The sprawling capital city, Galadriel, loomed like a monument to human ingenuity, standing tall, imposing, and proud against the sky. As Mikoto stood there, his identity hidden within a cloak, his mouth agape, the vastness of it all hit him like a wave—his eyes tracing every detail, from the detailed carvings of the grand walls to the flowing banners of color that decorated every corner. The city stretched out before him like a never-ending ocean of stone and life, its buildings rising high, made from stone and fired brick. The structures may have as well have told stories.
The city was bound within towering white stone walls, their surface adorned with delicate, ornate carvings that twisted into strange symbols and elegant shapes. The stone had been sculpted with precision. Guard towers stood proudly atop these walls, each manned by soldiers clad in gleaming armor. a lion emblem on their chest, their spears raised high, their shields reflecting the sunlight.
The grand entrance to the city was a gateway alive with constant movement, an ever-changing sea of people. Farmers shuffled past, their carts laden with fresh produce, the smell of ripe fruits and vegetables mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly tilled soil. Bakers, their aprons flour-streaked, called out to passersby, offering warm loaves of bread. Traders haggled over prices, their voices rising and falling in a collections of accents and languages as they exchanged wares—spices from distant lands, rich fabrics dyed in vivid hues, and strange trinkets that caught the eye. The air was thick with the cloying scent of exotic spices—saffron, cumin, cinnamon—each one promising a taste of something far away, a promise of flavors Mikoto had never dreamed of before.
As Mikoto followed Fiona through the bustling streets, his crimson eyes absorbed every detail, his gaze flitting from the wrought iron lampposts that lined the road to the vibrant stalls overflowing with goods. It felt like stepping into a dream, one of those fantastical stories, where everything was larger than life and impossible to comprehend. The streets twisted and turned, like a labyrinth. Yet, despite the complexity, there was a method to it all—a flow, an organized chaos that kept the city running smoothly. People moved with purpose, never bumping into one another, their steps guided by something more. The sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional shout of a street vendor rose above the normal hum.
It was then that Mikoto saw the marketplace in the distance, and his breath caught in his throat. The central hub, it was a hive of activity, more alive than any place he had ever encountered. There, color exploded from every corner: red and gold tents flapping in the wind, merchants waving their hands frantically to grab attention, entertainers twirling and dancing as if they could bring the very air to life. The streets themselves were lined with stalls selling trinkets, potions, and magical items from distant lands—some glowing faintly, others pulsating with strange mana.
As he moved deeper into the city, the buildings grew grander, more opulent, more awe-inspiring. Cathedrals that seemed to touch the heavens rose majestically on either side, their stained-glass windows casting colorful reflections onto the streets below. The castles and mansions of the wealthy stretched across the horizon, their golden spires gleaming in the sunlight. The people that passed by, their robes flowing gracefully in the wind, were dressed in the finest silks, adorned with jewels that sparkled like stars.
The royal palace stood at the very heart of the city, a towering fortress of stone and marble, with high spires that pierced the sky. It was surrounded by its own walls, thick and imposing, and the guards that patrolled its grounds moved with the precision of trained soldiers, their eyes scanning every face that approached. Mikoto couldn't help but feel small in comparison, like a lone figure standing at the edge of a vast, unknowable ocean. The palace's grandeur was overwhelming, but it was also humbling.
Yet, even as Mikoto looked around in awe, a quiet part of him couldn't shake the weight of his mission, the sense of purpose that pulled him forward.
And as they passed through the bustling streets, Fiona's chuckle cut through the air, snapping Mikoto out of his thoughts. "Come now, there's no need for such a flabbergasted expression, Mikoto." She grinned.
Mikoto, still in awe, adjusted his hood and muttered, "Sorry, I just… this is all amazing."
"Well, the capital city is amazing, I suppose," she replied, her tone softening. "And you are an outsider, so it must be overwhelming. But come, there is much more to see."
Mikoto raised an eyebrow, still unsure of what exactly they were supposed to be doing. "We're not going to your place?"
Fiona's grin only widened as she gave him a side glance. "Not immediately. I thought you might want to see what Galadriel has to offer. You can't just hole up in my home right away."
Mikoto frowned slightly. "Is it wise to walk around like this? I don't want to attract attention…"
"Do not worry. We will sample some of the finest cuisine, and then we will be on our way," Fiona said confidently, her tone breezy.
"Cuisine?" Mikoto repeated, perplexed.
