A mechanic is useful anywhere, even in another universe.
I sling the tool roll over my shoulder and grab a small satchel before heading for the door.
The morning air hits me the moment I step outside. Cooler than the warehouse, heavy with the smell of canal water and damp stone.
The district is already waking up.
Lanterns still glow faintly along the upper walkways, though the strange copper-tinted daylight is beginning to push its way through the narrow streets. Terrafeara’s architecture is a chaotic mix of worlds—Glowranth stone towers leaning beside newer structures haphazardly erected from materials dragged here through rifts over the past two decades, wooden market stalls built from salvaged wood standing under archways that look older than any civilisation I’ve ever read about.
Nothing matches.
Everything works.
Sort of.
The canal runs through the centre of the district, its water moving slowly under a series of low bridges. Barges drift lazily along the current, pushed by long poles or pulled by creatures that look like crossbreeds between horses and lizards.
The city’s alive… and tense. You can feel it in the way people move—quicker, quieter. Eyes watching corners they didn’t used to notice.
The Queen’s patrols have been increasing since the citadel incident. Kael and Sonny’s little infiltration stunt didn’t exactly go unnoticed.
I pull my hood up slightly and start down the street. A pair of guards stand at the end of the block. They’re Glowranth.Tall, broad-shouldered, skin the various shades of blue, their armour marked with the black insignia of the Crown, and their bioluminescent markings flare. They lean against the canal railing like they’re bored, but their eyes track every person moving through the district.
I reach them a minute later, and one of them, Ferigth, straightens. “Pax.”
His tone is neutral, which, in this city, counts as friendly.
“Morning,” I say in Glowranthian, digging casually into my pocket.
Two small silver coins slide into his palm when I shake his hand. The exchange takes less than a second. It’s so routine that his companion barely glances at it.
“Busy day?” Ferigth asks.
“Always.”
He grunts in acknowledgement and steps aside, and just like that, I’m through.
Bribes aren’t glamorous, but they work. Especially when a few of the more influential Glowranth in the district quietly encourage their guards to look the other way when certain people pass through.
It helps that those same Glowranth happen to have mates who are Riftborn.
I continue down the street, nodding at a few familiar faces.
A human woman sweeping outside a small bakery stall raises a hand. “Morning, Pax.”
“Morning, Jessa.”
The smell of fresh bread drifts through the air, warm and comforting in a way that still surprises me sometimes. Ten years ago, the idea of bread ovens operating in another dimension would have seemed ridiculous.
Now it’s just part of the neighbourhood.
Further down the street, I pass a group of Riftborn hauling crates from a canal barge. They move with the quiet obedience of people who know they’re being watched.
Technically they’re employed by one of the trade houses operating under the Crown. In practice…. Well, slavery with nicer paperwork.
One of them catches my eye as I pass. A young human guy with dark circles under his eyes and a healing bruise across his jaw. He gives a small nod. I nod back.
That’s all the contact we allow. Anything more risks drawing attention.
