At first, Dorian Anvil thought he was dreaming.
One moment, he had been delivering a repaired enchanted chalice to the local church as commissioned. The next, the ground beneath him had… shifted. Not cracked. Not broken. Shifted. As though reality itself had quietly rotated around some unseen axis and forgotten to bring him along.
He remembered blinking. Once. Twice.
And then he wasn't in his lab anymore.
He was on the edge of tall rocky cliff, clouds rolling low across the sky above. In the distance, he could see what looked to be a city-state. Crumbling stone walls curved around the hillside like a snake mid-slumber. Cracked tiles. Oil lanterns. Distant bells.
He felt the wind. Smelled the sharp scent of alcohol emanating from his clothes and a flask gripped tightly in his palm.
He wobbled slightly as his vision swam and almost fell off the cliff…but he had a suspicion that that may have been the very reason he came up here…