"Yes, the food stalls here are simply the best! It would be a shame to leave without tasting some of the local dishes." She laughed and then suddenly darted off, leaving Mikoto to stand there against the cobblestone wall, still trying to take in everything around him.
Mikoto sighed as he leaned back against the wall, watching the chaos of the marketplace unfold before him. His crimson eye traced the faces of the people around him, each one a different story, a different life. It was all so surreal, too surreal. Even after everything—after his strange arrival in this world, after the shock of the city—it was starting to feel real. But was it real? Could this be real? No. He couldn't question it anymore. This was his reality, and there was no turning back now.
As his gaze wandered over the crowd, his thoughts turned inward, to the few people he held dear, to the memories that kept him anchored. He clenched his teeth, feeling that gnawing sense of longing deep within his chest. He had a goal. He had a purpose. But how long would it take? Weeks? Months? Years? Could he endure this unknown stretch of time? No, he didn't have a choice. He had to hold out. He had to.
"Your eyes are very pretty."
The sudden voice jolted Mikoto out of his reverie, and he blinked as he looked down at the source. A small girl stood before him, her aqua-colored hair and eyes gleaming with an odd, dull radiance. She was shorter than Mikoto, her gaze fixed on him with an unnerving intensity.
"Thanks…" he muttered, unsure of what to make of her sudden appearance. He could not help but get an eerie feeling from this girl.
"Are you a girl?" she asked, tilting her head in confusion. Mikoto sighed inwardly. His looks—thanks to the Goddesses—had caused too confusion.
"I'm male," Mikoto replied, trying to avoid any further awkwardness.
"Ah, sorry, I'm supposed to introduce myself in situations like this," she said, looking a bit flustered now. "I'm Ruby."
Mikoto raised an eyebrow. "Ironic…"
Ruby didn't catch the comment, smiling as she repeated his name, testing it on her tongue. "Mikoto. I like your name. It's cute."
"Thanks a bunch…" Mikoto deadpanned, feeling completely uncomfortable as she smiled even more.
The awkward silence stretched, and Mikoto cleared his throat. "Was there a reason you approached me?"
Ruby blinked. "Oh yes, I just thought your eyes were pretty, and I wanted to tell you." Her tone was flat, almost as if she wasn't even aware of how strange her words sounded.
"…I see," Mikoto said, still unsure how to respond. "Well, thanks."
"That's all," she said, waving and smiling again, her movements slow before she turned and vanished into the crowd.
Mikoto stared after her, bewildered. "What a weirdo…"
Fiona, just as abruptly, reappeared, clutching a strange, crispy-looking potato wrapped in paper. "And I have returned!" she announced triumphantly, handing it to Mikoto. "Here's some fine cuisine!"
Mikoto stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. "Thanks…" he mumbled, taking the offered food.
"So? How is it?" Fiona asked as she took a big bite of her own, clearly enjoying herself.
"Pretty good," Mikoto said, unsure how to rate it.
"Pretty good?" she repeated with a raised brow. "Is that all?"
"Very good," Mikoto amended quickly.
"Well, I think it's delicious," Fiona said with a grin, her mouth still full of food. Mikoto resisted the urge to comment on her lack of table manners.
"Aren't you used to eating things that are better than this?" he asked, knowing full well her status as the daughter of a Duke meant she likely had access to finer food.
"Hmph! As the daughter of a Duke, I must present myself with refinement!" she declared, her tone suddenly haughty. "I rarely get to indulge in food like this, so when I do… I savor every moment."
Mikoto raised an eyebrow as she inhaled the rest of the potato in seconds. "You devoured that in seconds, though."
"The details aren't important," she said with a playful glare.
"Right…"
"Well, come. We'll head to my mansion now. But be warned, my father can be quite… dramatic. Prepare yourself," she added as Mikoto followed, his mind already spinning with the strange turn his day had taken.
"A father that's not human scum? How nice…" he mused to himself sarcastically.
____________________
The mansion stood like some ancient guardian, rooted firmly in its sprawling estate, the stone walls enormous against the vibrant green of the surrounding gardens. It was imposing—no, magnificent—it was telling to the wealth and status of its owner, who had clearly spared no expense in constructing this home. The massive stone walls, aged and weathered by the passage of time, had been expertly crafted.
The roof, made of terracotta red clay tiles, was crowned with turrets and chimneys that rose high, their sharp silhouettes reaching up to the sky. The towering structure had not one, but multiple stories, each ascending with an elegance that could not be ignored. The windows, tall and narrow, seemed like great, dark eyes. Above them, iron balconies and railings, beautifully wrought with delicate curls and scrolls, jutted out, creating an almost whimsical contrast to the stoic, gray stone walls.
