Outside, the plaza had shifted. Different vendors occupied different spaces, the market reorganizing itself according to rules that were still strange. The constant change probably drove some people mad, but I found it fascinating. A city that rebuilt itself, forever adapting, never stagnant only thing that didnt change too often was the road.
I navigated toward the northeast section, following Torben's directions and the occasional helpful sign. On the way I thought I saw Talos, the bronze metal giant I made when I was younger for zeus, but on closer inspection there was several differences, my metal giant was a lot more armoured and more stiff, this looked like a living bronze creature shaped like a man. Moving onwards Scholar's Scrolls revealed itself as a three-story building that looked like someone had taken a library and compressed it into retail space. Scrolls filled every available surface, organized. A figure moved among the stacks, humanoid but distinctly not human. Reddish skin, horns curving back from her forehead, a tail that moved with independent purpose.
Tiefling. Another species I'd never encountered, but Michael's memories provided context. Of Fiendish heritage and usually sharp-minded, often treated with suspicion.
"Welcome to Scholar's Scrolls," she said without looking up from the scroll she was examining. "If you're looking for common adventuring supplies, try the shop three doors down. I specialize in theory, not practice."
"Theory is exactly what I'm looking for," I said.
That got her attention. She looked up, crimson eyes assessing me in a single glance. "New to Tradegate and New to the Outlands, judging by your reaction and looking around the architecture. Not a wizard, wrong posture. Not a cleric, wrong attitude. But definitely someone who works with tool and magic." Her lips quirked. "Artificer?"
"Craftsman, soon to be Artificer as well " I said. "I work well with metal and magic both and Torben Ironfoot suggested you might be able to help me understand how enchantment operates here."
"Torben sent you?" Her expression warmed slightly. "That old forge-rat has good taste in customers to send my way." She set aside her scroll and gestured to a section of the shop. "Basic magical theory is in that corner. Planar metaphysics over there. Specific spell construction in the back. What's your area of interest?"
"Item creation and binding magical effects to physical objects. I'm trying to understand the fundamental principles so I don't accidentally create something unstable."
Her expression shifted to something like respect and a happy expression. "A proper craftsman who understands that ignorance kills. I can work with that." She pulled a scroll from a nearby shelf with unerring precision. "Start with this. 'Foundations of Magical Item Construction' by Priscarus the Wise. It'll give you the basics of how enchantment works in the Great Wheel cosmology. Fair warning, it assumes you already understand the fundamental principles of magic."
As I unfurled the scroll, dense rows of words met my eyes. Though the language was foreign, I understood it instinctively: a gift, perhaps, of this reality's strange logic. The contents made sense, describing magical theory in terms that paralleled what I knew while being fundamentally different in execution.
"How much?"
"Fifty gold for that one. Copy only, not the original. You break the seal on it, the contents transfer to your mind directly. Convenient for travel and murder on the eyes if you're not used to direct knowledge transfer."
I considered what to pay with. The solar rubies would draw too much attention, mark me as either extremely wealthy or extremely dangerous. Instead, I pulled out a handful of perfectly cut gemstones, each one flawless in clarity. easy payment in my reality, apparently valuable here.
Kessandra examined them with a practiced eye. "Two hundred gold worth plus change. I'll give you four scrolls for that, your choice, plus consultation time if you need clarification on any of the contents."
"Deal."
Over the next hour, Kessandra walked me through her catalog. She was sharp, exactly as Torben had described, with an encyclopedic knowledge of magical theory. I selected scrolls on item creation, planar metallurgy and enchantment stability, and something called "cross-planar harmonics" that dealt with making magical items function across different realities.
"You're planning to travel more," she observed as I stored the scrolls in my dimensional ring. She'd noticed the artifact, naturally, though she'd been professional enough not to comment. "Most craftsmen settle in one place and build a reputation. You've got the look of someone who's going to keep moving."
"I've spent too long in one place already," I said. "Time to see what else is out there."
"Fair enough. Word of advice? Sigil's where you want to go eventually. The Cage has access to everything. Every plane, every world, every pocket dimension that matters. But it's also dangerous in ways Tradegate isn't. The Lady doesn't tolerate trouble, and the factions will try to recruit you the moment you arrive."
"Factions and the Lady??"
"Fifteen of them, each one convinced they understand the fundamental truth of reality. They run the city's services, handle everything from sanitation to law enforcement. Some are benign. Some are..." she paused, searching for words, "problematic. Just be aware that nobody in Sigil is truly neutral. Everyone's got an agenda. Just don't get on the bad side of her no matter what."
Michael's memories supplied context. The factions of Sigil, organizations built around competing philosophies. Each one trying to reshape reality according to their worldview. That could be fascinating or disastrous, depending on how I approached it.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thank you for the warning Kessandra." The old man did me a good service leading me here so I didn't waste too much time.
She returned to her scrolls. "Just try not to break anything too important, yeah?"
I left Scholar's Scrolls with four scrolls carefully stored in my dimensional ring and a head full of new theories. The sun, or whatever passed for a sun in this reality, was setting. The city's eternal reconstruction continued around me, buildings shifting like pieces on an enormous game board.
The constant activity felt right somehow. I wandered back toward the main plaza, taking in the evening market. Different vendors now, selling different wares. Food stalls offered cuisines from a dozen different planes. A gnome juggled balls of captured lightning. A human bard played an instrument that seemed to be made of solidified sound.
Here, I was just Heph. A craftsman from elsewhere. Nobody knew my history, nobody had expectations, nobody was disappointed by my existence.
It was liberating.
I found lodgings in the merchant quarter, a modest courtyard attached to a room above a spice shop. The proprietor, a human woman with silver threading through her dark hair, asked no questions beyond payment. I handed her coins stamped with images of a star on one side and two hands outwards with 2 red lines at the bottom that she accepted without comment.
The courtyard wasn't much. Fifteen feet square, enclosed by weathered stone walls on three sides and the building on the fourth. A stunted tree grew in one corner, its branches reaching toward the perpetual twilight overhead. Moss covered patches of the flagstones. Someone had planted herbs in clay pots along the eastern wall, though they looked half-forgotten.
I dropped my pack inside the room, locked the door, and returned to the courtyard. The evening market's sounds drifted over the walls, muffled by distance and stone. Somewhere nearby, that bard still played their impossible instrument. The scent of roasting meat mixed with unfamiliar spices.
I stood in the center of the courtyard and just... stopped.
When was the last time I'd done this? Simply existed without purpose, without task, without some demand hanging over me? Millennia, probably. Always something to forge, always someone needing a weapon, always the weight of expectations pressing down.
I sank onto the flagstones, leaning back against the tree trunk. The bark felt rough against my shoulders. The moss cushioned me slightly. Above, the opposite side of Sigil curved overhead, buildings and streets visible in the distance like stars that actually made sense.
I breathed.
The air here tasted different from Olympus. No ambrosia sweetness, no divine perfection. Instead, it carried the honest dirt of a city, smoke from countless chimneys, rain that had fallen through contaminated haze, life in all its messy complexity.
I breathed again, slower this time.
My chest loosened. Tension I hadn't realized I carried began seeping out through my shoulders, my neck, my jaw. The constant readiness for disappointment, for mockery, for being found insufficient just dissolved into the courtyard's stones.
My newfound peace was then ripped away by the sound of a distant explosion.