Explorers say that an Impossible City cannot be recognized at first glance. From a distance it looks like any ordinary neighborhood, and that is the first thing that confuses novices.
They expect ruins, electrical storms, floating buildings, or some obvious sign that they are entering a forbidden place. But what they find instead is something far more unsettling: a normality that feels rehearsed. The streets are where they should be. The houses too. Sometimes there are even clothes hanging from balconies.
And yet, after walking for a few minutes, something begins to feel wrong.
It isn't something that can be pointed out precisely. It is more like the sensation that distances are not behaving the way they should. A corner that seemed close takes too long to arrive, or a building that was far away suddenly appears only a few steps ahead.
Experienced explorers never look at a clock inside an Impossible City. The first time someone does, they usually fall silent for a while. Seconds do not last the same there.
Sometimes the wind blows in a single direction for hours. Sometimes the smoke from a cigarette remains suspended in the air as if the world had forgotten to move it.
That is why they are called Impossible Cities. Not because they defy the laws of physics, but because they seem to remember them incorrectly.
As if someone had tried to rebuild a human city based only on incomplete memories.
Thomas always woke up before his aunt. It wasn't something deliberate. He simply opened his eyes when the light began to slide through the kitchen window and draw pale rectangles across the table.
That morning the bread was still warm.
His aunt had left the coffee maker on before going out to buy milk, a habit Thomas found strangely comforting. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen in a calm way, as if the house remembered that the morning had already begun.
Thomas sat at the table and bit into the bread with butter while watching the small television hanging on the wall.
In Asterion City the news started early.
The screen showed an aerial image of a neighborhood Thomas did not recognize. From above it looked perfectly normal: straight streets, low buildings, cars parked like any other Tuesday.
There was only one strange detail.
The helicopter filming seemed to remain at exactly the same distance from the place, as if the neighborhood refused to come any closer.
The presenter spoke with a voice that was far too calm.
"During the early hours of the morning, authorities confirmed the appearance of a new Impossible City within the urban perimeter of Asterion City. This would be the thirty-fourth officially recorded since the beginning of the exploration program."
Graphs appeared on the screen, along with corporate logos and government seals.
"Authorities reported that the area has already been cordoned off and that research teams are currently working on site. The companies responsible for its study and containment have assured the public that the situation is under control."
Thomas spread more butter on the bread.
It was not the first time he had seen news like this. In fact, Impossible Cities appeared in the news with a curious regularity, as if they were part of the weather or the economy.
One day they talked about inflation. Another about dead explorers. Another about a neighborhood that had decided not to obey reality entirely.
The presenter continued:
"Citizens are advised to avoid the area until further notice. Specialized teams have already deployed the necessary protective measures."
At that moment the kitchen door opened.
His aunt entered carrying a bag of groceries and looked at him over her glasses.
"Another city," she said, placing the milk on the table.
Thomas nodded.
"Looks like it."
She watched the television for a few seconds.
"They're appearing closer every time."
She didn't sound worried. If anything, she sounded tired.
She poured coffee into two cups. For a moment they remained silent, listening to the soft hum of the news broadcast and the distant sound of cars beginning to fill the avenues.
On the screen now was a blurry image of the cordoned-off area.
A group of explorers walked toward the interior of the neighborhood. One of them stopped. The reporter explained something about spatial anomalies, but Thomas wasn't really listening.
He had noticed something else.
In the background of the image, a street seemed to bend slightly, as if someone had moved it a few centimeters while nobody was looking.
Thomas finished his coffee.
"I'm going to be late for work."
His aunt nodded without taking her eyes off the television.
"Be careful if you pass through the center."
Thomas picked up his backpack.
Before leaving he looked at the screen one last time.
The helicopter camera was still filming the neighborhood from above.
And yet, for some reason difficult to explain, it seemed unable to get close enough.
When Thomas entered the shop, Robert lifted his head from behind the counter.
It took him barely a second to recognize him.
"Toto!" he shouted. "You're alive!"
He went around the counter in two strides and caught him in a brutal hug.
"Sunny told me everything! Thank God you're both alright! You didn't have to come to work today—you must be exhausted."
"I'm fine, Mr. Robert," Thomas managed to say.
His face was pressed against his boss's chest.
"Cough… cough…"
Robert released him.
"Oh! Sorry."
Then he seemed to remember something and stepped aside.
"Thomas… this gentleman is Dylan Clarck."
He paused briefly, almost solemnly.
"Better known as The Impossible One."
Thomas only noticed him then.
The man was standing near the window, observing the interior of the shop as if he were memorizing every object. He didn't seem particularly large or especially intimidating, but there was something strange about the way he stood still.
Too still.
Like someone accustomed to listening to things other people couldn't hear.
He wore a dark explorer's jacket. On the collar, small metallic plates embedded in the fabric gleamed—fragments extracted from an Impossible City.
Thomas had seen those plates before on the news.
Almost no one survived long enough to carry more than one.
The Impossible One carried five.
Dylan Clarck stepped toward him and extended his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Thomas."
The boy took a moment to react. When he shook his hand he felt something strange.
The captain's skin was cold.
Not cold like someone who had just come in from outside.