As Mikoto and Fiona approached the mansion's grand entrance, it became impossible to ignore the sense of wonder, awe, and, dare he admit it, discomfort. The door itself—a large wooden monolith set into a stone archway—seemed to stand as a final blockade.
The heavy door swung open with a groan, almost as if it too were sighing from the weight of its years, and they entered the mansion. Immediately, Mikoto was enveloped by the sheer magnitude of the hall that greeted them. It was a circular chamber, as if the house itself was built in the round, with the ceiling soaring above them like a great cathedral. Hundreds of flickering candles lined the walls, their warm, golden light casting playful shadows over the polished stone floors.
Suits of armor—ancient and new—stood guard in each corner, their silent watch interrupted only by the occasional creak of the house itself. Their polished metal gleamed in the dim light. Surrounding the room were several painting, each depicting different scenes, one caught his eye of a woman who looked a lot like Fiona.
Above them, a grand staircase spiraled upward, its banister carved from dark wood, winding like a snake up to the higher floors. Mikoto could not help but marvel at the splendor of it all, though he also noticed the distinct lack of servants—a glaring absence that seemed odd for a mansion of this size. The silence that accompanied them through the hall only deepened the strange, eerie feeling that had begun to settle over him. Even the grand chandeliers, hanging from the ceiling, dripped with opulence, their glass crystals catching the light.
Fiona continued on with the ease of someone familiar with the surroundings. "Hm, my father isn't here at the moment," she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself. Mikoto raised an eyebrow, about to ask how she knew that, but before the question could form, she answered with a casual flick of her hand. "He must be away on some manner of business; it matters not, I suppose."
Her casualness only deepened Mikoto's confusion, and just as he was about to open his mouth to inquire further, she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers. In an instant, the world around him seemed to shudder—his vision blurred, darkened, then distorted like a broken mirror being hastily repaired. The room around him seemed to vanish, and in its place, a completely new space materialized—a large bedroom, far more opulent than any he had ever seen.
The room was enormous, the centerpiece being an extravagant king-sized bed with plush, luxurious white linens. Everything screamed wealth—large, white wardrobes adorned with golden, swirling patterns stood proudly against one wall. The floor was covered by a plush carpet, soft and detailed with designs that seemed to float above the marble beneath. A chandelier hung from the ceiling like a beacon, its crystals casting a soft, gentle glow, almost as if it were alive. A single window, adorned with delicate curtains, let in the warm sunlight.
Mikoto stood frozen, completely bewildered by the sudden change of scenery. His mind was racing, trying to process what had just happened. "Was that...? Teleportation magic?"
Fiona, now leaning casually against the doorframe, smiled and nodded. "Yes, a form of teleportation magic. Quite difficult to use, especially when you have to transport someone else. But here, in my domain, it's far easier. My blood is tied to this place, after all. But that's a story for another time."
Her casual tone only added to Mikoto's growing confusion, but he chose not to question it further, especially considering the weight of everything else that had transpired.
"This will be your room for the time being," she continued, her voice snapping Mikoto back to the present. "I'm not sure when my father will return, but rest assured, he would be delighted to have a guest. Though, you may want to be prepared for his... eccentricities." Fiona's lips curved upward as she said this, a hint of amusement playing on her features. "You see, with no servants in the house, the old fool gets lonely fairly quickly."
Mikoto could only nod absently, still processing everything, but his focus was soon redirected by a far more pressing matter. "So when will the training begin again?" he asked, his voice betraying the impatience that had started to bubble within him.
Fiona waved her hand dismissively, as if the answer were trivial. "It's not so much training, Mikoto. More like me giving you some details on magic. As a spawn of Octavia, you're likely more talented than I or anyone else. You've got a leg up, that's for sure. But that's neither here nor there. Make yourself comfortable; I'll be back soon enough."
With that, she vanished in a swirl of light, leaving Mikoto alone in the grand room. The weight of the mansion pressing down on him only grew heavier in her absence. His mind raced with possibilities, questions, and doubts.
"Could that be what I need?" he wondered aloud, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked around the opulent room. "Teleportation magic... Can it help me reach the goal I've set?"
For now, however, there was nothing to do but wait, to let the silence settle in and grow. The room felt impossibly large, as if it were mocking him, reminding him of just how small he was in this strange.