Fel broke slowly into consciousness. It was a relatively normal waking compared to his previous post-death flailings, but it still felt just as bad.

Sand streamed off the edges of Fel's body as he pushed himself into an upright position. Blinking blearily, he tried to force some moisture back into the corners of his eyes. It didn't work. Body cracking and back groaning, he swiped his glasses from the ground nearby and stuffed them back into a pocket of his robe.

Finally, he shook his head clear and sighed.

"Gods damn it," Fel groaned into the palm of his hand. "I didn't mean to— I didn't even get the chance to ask about their map!" Heaving himself to his feet, he stretched as he took in his new surroundings. Again.

He was in an alleyway, with two two-story buildings of powdery stone rising at his sides and the aforementioned sand at his feet. A short shuffling revealed a hard sandstone tile beneath the grit. Fel swiped at it absently before stepping away to allow the sand to fill back into the gap.

On the one hand, this was precisely what he wanted; a mid-sized town or city was among the best of the possible places he could've ended up. They had supplies, informational resources, available mage work, and, most importantly, the messenger's guild to contact the people in Leudran. On the other, he hadn't yet prepared himself to leave Horace and his group.

Still, he'd make do with what he'd been dealt.

A Mainstreet's clamor sounded from beyond the alley's end, and the opening to it illuminated his current space. Giving a disgruntled second groan, Fel began walking in that direction. He kept a hand against the wall to check his balance.

Flinching at the transition, Fel passed the threshold that separated the alley's darkness from the day's glare. The new location was hot, with hardly a cloud in the sky and a near-incessant shine that made itself known from all angles. He cupped a hand over his eyes and looked around, while his shoulders stood flush with the alleyway's opening.

It was a city of grayed-out sandstone, as far as he could see. The buildings' exteriors stood nearly identical in size, alternating between a single story and two but uniformly square. There were no windows, balconies, or detailed ornamentation; it seemed almost featureless compared to Fel's home city of Leudran, or even the more recently visited Kelton. The only exceptions seemed to be the waist-high statues that appeared to be present at each building's front and some blockier carvings along their walls.

A frown creased the sides of Fel's mouth as he turned his gaze back to street level. Judging by the city's appearance, he'd have expected the population to be equally drab. And yet, as he looked around, the throughway appeared to bustle with bodies and color.

People packed the streets. Merchants carried massive packs, men and women walked and chatted, and groups of children quick-stepped their way towards their respective destinations. The city's people wore brightly colored and elaborate clothing of red, orange, and gold, and the garments flowed around them. Occasionally, Fel could see the occasional flicker of blue or darker greens sticking out from the crowd. The more he looked, the more the street of people seemed to flow like a living thing— loud and energetic. They didn't stop.

That was what caught the crux of Fel's attention. It wasn't the dichotomy between buildings and people, nor the lack of a clear guarding presence for such a large crowd, but the ceaseless movement. No-one stopped in the streets. No one even paused. The closest people seemed to get to it was stepping into or out of the buildings alongside the road.

The entire scene was... unnerving.

Fel chose to wait for a minute before setting off. Tapping a man on the shoulder as he passed, he instead tried to get his attention. "Excuse me— could you point me to..." His question trailed off as the man ignored him, shrugging off the asking hand.

Frowning, Fel tried again to similar results. When he tried a third time only to fail once more, he took a step back. Clearly, he was doing something wrong. The people didn't appear to have any issues talking, judging by the chattering in the streets around him. They just didn't seem to want to talk to him.

Looking down, Fel patted at his clothes. An issue with outsiders, perhaps? There wasn't much he could do about that, given his lack of other apparel.

But perhaps...

Fel waited, then slipped into the crowd ahead of a more amiable looking merchant and her two porters. The flow of traffic carried him down the street in a hurry, and he took a few moments to inspect his surroundings further.

Made of slabbed sandstone, the road itself appeared similarly constructed to the buildings. Hardy and repairable, but quite plain. Wary of pick-pockets, Fel kept a hand over the items in his robe as he craned his head above the crowd. Though it was wide enough to support a wagon in both directions, he could spot neither one of them nor a pack-animal anywhere along the street's length.

Somewhat strange, but less so when considering the use of porters, of whom Fel could see many.

