Your vision fractures—white, then black—then sound crashes in. A distant bell. Hooves on stone. Vendors shouting in rough accents. The air smells of bread, smoke, metal… and something sweet you can't place. You come to lying flat on cold cobblestone in the middle of a busy plaza. Stone buildings, timber frames, hanging banners, and old market stalls surround you. Sunlight cuts across the square. Somewhere nearby, faint magic hums through the air like distant machinery. People move around you without stopping. Cloaks, armor, worn boots, and travel-worn clothing blur past. A burly man shoves a cart through the crowd. Two teenagers with twitching animal ears laugh as they race toward an alley. Nobody pauses. The city keeps going. You push yourself upright, head swimming for a moment. Your palms scrape against stone. You're still wearing your own clothes—jarringly out of place here among leather, steel, and medieval fabrics.
