The familiar flicker of his interface had pulsed into view, translucent and hovering, faint sigils of light swirling at its edges, their shapes shifting like liquid runes.
LEVEL UP!
Eugene Calhoun – Level 3 Hospitality Warlock
New Ability Unlocked: Choose one hospitality-themed ability to add to your arsenal.
The interface shimmered as a list of options unfolded before him:
- Hearthbound Step: Instantly teleport to a friendly creature within sight, leaving a faint aura of warmth at your previous location. If the destination is near an ally, both gain a brief boost of vitality.
- Communal Feast: Conjure a brief spread of magical food and drink, granting all allies nearby a surge of health and clearing minor afflictions like fear or poison. Usable sparingly.
- Haven’s Grasp: Manifest a spectral hand that can pull an ally or object toward you, shielding them from harm as they move. Provides brief protection against incoming damage.
Eugene’s eyes flicked between the options, each one humming with a quiet promise of protection and connection.
He hesitated, weighing each ability.
Hearthbound Step had immediate appeal—mobility was king in a fight, and the idea of being able to jump to an ally’s side, especially if they were in danger, was hard to ignore. Plus, the boost of vitality could turn the tide in a pinch. It felt instinctive—like something he could use without overthinking.
But Communal Feast stuck with him. It wasn’t flashy, but it filled a gap he hadn’t realized existed. Cozimia’s hotel-lamp offered safety and shelter, but there was no real way to provide food—not without constant effort. This ability would change that. He could help her run a proper establishment, a real place of hospitality, not just a hollow sanctuary.
He pictured guests gathered around a table, real meals served without Cozimia having to scramble for resources. It wasn’t just practical—it felt right. Like he was helping her build something that could last.
Then there was Haven’s Grasp—the tactical choice. The idea of pulling someone out of danger or snatching an object at the right moment was tempting. He could already see the scenarios where that kind of reach could save lives or pull off something clever. It wasn’t as straightforward as the others, but its potential was undeniable.
He sat there, fingers hovering over the interface, the weight of the decision pressing in.
“What’s more hospitable than a feast?”
With a decisive swipe, he selected Communal Feast as his new ability. The interface glowed before fading into nothingness, leaving only the thrumming pulse of new power beneath his skin.
The airship lurched slightly, snapping him back to the present. Eugene smiled to himself, leaning against the rail as clouds broke below.
Eugene lingered by the rail of the airship, his fingers drumming lightly against the cool metal as clouds drifted below. The vast expanse of the sky stretched out endlessly, a reminder of how far he was from everything familiar. Yet somehow, he didn’t feel out of place. Instead, there was this strange, buzzing excitement in his chest—an electric sense of belonging he couldn't shake.
He thought about the interface, the abilities, the magic—this whole bizarre world that felt like it had been ripped straight from the games and books he’d obsessed over for years. It wasn’t just familiar; it was almost... tailor-made. The quests, the leveling, the way things just fit. He didn’t understand how or why he’d landed here, but deep down, he felt the weight of it—the opportunity he’d been handed.
“I don’t know what I did to end up here,” he thought, eyes trailing a flock of birds disappearing into the clouds, “but it’d be pretty damn stupid not to make the most of it.”
A slow grin crept across his face. He adjusted his grip on the rail and straightened up, resolve settling in.
It was time for a side quest.
It was time to find the baby.
Eugene broke the silence, his voice cutting through the steady hum of the airship. “Alright, Krungus. Serious question—how exactly are we supposed to find one magic baby in a city the size of Kentucky?”
Krungus didn’t even flinch. “Pfft. Simple. I’m an incredibly powerful wizard. I’ve got spells for this.”
Eugene raised a skeptical brow. “You sure? Because that sounds like a needle-in-a-planet situation.”
Krungus waved him off, already rummaging through a small leather pouch at his belt, the worn leather creaking as his fingers darted inside. He pulled out a handful of arcane components, laying them out on the airship’s railing with an almost performative flourish.
First, a piece of what looked like mildly translucent pink cotton candy, its edges catching the sunlight and fracturing it into sharp rainbows. He held it between his fingers, murmuring something under his breath as it began to hum softly. Next came a pinch of powdered chrome, which he sprinkled into the air—each speck catching the light and hanging motionless for a beat before drifting downward like metallic snow.