Really, despite its tight packing, the street of people was surprisingly organized, with minimal jostling following Fel's initial dive. Without the need to watch for wheeled traffic or step around merchants hawking their wares, he found the traveling to be quite speedy and pleasant. Disregarding his lack of a proper destination, at least.

Still, it was with this in mind that Fel found himself swiveling his attention towards some of the few visible disruptions in the crowd.

People who were leaving it— a steady drip from the stream that flowed through the city's roads.

In the one case, Fel watched as a young man navigated his way off the street, stepping into a building's archway and knocking on its door. Not a dozen seconds after, a smiling business owner ushered him inside before firmly setting the door back into position.

It wasn't necessarily unusual, but the longer Fel watched those who left the crowds, the stranger that same set of actions seemed to become.

Each time was the same. No person who walked up to a door was made to truly wait, but neither, he noted, were any of them able to walk directly inside. Every entrance seemed expected and pre-arranged.

Almost stranger was that no one seemed to need to check the signage above the buildings. Not once did Fel see a person look up to read or inspect a set of symbols above a given door. Every one of them appeared decisive, with a seemingly innate knowledge of where they were going and—

No, that wasn't quite right.

Looking around more carefully, Fel gave the world a sheepish grin before chuckling softly. With some effort, he attempted to reign in his rising paranoia. They weren't checking the signs above buildings because, well, there weren't any. Instead, following the gazes of those who walked around him, Fel directed his attention further toward the ground.

Each building had a statue outside its front— a handmade construct of stone. The waist-high figures appeared unique to the given locations, with forms ranging from a small, sturdy man with a hammer to a half-curled naga holding a bottle out to its side.

It was there that the people's eyes rested when they moved.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Fel slowed his pace.

He'd noticed the statues before, but— an alternative to signs? Fel brushed at his robe, then winced as his elbow jostled the man to his left. Why? What was the point?

It was interesting. Fel would give the city that, but...

He shrugged and shook his head again.

It didn't particularly matter. Or at least, it wasn't why he'd slowed. Shooting a glance backward, Fel shifted to his right, letting the last couple of individuals flow around him. The clothes would remain an issue, but he was hopeful they wouldn't be immediately noticed.

As the merchant group who'd been traveling behind him drew alongside, Fel began to match their pace, recentering his focus. "Excuse me!" He smiled at the woman and her porters while continuing to move. "Would you be able to tell me where I might find this city's Messenger's guild?"

Almost against Fel's expectations, he wasn't ignored this time. Instead, the merchant in question flicked her eyes lazily to the sky. A frown seemed to worm its way across her face.

"The Messenger's guild, you said? I don't think you'll have the time for that— it's seven, maybe eight blocks further back? You passed it if you're coming in from the gate."

"Oh— well, thank you. So then it's just straight back in this direction?"

Her brows scrunched as Fel thumbed a hand over his shoulder.

"Yes, but as I said—" The woman cut off as she gave him a second glance. Trailing her eyes across the hems of his robe, she grimaced. "Ah. I take it you're not just from a neighboring town, then? Nevermind. Just make sure you get inside— the bells are never as long as you think."

"The bells? What do you mean by that?" Fel leaned in with interest.

For the merchant, however, the conversation appeared to be over. She waved a hand, and one of the porters stepped between them. The large man gave Fel a small, apologetic shrug as he filled the gap before shifting to adjust one of his straps.

And that was that. Fel dropped back as the merchant's group carried onward down the street. Angling his body to the side, he began pushing his way to the opposite side of the road.

Definitely an issue with outsiders then— he had little doubt. The merchant's expression after looking him over had been decidedly... distasteful.

With a final, half-stumbling lunge, Fel popped out from his side of the road and onto the other, now moving back in the direction from which he'd come. Cryptic warnings aside, he'd at least gotten some half-decent directions out of the interaction. Straightening himself to his full height, Fel looked over the majority of the heads around him.

Nine blocks, she'd said? He'd have a while.

Sweeping his hands towards his front, Fel began to fiddle with a few points of mana. It wasn't much, but it'd keep him distracted during the walk. Stringing the energy up through his wrists, he passed it up past the center of his palms and into the fingers.

It was a fundamental trick— inner mana usage was both well known and practiced, though Fel could hardly claim experience in the subject. Still, as the strings slipped into the cracks of his fingers' joints, he couldn't help but grin. He didn't know enough to actually amplify his body, but the starting exercises were more than enough to relieve a bit of pain.