Cold like metal.
Robert cleared his throat behind them.
"Mr. Clarck came to see you, Toto. Be nice to him."
The explorer released Thomas's hand.
"Shall we go for a walk?"
Thomas nodded silently, crossed the shop, and opened the door.
But before leaving he glanced back inside once more.
The morning light slanted through the windows, revealing a halo of dust above the desk.
Where Sunny usually leaned every morning—laughing at him or teasing him about his books—there was now only a stack of boxes.
Thomas closed the door and walked beside the man who had survived five Impossible Cities.
At first the walk was silent.
Normally Thomas would have appreciated that, but after everything that had happened he needed answers. His anxiety was beginning to get the better of him, while Mr. Clarck seemed to be enjoying the stroll.
They crossed Avenue Thirty-Four with a crowd.
For a few seconds Thomas had the impression that everyone was walking at the same pace, as if the traffic light had given an order only they understood.
Some people looked at Clarck twice.
It wasn't a long stare—more like a brief doubt, the way you think you recognize someone in a dream.
The explorer's dark glasses seemed to solve that problem before it fully formed.
"What do you know about the cities, Thomas?"
The question caught him off guard.
"The basics," he said after a moment. "They appear every twelve years. In random places. They remain for one hundred days and then disappear. When they return… they're never the same."
Clarck nodded slightly.
"Different architecture, different biology," Thomas continued.
He hesitated before adding:
"Different technology…"
Clarck smiled faintly.
"Like in my case."
Thomas lowered his gaze, a little embarrassed.
They walked a few more meters.
"Look," Clarck suddenly said. "The perfect place."
He pointed to a small plaza between two avenues.
The trees cast uneven shadows across the benches, and in the center stood a statue.
Thomas took a moment to recognize it.
It was Dylan Clarck.
Or an approximate version of Dylan Clarck.
The sculptor had exaggerated the chin, and the eyes seemed to stare at a point that wasn't exactly in front of the statue.
Clarck studied it for a few seconds.
"They always make me taller than I am," he said.
They sat on a bench.
The explorer rolled up the sleeve of his jacket with a calm gesture, revealing his forearm.
The skin was crossed by blue stains that glowed faintly, as if daylight had been trapped beneath it.
"See this?" he said. "It's part of the experiment they performed on me after the Manta City."
Thomas leaned forward to look closer.
The stains seemed to move very slowly beneath the skin.
"That metal went through my chest," Clarck continued. "It was supposed to kill me."
He paused.
"Instead… it made me useful."
Thomas looked up.
"Useful?"
Clarck glanced at the statue of himself.
"Let's just say I'm the strongest man in the city now."
He smiled.
"Among other things."
To Thomas he didn't seem like a happy man. Nor a superhero. Not even a celebrity.
There was something else in Mr. Clarck's eyes.
Something like melancholy.
As if he had seen too many things and had decided not to talk about all of them.
"Thomas," he finally said. "I don't want to take more of your time. I came to see you because I want you to enter the Explorer Academy."
Thomas stared at him.
"What? Me?"
"Yes. I secured a scholarship for you. With my influence it was… fairly easy."
The boy's heart began to pound.
"Mr. Clarck," he said after a few seconds, "I really appreciate it, but I'm not interested. I hate everything related to the Impossible Cities."
He looked at the ground.
"I grew up watching my father become obsessed with them. So much that… well."
He shrugged.
"In the end they took him. Or he decided to leave."
The Impossible One stood up.
For a few seconds he looked at his own statue in the center of the plaza, as if he were evaluating another person.
He smiled faintly.
"Do you know how you survived the attack from those beasts the other day?"
"Yes," Thomas said. "And I'm grateful."
Clarck slowly shook his head.
"No."
He turned toward him.
"When I arrived in the alley, the beasts were already devouring you, Thomas. There was no way to save you."
Thomas felt something stop inside his chest.
"Believing you were already dead, I started to leave."
He paused.
"Then something strange happened."
He looked at his hands, as if they still remembered what they had seen.
"One of the beasts exploded."
Thomas lifted his head.
"Its guts splattered against the walls. Then the second one."
Clarck made a small gesture with his fingers.
"Same thing."
The wind gently moved the leaves of the trees in the plaza.
"When only the last one remained… I could see you."
Thomas said nothing.
"You were standing."
Clarck looked directly into his eyes.
"Unharmed."
"Your eyes were shining so brightly it looked as if you were blind. And with a single strike of your hand…"
He fell silent for a moment.
"You made it explode."
The plaza seemed to pause.
People kept walking around them, but Thomas had the feeling that everything was happening farther away than normal, as if the world had stepped back a few meters.
"Thomas," Clarck finally said.
His voice was different now.
"Your father made a huge discovery about the Impossible Cities."
He looked toward the avenue.
"And then he disappeared."
Thomas felt something inside him tighten.
"For one hundred and fifty years we believed we understood these cities," Clarck continued. "Now all those certainties are beginning to collapse."
He turned toward him.
"And right now another one appears."
A pause.
"I need you, Thomas."
The boy didn't answer.
"I need to know what your father discovered."
Clarck looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and something harder to name.
"And why you were able to do what you did in that alley."