He dug deeper into the pouch, fishing out a feather that twitched unnaturally in his grip, its barbs shimmering with an oily sheen. Krungus twirled it through the air, drawing sigils that sparked and hissed before vanishing. A small, round stone followed—etched with runes so fine they seemed to writhe under the eye. He balanced it on the back of his hand before flicking it into the circle of hovering components.
Finally, he pulled a single black thread, impossibly thin yet gleaming like silk. He looped it around the floating items, tying them together with careful, deliberate motions.
“Relax. I’ve done this before,” Krungus declared, as if the intricate dance of materials was all part of a flawless, time-tested plan.
He began casting—sigils spiraling in the air, smoke curling into complex shapes. A glowing thread of magic stretched out from his hand, pointing… nowhere. It fizzled out midair.
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Krungus coughed loudly. “That was... just a calibration.”
Eugene crossed his arms, watching as Krungus tried again. Another spell. Another failure. This time, the smoke turned a sickly green and spiraled back into his face.
“Totally meant to do that,” Krungus grumbled, wiping soot off his glasses.
Eugene leaned on the rail. “Uh-huh. You sure you don’t want my help?”
“Please,” Krungus scoffed, launching into another overly complicated incantation. It failed—again. The magic sparked, coughed, and vanished like it had never existed.
“Right. Flawless execution,” Eugene deadpanned.
Krungus crossed his arms, trying to maintain composure. “You know, some spells take time. It’s all about the... mystical subtleties.”
Eugene rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. It was almost impressive watching Krungus pretend he had everything under control.
Eugene watched Krungus fiddle with another handful of shimmering dust, eyebrows raised. Then, almost casually, he asked, “Hey, Krungus… did anyone think to, I don’t know, ask the baby’s mother where the kid might’ve gone?”
Krungus froze mid-incantation, the silver dust hanging in the air before falling flat to the deck. He spun around, offense written all over his face. “I’m a wizard, Eugene. A master of arcane arts. I don’t need to go knocking on doors like some... some common investigator!”
Eugene blinked. “So, no one asked her.”
Krungus hesitated, the bravado cracking. “Well, I mean... Utopianna remembered. Eventually. She went to check in with her.”
“And?”
“She had no clue,” Krungus muttered, waving his hand like he was shooing away the conversation. “No leads. Nothing. She’s completely in the dark. Which is why—” he gestured dramatically at the mess of spell components scattered on the deck “—we’re doing this.”
Eugene sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”
He let his eyes drift back to the sprawling city below. Stone rooftops and winding streets stretched endlessly, all baked in the soft golden light filtering through the clouds. But something stood out—a building, oddly tall, jutting above the others like a jagged tooth. Its edges were harsh and unadorned, lacking the ornate flair or sloped roofs typical of the medieval cityscape.
Eugene squinted, leaning over the rail. The building didn’t just stick out—it clashed violently with its surroundings. It had a flat, minimalist design, all right angles and towering concrete walls, its surface smooth and colorless compared to the warm stone of the surrounding buildings. It rose higher than anything nearby, looming like an alien relic.
Recognition tugged at the back of his mind. He’d seen architecture like this before—not here, but in textbooks back on Earth. Brutalist architecture. The kind that popped up in the 1950s and '60s—hulking, functional, and unapologetically stark. It didn’t belong here. Not in this world.
“Hey, Krungus,” Eugene called over his shoulder, still staring at the strange structure. “What’s that building? The big one—smooth walls, kinda blocky, sticks out like a sore thumb.”
Krungus didn’t even glance up from his spell components. “What building?”
“That one right there.” Eugene pointed, waving his hand toward the towering monolith.
Krungus finally turned, squinting in the direction Eugene indicated. But there was no flicker of recognition—just a frown deepening beneath his gold-rimmed glasses.
“I’m looking, Eugene. There’s nothing there.”
Eugene blinked. “It’s literally right there. Huge. Ugly as hell.”
“Still not seeing it.” Krungus’s tone was flat but edged with irritation.
