A city loomed on the horizon. Zuld immediately knocked on the carriage wall: "Greg, draw the curtains! No looking outside. Do not make eye contact with anyone. Basically, just pretend to be a piece of furniture."

  The city was buzzing. Through the slits in the curtains, I caught glimpses of the madness: hundreds of creatures, wings, tails, scales, carts floating in the air. Life was in full swing out there, and I wasn't even allowed to look at it. Unfair. However, we passed through the checkpoint surprisingly easily—the guards didn't even peek inside.

  Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop. I reached for the door handle, but Zevlud locked it from the outside. "Stay inside!" the kid commanded.

  About five minutes passed. The door swung open, and Zevlud tossed some object right at my face. "Here, put this on." I caught the "gift." A mask. Simple, covering the entire face.

  "Are you serious?" I tried on the new accessory. "Do you want me to play the role of a mysterious assassin or some enigmatic figure?" "We want you not to get kidnapped on the way to the castle," Zuld said when I finally deigned to step outside. "Do not take it off. At all."

  We entered what they called a palace here. Servants surrounded us and led us through a suite of halls. Everything looked almost normal until we crossed the threshold of the main hall.

  WHOOSH. The world flipped upside down. My stomach jumped into my throat, and gravity, with a cheerful wink, decided to change its vector. A second of freefall—and we "landed" on what had been the ceiling a moment ago. Or the roof. Apparently, it didn't matter here.

  "Oh, Zevlud! You're finally here?" a little girl, about six years old, ran up to us. She adjusted her little dress, which, defying all laws of physics, had not fallen over her head, and looked at us importantly: "Hello, guests! I apologize for this kind of reception. My parents aren't in the city right now; they are busy with grown-up matters. The servants will show you where you can wait out the night and freshen up."

  Zevlud immediately dashed ahead, chirping happily about something with the little hostess. We were led to the residential wing.

  The walk was... educational. First, a cake hopped past us. A literal cake, complete with frosting and a cherry on top, but scurrying along on short little legs. A living dessert. Enticing and terrifying all at once. Then, some wardrobe in the corridor politely greeted us and asked us not to slam its doors because it had a "migraine."

  I glanced sideways at the princesses. Alexia and Lianel were walking as stiff as boards. Their faces had turned into two immovable iron masks. They were trying with all their might to project an aura of "we are of royal blood and cannot be surprised by such things."

  I couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing. Loudly, echoing down the talking corridor. "Girls, you should see yourselves!" I choked on my laughter under the mask. "A little more, and your faces are going to crack from all that seriousness. Relax!"

  Lianel shot me a withering glare but stayed silent. Reputation is a heavy burden. Especially when you're standing on the ceiling and your future dinner is currently sprinting past you.

  I was led into a room. The second I crossed the threshold, the world did a violent somersault.

  BAM. Now the floor was the right wall, the ceiling was the left wall, and what used to be the floor was now a wall. The strangest part was that the furniture stood as if nothing had happened, glued to their spots by some transcendent enchantment.

  "Are you serious?" I asked the empty air. "Am I supposed to sleep on the wall? I mean, I've seen a lot of things, but vertical sleeping wasn't on the itinerary."

  For an hour, I honestly tried to adapt to the new geometry, but eventually gave up and walked back out into the corridor. Gravity instantly and joyfully tossed me up toward the chandelier. Fine, the ceiling it is.

  I walked along the "upper" parquet, whistling under my breath, and greeted that same wardrobe on my way. "Hey there, wood. How's life?" "Been better," the oak piece of furniture replied melancholically. "Listen, buddy, why are you wearing a mask? It's uncomfortable, makes your face sweat."

  I adjusted the mask on my nose. "Well, they say I'm too attractive for this world. Trying to save the local ladies from a heart attack. Although you're right, it seems no one here cares about logic anyway."

  Just as I was about to take off the stifling contraption, gravity flipped the switch again.

  WHOOSH. I plummeted back down to the normal floor. Landed softly, without even swaying.

