They took a side route, slipping into one of the city's mid-tier districts where the pace was less frantic and the buildings leaned into more artisanal designs.
Here, storefronts displayed hand-crafted goods behind transparent glass walls—ceramic tea sets with shifting glaze patterns, kinetic sculptures that moved in hypnotic loops, and fabric shops where mannequins wore garments that changed color with the wearer's mood. The air was warmer here, scented faintly with baking bread and ozone from the small-scale fabricators humming in the back of certain shops.
Mu Qing slowed by a music vendor's stand, where delicate stringed instruments hung from ceiling rails. She plucked one gently, letting the note hum through the quiet space. The vendor, an elderly man with silver hair woven into a long braid, gave her a small nod of approval. She smiled faintly, but didn't buy anything—just lingered a moment before rejoining the group.
Rize found herself caught up at a display of old-world watches. The vendor claimed they were fully mechanical, no energy cores, no holo-displays—just gears, springs, and the kind of craftsmanship you couldn't mass-produce anymore. She glanced toward Max, almost asking if she could get one, but his subtle head tilt told her to keep moving. Not because he was against it—but because they weren't here to shop aimlessly.
They crossed a small plaza where a fountain sent arcs of water into the air, each stream shifting color in time with soft ambient music. Gwen paused long enough to snap a mental capture of the pattern—something about the symmetry clearly appealed to her.
Further along, the streets narrowed into a warren of cafés and bookshops. A tiny stall sold cups of steaming broth from a recipe "unchanged for 300 years," at least according to the flickering sign. Max didn't stop, but he filed away the location—spots like that often had more value than their menus suggested.
They passed under an arched walkway where holographic koi swam lazily above, their shimmering forms casting shifting light patterns onto the pedestrians below. Lan Xue tilted her head back to watch them, the reflection of their bright scales dancing in her eyes.
Eventually, the route brought them to a broad viewing terrace. From here, the city stretched out in every direction—a layered expanse of steel, glass, and living greenery woven together in deliberate harmony. The sky was a soft gradient of gold and pale blue, the higher towers catching sunlight like mirrors angled just so.
For a moment, nobody spoke. The hum of the city was far away here, replaced by the whisper of wind curling around the terrace rail. Max stood with his hands resting lightly on the railing, scanning the skyline—not searching for threats, just… taking it in.
"This world's a little much sometimes," Rize admitted quietly.
Max gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "That's why you have to find the places that breathe."
The streets beyond the terrace sloped downward, leading them into a quieter cultural quarter where the architecture shifted again—less glass and steel, more stone facades in muted earth tones, accented with intricate carvings.
A narrow canal ran along one side of the path, its water clear enough to see tiny aquatic drones skimming the surface, cleaning debris before it could settle. Wooden pedestrian bridges crossed it at intervals, each painted in bright lacquered reds and greens.
They passed a street painter working at an easel, the canvas slowly filling with a vivid cityscape in impossible colors—neon streaks across a twilight skyline that didn't match the current daylight. Mu Qing lingered, watching the brushstrokes. "Not what's in front of him," she murmured. "What's in his head."
The painter didn't look up, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
A little farther on, the smell of roasting spices drifted from a cluster of food stalls. Rize was the first to break formation, drifting toward a stand where skewers of marinated meat hissed over an open flame. The vendor basted them with a sauce that shimmered faintly in the light. She glanced back at Max, and this time his answering shrug meant go ahead.
Gwen ordered a cup of iced herbal tea from the next stall over, the drink served in a tall, faceted glass that caught the sunlight like a prism. Lan Xue opted for a steamed bun, its outer layer tinted pale blue from some kind of mineral-infused flour.
They ate as they walked, weaving through the slower crowds. Every so often, a tram line cut across the street, its track embedded flush with the cobblestones, the carriages moving at a gentle pace that didn't disturb the pedestrian flow.
They came upon a small open square dominated by a kinetic sculpture—rings within rings of polished bronze, rotating slowly in complex, interlocking patterns. Children darted in and out beneath it, their laughter echoing against the surrounding shopfronts.
Max's gaze lingered briefly on the edges of the square, noting the subtle placement of security sensors within the sculpture's base. Not intrusive—just enough to keep the peace without breaking the illusion of openness.
"This district," he said quietly, "was designed for people to forget the rest of the city exists."
Rize took another bite of her skewer. "And does it work?"
"Only if you let it."
They moved on, crossing under a series of hanging gardens suspended between buildings—cascades of flowering vines swaying in the breeze, their colors vivid against the pale stone walls. Somewhere above, a chime marked the passing of the hour, but down here, the moment felt unhurried.
By the time they reached the next junction, the sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the streets. A breeze carried the faint sound of string music from somewhere ahead, and without saying a word, they followed it.
The music led them into a narrow side street that opened into a hidden courtyard, half-shaded by the broad leaves of old, carefully tended trees.
A quartet of street musicians occupied the center, their instruments a blend of traditional wood and polished alloys, each one producing a sound both familiar and faintly otherworldly. The melody was slow, winding, the kind of tune that invited you to stay longer than you planned.
Small tables ringed the courtyard, most occupied by people sipping drinks or nibbling pastries. A few vendors had set up low carts nearby, selling paper-wrapped confections and tiny glass bottles filled with colored sand, layered in intricate patterns.
***
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