Sighing, he let the strings flow through the finger's joints, luxuriating in the feeling of a few minutes of fluid movement before finally bringing the mana to the surface of his hands. It was nice but ultimately unsustainable. A considerable enough distraction could have him losing the thread, at which point he'd need to search through his body again to find it— a wholly uncomfortable procedure.

He'd have to do it again later.

But for now, Fel began twisting the strings in the air above his palms. There wasn't a purpose, not really, but the exercise was a form of practice unto itself. A flower bloomed, a small dog walked itself across the heel of his palm, and a star fell into darkness.

Squinting, Fel leaned closer in.

A door opened in the trunk of a tree, a knight's helm melted into slag, and a horned skull rose from the ashes. The creature that emerged reached out, and a hand took form, stretching toward's Fel's eyes to—

Dong

A bell's toll rang out across the street, sending the string of mana thrumming in Fel's hand. He winced as it slapped against his palm and worked to suck it back inside.

"Gods dammit— what idiot thought it'd be a good idea to ring one of those in the city?"

Scowling upwards, Fel flapped the burn that'd taken form across the meat of his hand. Then, blinking owlishly, he swiveled his head in surprise.

The formerly bustling roads were practically cleared, with only a few dozen stragglers knocking on and subsequently ducking into buildings as he watched. The hundreds that had flooded the streets not ten minutes before had dispersed while he was distracted, seemingly without a trace. Jerking into motion, Fel reached out and snaked a hold on one of the few remaining and fast-moving individuals around him.

"Hey— you there! Where's everyone gone?"

The man snarled at him as he was pulled to a stop, swatting away Fel's hand.

"It's the first bell, jackass! Go find a sand-stop!"

Bells? The merchant had mentioned the same thing— a curfew of some sort? Was that why everyone was so rushed? Fel shook his head as the man took off again. Wiping the hand he'd used against the side of his robe, he looked around worriedly, beginning to pick up his pace.

Fel made it another two blocks before the bell began to ring again. Two distinct tolls echoed down the now fully empty road. If he'd been counting right, there were still another five blocks to his destination.

Grumbling to himself, Fel began to jog. A night spent detained for violating whatever curfew this city had in place was decidedly not on his list of things to experience for the week. A warm bed and some hot food— those were his goals for the day.

However, at still another half a block out, the bell began to toll for the third time. Three long rings sounded out above the city, and Fel began to slow. He panted, then spat to the side, taking a deep breath against a building's wall.

Three tolls meant three warnings— he expected the same to be true here as it was everywhere else. Hopefully, the local guards would exhibit some leniency while he made his way to the guildhall. He didn't exactly know of a better place he might've stepped inside.

Peering down the road, Fel shook himself loose and resumed his traveling at a more reasonable pace. Sunlight glared at him from the stretches of sand that covered the infrastructure of the city, and yet—

No guards.

Still, he didn't slow. Fel continued to quick-step his way down to the end of the block, half-expecting guardsmen to pop out from a side-road to stop and detain him at any time.

At another quarter of a block, Fel paused.

There was a noise in the air. A whistling that'd he'd only just begun to hear, but which was growing steadily louder.

He twitched.

It was the sound of nails on a slate, a screeching mixed with furious yowls. It made his vision blur, and Fel squinted as he tried to check how far he had left to go.

An eighth of a block? If the merchant was right, he should be nearly on top of it.

Still, the air ahead was grey— almost opaque. Sighing to himself in agitation, Fel took out his glasses and slid them onto his nose.

He rubbed at the lense, leaning forwards in confusion, and then finally yelped.

Eyes widening in horror, Fel dove to the nearest door and began slamming a hand against its surface. It thudded within its frame but didn't budge. Drawing back, he lifted his foot and kicked.

The wall of sand screamed down the street.

Something splintered as his foot hit it, but the door remained upright and firmly closed. Panicked, Fel turned his head, watching as the sand howled towards him, less than a quarter of a block away.

He reared back and kicked again, to no results. Forty minutes in a city before he died. Fel squeezed shut his eyes and braced.

His robes blew back as the wind hit, slamming him into the archway that extended past the frame of the door.

Forty gods-damned—

Fel's shoulder was yanked inside.

Grains pelted the right side of his face, and the door slammed shut behind him.