… or he might be a slimy little shit who’ll run straight to a competitor and try to profit off your invention. Either way, we can’t just sit on our hands.”

  She groaned, fiddling with the scattered brass fittings on her table. “Ugh. Fine. I’ve got the parts ready. I can probably assemble another in, say, thirty minutes.”

  “Perfect. You do that. I’ll secure a rendezvous with Je’e.”

  I left Nina’s workshop and stepped into the street. The blue sun was already dipping, painting the rooftops in shades of violet. Not much daylight left. I doubted I’d find Tan Je’e in the guild at this hour.

  A group of teens lounged near the corner, kicking pebbles and trading jokes. I recognized two of the kids from the orphanage, scrawny boys with hand-me-down shirts and sunburnt cheeks. I waved them over, slipped each of them two bronze coins, and gave them a simple task: track down where Tan Je’e might be found tonight. They scattered with eager nods, happy to have coins in their pockets. That freed me up for my second project, the other introduction I wanted to make to Je’e. Louis.

  I tracked her down at Silnar’s restaurant. The place was quiet, not the bustling chaos it would be at midday. Hano folk preferred their biggest meal at sun-high on Waterday or Fireday, not this late. Inside, I spotted Louis at the counter, brunette hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting her apron. She was laughing shyly at something Silnar had said.

  Silnar was tall, with a frame too muscular for a cook, the kind of strength that came from hauling barrels and kneading dough in equal measure. I guessed Louis had a type; I’d heard her gushing about arena fighters too many times not to notice. He looked up just then, his smile gentle, his hands polishing cups with the casual rhythm of someone who belonged in a kitchen.

  “Hey, Louis,” I called softly. “How fast can you whip out a pizza?”

  “I already made some dough for Silnar and Mama Dima’s dinner,” she said, wiping flour on her apron.

  The way she called Silnar’s mother Mama tugged at me. Sweet, really, especially since Louis barely remembered her own mother.

  I leaned in, lowering my voice. “It’s time to meet Tan Je’e.”

  Her eyes widened, then flicked to Mrs Dima. “How, let me check.”

  She turned. “Mama, I know I promised to make pizza tonight, but my friend Alice says she can introduce us to a merchant. A Tan, no less. Could I use the dough I already made for you?”

  Dima chuckled, softening immediately. “Of course, sweetie. We’ve already had your pizza before. Meeting a Tan is far more important.”

  “Thank you, Mama!” Louis hugged her quickly, then darted into the kitchen.

  I turned to Silnar, who was polishing cups. “Hey, Silnar. Know any paper shops?”

  He looked up, thoughtful. “Four blocks west, there is a shop that sells only kindred-wood paper. Five blocks north for something more general, well, it's mostly Elemental Bloodline paper.”

  “Which is cheapest?” I asked.

  “This is Hano, where the contested realm meets the bloodlines. Bloodline paper is made here, not imported.”

  “Right.”

  I jogged to the shop and found a narrow storefront wedged between a candle maker and an ink maker. A little bell jingled overhead as I stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of resin and warm parchment.

  Behind the counter stood a clerk, a lean man with ink-stained fingers and a tidy beard. His vest was patched but clean, and he greeted me with the slow, patient tone of someone who dealt with scholars and scribes all day.

  “Looking for kindred, bloodline, or maybe some dreamer paper?” he asked.

  “Bloodline,” I said, remembering Silnar’s advice. “Something thick, sturdy enough for… packaging.”

  His eyebrows rose at that, but he didn’t ask questions. Instead, he drew a sheet from a stack and laid it on the counter. The paper was smooth, almost creamy to the touch, the edges cut with clean precision; no ragged fibers or imperfections.

  “This was made for book covers,” he explained. “While Soulscripts prefer leather for their Soulbooks covers, it’s not always the case. I mass-produced these for the Outspring family.”

  I ran my fingers over it, frowning. On Earth, this quality only came from industrial rollers, bleaching, and precise chemical baths.

  But here? Here it was done by hand… no, not by hand, by magic.

  The clerk noticed my stare and smiled faintly. “Pressed with earth-affinity monster cores from beasts with Heavy powers. The pulp fibers bind tighter than with any normal press.”

  I nodded slowly, still running my fingers along the flawless surface. This isn’t medieval paper, I thought. This is practically modern, not because of machines, but because magic shortcuts the whole process.

  My anthropologist brain couldn’t help but wander. Back on Earth, people had scraped by with papyrus reeds, then parchment made from stretched animal hides, until the Chinese invented real paper around 100 BCE. It took another thousand years to crawl into Europe, where it was still rare, handmade, and expensive. Only with industrial mills and pulp machines in the 19th century did paper become truly cheap and widespread. It took us two thousand years to reach this quality… I wonder if it’s the same here.

  No. Here in Hano, without a single machine, they had already leapfrogged to something equivalent to Earth’s modern stock. Their need for paper was greater than ours.

  When you can share magical power using books, of course, the material to make those books becomes an area of focus.

  The Soul Realm needed books, the Dreaming Realm brimmed with inventors, and the Seven Realms together provided a surplus of raw materials no single world could match.

  “I’ll take several meters,” I said quickly, before my awe could show too much.

  The clerk cut and bundled the sheets with practiced ease, sliding them into my bag of holding. I paid him less than 2 bronze. I guess it makes sense for paper to be as common as bread.

  Back at Silnar’s, I worked with the sheets, folding and pressing until I had sturdy cardboard boxes ready for pizza. Both Silnar and his mother raised their brows, clearly intrigued. I suppose people here had never seen pizza boxes; they usually wrapped food in wax paper or used reusable metal bento trays.

  By the time I was finished, the air smelled rich with baked bread, cheese, and herbs. Louis emerged with three steaming pies, their golden crusts gleaming. A few customers looked over, noses twitching, and even asked if they could order some. Silnar had to apologize, explaining these weren’t for sale.

  We slid the pizzas neatly into the boxes, making sure the presentation looked sharp, then tucked the whole stack into my bag of holding. The mouth of the bag stretched wide to fit them.

  The bag didn’t stop time, but it was airless and insulated. We had maybe forty-five minutes before the pizzas went stale, so we needed to move fast.

  Louis and I regrouped with Nina, who now had the second spyglass ready. The orphans I’d hired earlier were already waiting, bouncing on their toes, eager to deliver. One handed me a scrap with Je’e’s address scrawled across it.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Let’s go bedazzle a rich woman.”