  The wardrobe's hinges creaked, mimicking laughter. "Gravity in this house changes randomly. Whenever and however it wants. By the way, you hold up pretty well; others usually start hugging the floor right away."

  I followed the sound of laughter further down the hall. Suddenly, a hatch opened in the ceiling above my head, and Zevlud and that six-year-old girl came tumbling out, waving their arms happily.

  "Oh, Greg! Zevlud told me absolutely everything about you!" Alastia ran up to me, beaming with delight. "HEY! That was a secret!" the elf protested, dusting off his knees. "How is it a secret if he already knows it himself?" Alastia spread her hands logically. "Greg, Zevlud said you have eyes like the ones in fairy tales. Can I see?"

  I sighed and pulled off the mask. The girl froze, her eyes going wide. "Wow... Just like in the old legends. One is darkness, the other is like a green ruby. Beautiful!" "They're just normal eyes," I grumbled, hoping she wouldn't offer me her hand in marriage right this second.

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  "And Zevlud also said you're a great mage!" the little girl wouldn't let up.

  I decided it was time to extinguish this bonfire of enthusiasm. "He's lying. I'm just a total weakling." I held up my index finger, and a tiny, pathetic little spark danced on the very tip of my nail. I held it for a second and then "strenuously" blew it out. "There. My absolute limit."

  Alastia walked right up to me and stepped heavily on my foot with her tiny boot. "Why are you lying? It's not nice for adults to lie." "What?" I was taken aback. "So it's okay for kids to do it?"

  She smiled slyly: "Yes. It's our privilege by status. And your little spark... it was too perfect. No smoke, no excess heat, absolute mana control. So don't try to play dumb with me."

  Smart kid. Terrifyingly smart. "Alright, I give up," I raised my hands. "Listen, Alastia, I saw a running cake in the corridor earlier. Was that a gravity-induced hallucination?"

  She beamed. "Oh, that! That's just a baby." "Whose baby?" I tensed up.

  Alastia happily skipped toward the kitchen, beckoning me with her finger. "Come on! Follow me! I'll introduce you to Mommy."

  Alastia turned the corner and literally evaporated. "Hey, Zevlud," I hit the brakes. "Where did the kid go? Did she master teleportation too?"

  In that exact second, a piece of the stone wall slid to the side. The girl's head popped out of the dark opening. "What are you waiting for? Catch up!"

  We walked in. Behind the door was yet another endless corridor that ended in a dead end a few dozen meters later. I tilted my head up, sensing a trap. "Yes, exactly, Greg. You guessed it," Alastia giggled.

  WHOOSH. A sharp gust of wind caught us by the rears and dragged us upward. It turned out the section of the ceiling was just a very high-quality illusion. We shot up into some kind of technical tier, and then gravity decided to play leapfrog again. We were flipped over and landed neatly on what normal people would consider the top.

  Ahead, right in the middle of the corridor, stood a lone wooden coat rack. It looked expensive—carved wood, adorned with some kind of amulets.

  "Coat rack, let us in!" the girl ordered.

  The piece of furniture suddenly creaked, straightened up, and belched out in a grumpy baritone: "Password." "Oh, darn it," Alastia stomped her foot. "I forgot... Ah! 'Tibubu-Darvitam'!" "Old password," the wood cut her off. "There is a new one. The parents changed the password."

  Alastia pouted. Apparently, hacking her parents' security system wasn't part of her plans. I stepped up to the coat rack. "Listen, wood. Is there another way past you? Without all this verbal nonsense?" "NO," the coat rack pointedly turned its hooks away.

  I looked at Zevlud. "Hey, kid. Give me your scarf." He handed me the piece of fabric suspiciously. I carefully draped it over the coat rack's top hook. "How about now? Will you let us pass?"

  The coat rack froze, evaluating the "bribe." "Very well. I will let you pass. If you can solve one riddle."

  Alastia gasped: "What?! Greg, I've lived here my whole life and I've never seen it offer riddles!" "That's because you're a child," I winked at her. "And we are conducting serious business negotiations here. Alright, piece of wood, hit us with your riddle."