Eugene leaned further over the rail, heart starting to race. “You seriously don’t see it?”
“Eugene, I’m a wizard. If there was a building there, I’d know.”
But Eugene wasn’t so sure. The brutalist tower loomed in plain sight, heavy and impossible to ignore—yet Krungus saw nothing. As Eugene continued to stare at it, a strange sensation began to pull at him—a low, magnetic tug deep in his chest, like the building itself was calling to him. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was something more primal, a pull toward the structure as though it recognized him somehow.
The longer he looked, the more the sensation intensified. His palms felt clammy against the airship’s railing, his pulse quickening without warning. It wasn’t fear—it was a gravitational pull, the feeling of being exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Eugene?” Cozimia’s voice crackled softly through the lamp at his side, her tone unusually tense. “What… what is that building?”
He flinched, not expecting her to notice it. “You see it too?”
“I can’t exactly see it inside here,” she replied, “but I can feel it. It’s like something’s… pulling at me. Like it’s alive.”
Eugene exhaled, feeling both relieved and unsettled. “Yeah. Same here. Krungus can’t see it at all.”
“Then it’s definitely important,” Cozimia said. “Be careful.”
Eugene kept his eyes locked on the brutalist tower, the draw undeniable now. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just a building. It was something far stranger—and it wanted him to notice.
And that made it even more suspicious.
Eugene tore his gaze away from the looming tower and glanced at Krungus. "I think we should go down there."
Krungus groaned, clearly annoyed. "You want to go poking around in invisible buildings now? Brilliant idea, Eugene. Truly top-tier strategy."
Before Eugene could snap back, Cozimia’s voice buzzed through the lamp again, firm and clear. "Eugene’s right. I can feel it too. You need to check it out."
Krungus grumbled under his breath, his pride wounded, but he conceded. "Fine. We’ll go. But if this turns out to be nothing, I’m blaming you both."
With a flick of his fingers, Krungus twisted a ring on his hand and muttered an incantation. The airship gently descended toward the city’s edge, its shadow stretching long over the uneven rooftops. The ship came to a soft hover, and with a final gesture, Krungus teleported them both to the ground—not a hundred yards from the massive building.
They landed in its shadow, the towering monolith blotting out the sun above them. Eugene felt the pull even stronger now, like the ground itself was guiding him forward.
Krungus dusted off his robes, barely looking around—until his eyes finally drifted upward.
He froze. His jaw slackened, eyes wide behind his red-tinted glasses as the brutalist structure now loomed fully into view, towering above them like a monument to some alien architect. The smooth, cold concrete rose at impossible angles, casting a massive shadow that swallowed the street.
“What in the—” Krungus staggered back, his staff clattering against the cobblestones. “That... that wasn’t there before. I would have—there’s no way—”
He spun around in frantic circles, as though expecting the entire city to have rearranged itself in an instant. His hands flailed as he tried to piece together some logic. “This—this isn’t Weave-formed. I don’t even recognize the material. It’s... it’s wrong.”
Eugene smirked, arms crossed. “Told you.”
Krungus ignored him, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced a shimmering sigil into the air. The runes fizzled against the building’s surface, leaving no trace—no resonance, no reaction.
“Concrete,” Eugene added, tapping the solid gray wall. “It’s called concrete. Real popular on Earth about seventy years ago. Ugly as hell, but sturdy.”
Krungus turned to him, aghast. “This... this is Earth magic?”
“More like Earth architecture.”
Krungus clutched at his hat, nearly knocking it off before he straightened it with a shaky hand. “Eugene, this isn’t supposed to be here. This isn’t from here. The Weave can’t even see it—like it’s... skimming reality.”
Cozimia’s voice crackled through the lamp again, sharper this time. “There’s something ancient inside it. I can feel it—old, powerful... and it’s waiting for something.”
Krungus inhaled sharply, his bravado cracked wide open. “We shouldn’t be near this. This is—this is impossible.”
But Eugene was already stepping forward, feeling that strange magnetic pull growing stronger. “Yeah. But here we are.”
The alien, concrete tower loomed over them, its cold, featureless surface vibrating with invisible energy, and for once, Krungus was completely, unmistakably, out of his depth.