Clear skies stretched above, with birds soaring towards the east. The street bustled with life, filled with colorful carriages that moved without horses. Glass buildings towered high, reaching toward the sky, while metallic giants—aircraft gliding above—brought a sense of wonder.
"What a beautiful sight," he murmured.
It was indeed beautiful; the streets were clean and free of mud or filth—a true heaven on earth.
He wandered around in strange clothes; some items felt familiar, like a coat, a briefcase, and other accessories.
He blinked twice to ensure he was really seeing this. On the third blink, just to confirm, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His eyelids felt heavy as he summoned all his strength to pry them open, determined to take in the beautiful scene once more.
Finally, he forced his eyes open, and what greeted him was the exact opposite.
Brick buildings loomed everywhere, men drove carriages pulled by horses, and a terrible smell lingered—something he had grown used to. He stared at the night sky, where the bright moon looked back at him, trying to hide behind a thin veil of smog fueled by the smoke chimneys of the brick houses.
"Let me dream in peace," he muttered, banging his hands against the cold cobblestone floor.
A sigh escaped his lips as he accepted his grim reality.
He got up from the ground, dusted off his clothes with his cap, and scanned the area for any edible scraps.
Sadly, there was none.
"Guess I'll have to go to Jack's place again." He shivered at the thought.
With no food in sight and his stomach grumbling insistently, he resolved to head to Jack's.
Somewhere in the slums stood a small building with a rundown exterior that still glowed with light, even at this late hour, the walls casting shadows that danced like laughter in the air. He hesitated at the door for a moment, the raucous sounds within enveloping him like a forgotten embrace, a stark contrast to the hollow echo of the streets outside.
As he pushed the door open, the aroma of something savory tickled his nose, stirring his stomach into an angry growl. He stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking under his weight, and the vibrant energy welcomed him. Faces turned toward him—some weary, some joyful, but all familiar.
"Look who's back!" shouted a burly man from the far corner, his booming voice rising above the chatter. Jack was at the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. His broad shoulders relaxed in the chaos, and a smile creased his weathered face.
"Just in time for the stew, my friend," he said, gesturing toward a pot bubbling expectantly on the stove. The steam curled through the air, inviting and warm.
He joined Jack, taking a seat on the rough-hewn stool beside him. "What's the catch?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Nothing came for free in this world, especially not kindness.
Jack chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "No catch, just a favor. I need a runner to grab something for me. Consider it payment."
He nodded, weighing the aroma of the stew against the effort of the task. "What do you need me to do this time?"
Jack leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just some goods from old Marla at the market. Nothing too dangerous. Just a few trinkets, though you might want to watch out for the guards—they've been restless lately."
He sighed. The thought of dodging the guards added yet another burden to his already heavy mind. But the promise of a warm meal spurred him on. "Alright, deal. But I want a bowl of that stew afterward."
Jack slapped the bar with a hearty laugh. "You drive a hard bargain! But that's a deal I can agree to."
As he stood to leave, he caught a glimpse of the people around him, sharing stories that felt like fragments of a forgotten life. Their laughter was a sharp reminder of what he longed for—happiness, warmth, and a moment to forget.
With a deep breath, he stepped out into the cool night, the streets still dim and unforgiving. The moon hung high, peering down like an inquisitive guardian. He took one last glance back at the inviting warmth of Jack's place, the laughter echoing in his ears, and headed towards the market, determined to return with more than just goods. Perhaps he could find a way to bring a bit of that light back with him.