Jimmy did not run.
That was the first strategic decision he made.
The bells continued tolling somewhere beyond the square—deep and resonant, echoing off stone in waves—but no guards burst around the corner. No immediate chaos followed.
The city did not erupt.
Slymare absorbed the disturbance the way a seasoned predator absorbed rain—acknowledging it without reacting wildly.
Jimmy walked.
Steady.
Measured.
Not too fast.
He let his breathing settle. Let the ache in his skull dull from sharp to manageable.
The wind in the air was quieter now. Less responsive. Or perhaps he was simply less desperate.
He turned down a narrower lane that sloped gradually downward toward what looked like an older district of the city. The buildings leaned closer together here. Stone gave way to brick in places. Windows were smaller. Ironwork is less polished.
People dressed differently, too.
Fewer fine cloaks.
More worn fabrics.
More eyes that avoided contact.
He passed a man repairing a cracked wagon wheel with tools that looked centuries old. A woman hanging laundry that had been patched more times than dyed. A group of children playing with carved wooden tokens, their laughter quick and fleeting.
No one looked like they had ever formed a golden spell circle.
No one looked like they ever would.
Jimmy slowed near a narrow canal that cut through the lower district. The water was dark but not stagnant, flowing lazily beneath a low stone bridge.
He rested his hands on the edge of the bridge and stared down at his reflection.
Same face.
Same brown hair, now slightly messier.
Same gray eyes—though they looked different.
Sharper.
More alert.
"What exactly did I fall into?" he muttered.
City of Slymare. Capital of the Empire of Altharion.
"Not helpful."
You prefer a metaphysical explanation?
Jimmy sighed.
"I prefer something that makes sense."
There was a brief pause before A.L.L.I.E. responded.
Your previous reality and this one coexist within a broader structural framework.
He blinked.
"…You're going to need to use smaller words."
You were displaced. Not annihilated.
"By who?"
Unknown.
That answer bothered him more than he expected.
He had assumed—somehow—that the system would know everything.
It didn't.
He leaned further over the canal, watching ripples distort his reflection.
"So what am I here?" he asked quietly. "Random? Chosen? Mistake?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Current data is insufficient for narrative classification.
Jimmy let out a short laugh despite himself.
"Did you just say 'narrative classification'?"
Yes.
"You're aware this feels scripted."
Reality frequently does.
He straightened.
The bells stopped.
The city's ambient noise resumed its usual rhythm.
Cart wheels.
Distant voices.
Metal striking metal somewhere far off.
He focused inward.
Not summoning.
Not forcing.
Just observing.
The static in the air brushed faintly against his skin again.
He tried something different.
Instead of grabbing the wind—
He imagined holding it.
Not pulling.
Just… letting it gather.
A soft current circled his wrist.
Gentle.
Obedient.
No explosion of energy.
No migraine.
The system panel flickered faintly.
Bandwidth: 18%
Better.
"You respond to intent," he murmured.
Correction: you respond to intent.
Jimmy tilted his head.
"What does that mean?"
Local casters construct external frameworks to direct mana. You do not require an intermediary structure.
He flexed his fingers slowly.
The air tightened and loosened in response.
Like muscle memory, he had never learned but somehow possessed.
"Why?"
Another pause.
Because your affinity is unrestricted.
He exhaled slowly.
Unrestricted.
That word again.
"Is that rare?" he asked.
Statistically improbable.
"Improbable how?"
Extreme.
Jimmy looked back toward the upper city, where the fortress walls rose in layers of stone and power.
"And if they figure that out?"
Enslavement probability: high.
He swallowed.
The canal water reflected a passing shadow above.
He glanced up.
On the opposite side of the bridge, two men stood speaking quietly.
Not guards.
Not Academy.
They wore simple tunics, but each bore a small metal emblem pinned to their chest.
A single copper circle engraved with a faint sigil.
Jimmy's eyes narrowed.
They weren't looking at him.
They were looking at the notice board across the lane.
One of them shook his head.
"Clan Vareth doesn't miss," he muttered to the other.
"They say it was circle-less," the second replied.
"That's impossible."
Jimmy turned his face slightly away.
So it was spreading.
The story.
He pushed off the bridge and continued walking.
He needed information.
He needed a place to disappear.
He needed—
A low rumble vibrated through the ground.
Subtle.
But distinct.
Jimmy stopped.
The rumble came again.
Not from the fortress.
Not from guards.
From beneath.
The canal water rippled outward in uneven rings.
Jimmy's eyes narrowed.
"That's not normal," he murmured.
Correct.
The rumble intensified briefly, then stopped.
People nearby didn't seem alarmed.
Perhaps it happened often.
Or perhaps they were used to ignoring things.
Jimmy scanned the buildings.
Most seemed old.
Stable.
But at the far end of the district, beyond a cluster of tightly packed homes, something rose slightly above the rest.
A circular structure.
Stone.
Cracked.
Half-collapsed.
Vines are crawling along its edges.
An old tower.
No banners.
No guards.
Just forgotten.
His pulse quickened slightly.
"Tell me that's not interesting."
High mana concentration detected in that direction.
Jimmy looked at the tower again.
"Dungeon?"
Probable. Tier classification unknown.
He hesitated.
He had nearly been burned alive less than an hour ago.
His Bandwidth was barely recovering.
Guards were searching for him.
And now—
An unstable magical structure sat within walking distance.
He stared at the tower.
Then glanced back toward the upper city.
The fortress.
The Academy.
The nobles.
He felt the invisible weight of classification pressing down on him.
Property.
Anomaly.
Reward offered.
His jaw tightened.
"If I'm going to survive here," he muttered, "I need more than running."
Correct.
He looked back at the tower.
A faint shimmer danced along its cracked stone surface.
Almost imperceptible.
Like heat rising from pavement.
"Then we start with that," Jimmy said quietly.
The wind stirred faintly at his ankles.
Not from panic.
From the decision.
Recommendation: A.L.L.I.E. said calmly.
Exercise caution.
Jimmy gave the tower one last measuring look.
"Caution," he echoed.
Then he turned toward it.
Behind him, unnoticed—
From the shadowed second-story window of a building across the canal—
The same blonde-haired woman watched him again.
This time, she did not step back.
She smiled faintly.
And somewhere deep beneath Slymare—
Something shifted.