  "I am thinking of a number between one and ten," the coat rack creaked. "What is the num—" "Are you kidding me?" I interrupted. "I'm not a five-year-old child. Give me a real riddle. One based on logic, not RNG."

  The coat rack bent slightly, as if in thought. "Fair enough. Alright. A substantive question: what is this scarf actually made of?"

  Zevlud immediately puffed out his chest. "Oh, that's a classic! The rarest feathers of the mountain eagle! They were purified, pressed under a magical press, and woven into this fabric. An incredibly expensive item!"

  The coat rack suddenly began to shake in a fit of mocking laughter. "This... is ordinary... sheep's... wool!" it squeezed out through the creaks. "And of the lowest quality, too. Just dyed."

  "WHAT?!" Zevlud turned pale. "Impossible! I paid a fortune in silver for this! The merchant swore by all the gods, told me such stories... Gaaah!" "Yeah, Zevlud," Alastia shook her head. "Looks like you got scammed like an absolute fool."

  "Whatever! I'm going to win it back right now!" Caught up in the gambling fever, Zevlud ripped off his jacket and threw it onto the coat rack. "Let's keep playing! Ask another one!"

  The coat rack dissolved into dry, wooden laughter again. It seemed it was planning to completely update its wardrobe today at the expense of one naive elf.

  "Mhm," the coat rack creaked. "There is a hole in this jacket that you cannot see, but because of it, the jacket could tear at any moment. Where is it?" "What? There's no way there's a hole in there, I just bought it!" "Quiet down, you!" Alastia said sharply. "It might count that as your answer." "Incorrect," the coat rack stated. "WHAT?! THAT WASN'T MY ANSWER!"

  The wood began to vibrate with a creaking sound. I could feel the coat rack toying with us. "Listen, coat rack, you're starting to piss me off. They told me there's something that spawns cakes back here. So if you don't open up right now..."

  The coat rack creaked aggressively. "Threatening the house? Threatening this house is tantamount to becoming its enemy."

  Alastia abruptly jumped up. "Greg, apologize right now!" "Alright, alright, sorry. I lost my temper."

  The walls stopped vibrating. The coat rack creaked offendedly, adjusting its hooks as if squaring its shoulders after a fight. "Sorry," I said, feeling like an absolute idiot. Threatening furniture—I've really hit rock bottom. On the other hand, the furniture here acted more arrogant than some kings.

  I took off my mask and carefully hung it on an empty peg. "Alright, give me your riddle. I hope it has more meaning to it than your entire existence."

  The coat rack froze. It seemed to "taste" the mask, sensing the residual traces of my mana on it. Its voice grew quieter, taking on a smooth, almost mystical tone. "This is a mask... He who wears it wishes to be invisible. But the mask makes him conspicuous." It creaked, choosing its words carefully. "The riddle is this: 'I hide the truth by showing a lie. I have a face, but no soul. Everyone looks at me, but they do not see me; they see what they fear. Tell me, Greg: if you put on this mask to hide your eyes—which one of you becomes the real one? You... or this emptiness with eyeholes?'"

  I froze. This piece of wood cuts right to the core. Alastia and Zevlud stared at me. "Wow," the elf whispered. "This isn't about sheep's wool anymore... Greg, do you know what it means?"

  I looked at the coat rack. "Your question is a trap. The mask doesn't change the person underneath it. It simply simplifies the world for those who aren't ready to see the truth. The real one here is me. The mask is just a way to avoid wasting time on unnecessary questions."

  The coat rack stayed silent for a long time. Then slowly, with the groan of ancient wood, it began to... slide apart. Its central post split in two, creating a passageway straight through the wall.

  "Answer accepted," it creaked. "You may pass. But remember: the mask can be taken off, but what lies behind it—never." "Yeah, yeah, thanks for the philosophy," I grabbed the mask and stepped into the open passage. "Zevlud, grab your clothes, otherwise you'll be marching to the Academy in just your socks."

  Alastia happily skipped forward: "See! I told you Greg could handle it! Let's go quickly, Mommy Cake doesn't like it when people are late for tea!"