A disorienting warmth washed over them as the vortex spat them out. Eleanor blinked, the world solidifying around her. Cobblestone streets, gaslights flickering in the twilight, the familiar scent of baking bread and horse manure, it was their world, yet different. An unsettling stillness hung in the air. No laughter, no shouts, no clatter of hooves. It was like a painting, beautifully detailed but devoid of life.
"What just happened," Abigael muttered, her voice laced with unease. "Are we in the Monolith already?"
Jacob ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with worry. "Where are we? Where's everyone?"
Just then, a woman with a worn shawl and tired eyes emerged from a building, her head hung low. She mumbled a greeting to herself and shuffled down the street, her movements eerily repetitive.
"Look at her," Jacob whispered, his voice barely a rasp. "She doesn't see us."
