The City of Shadows liked to play tricks with fate, and that morning, it seemed to be in a particularly playful mood.
Alex Lin—Dream-Called to his friends, still "the Fool" in the city's swirling rumors—stepped into the street, mask tucked under one arm, the early light dappling every oily puddle and cracked tile. He felt a strange energy: not the ruckus of the memory market's aftermath, nor the poetic winds of the rhyme-day, but something sharper. Every cab seemed to arrive early, every traffic light turned green for every bike courier in a row, and the street musicians on Fifth struck up the melodies people didn't realize they'd wanted to hear.
"Feels like luck's been organized," Alex muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders against the odd tingling in his bones.
Gramps's voice surfaced, cautious and wry. "Kid, it's not luck if you can predict it. That's a timetable for disaster or—worse—the hand of management."
He bit into a street bun and watched a neighbor's dog dodge into traffic and back, always missing the cars by the skin of its teeth. He grinned. "If this city's rigged today, let's go see who's wound the springs."
Luck, Scheduled
The Department of Impossible Things was humming—literally. The humming was the sound of the building's own luck winding up. Sam Wu, forever compiling statistics even on his coffee breaks, reported, "The mail arrived early for the third day. Every elevator goes directly to the right floor. We've had seven consecutive walk-ins, all with exactly the paperwork we need. That's not just coincidence, Alex."
Mina had rescued her favorite plant that morning—after finding her lost keys inside its pot, just where she'd never look but should have. Marcus handed out perfect cups of tea, the brew always at the temperature the recipient needed. Even Logan's logic detector, still battered from recent adventures, beeped a lazy, satisfied pattern. No paradoxes. No problems.
Only Oliver looked nervous. He'd found himself humming the tune to a song he'd never learned, the exact melody he needed to settle a quarreling couple downstairs.
Ms. Paperworth, now cataloguing the city's cases in a new "Serendipity File," waved them over. "Take the morning's luck seriously, folks. Whenever the city runs this well, something underneath is wound far too tight."
She slid a single index card over to Alex. It was blank, but as he touched it, faint, clockwork glyphs sprang up.
APPOINTMENT: 11:11 a.m., CENTRAL PLAZA
SUBJECT: Luck Engineer — "Mr. Fortunate"
TASK: Audit the Balance of Coincidence Before the City Unwinds
Alex checked the time. 11:03. He winked. "Time to see what luck looks like face to face."
Meeting Mr. Fortunate
The central plaza bustled, but already the air felt—curated. Every street performer drew applause at the right moment. Every street vendor ran out of stock the instant the last customer bought the last bun. People parted and rejoined the flow like pieces dancing to some invisible clock.
At exactly 11:11, a tall man in a gray-and-gold waistcoat stepped into the sun, eyes bright, smile easy. His pocketwatch ticked audibly, and wherever he paused, nothing seemed out-of-place.
"Dream-Called!" he said, voice charming as new paint. "And friends. I'm Mr. Fortunate. You see, I... run the schedules behind the city's luck."
Mina eyed him, arms crossed. "So—is today your doing?"
Mr. Fortunate bowed. "Merely performing some overdue... maintenance. The dice roll both ways, but if probability grows frayed, traffic jams become landslides, and love-at-first-sight swaps places with food poisoning."
Marcus pointed at the watch. "Are you fixing luck, or fixing us?"
Mr. Fortunate grinned and spun the watch. "Both. Temporary—until the next cycle. But as the gears mesh, be warned: luck is never free. Every win stacks against the next loss. Balance is everything."
The Audit Begins
He invited them to follow as he inspected a series of "luck nodes": a corner café where every order that day would be perfect; a chess table in the park where every underdog would win before noon; a door prize at a bookshop where every customer found a rare title for free.
"But what about chance?" asked Sam, frowning as every "random" outcome became good, then boring.
Mr. Fortunate checked a ledger. "If the world runs too lucky, agency blurs. Without accidents, there's no delight in risk, no thrill in uncertainty. Magic dies if nothing can surprise you."
They strolled by a busker who played a single blue note, and a bird landed on his hat to the delighted roar of a flock of tourists. It was all too... tidy. Even the clouds arranged themselves so the plaza remained luminous but never too hot.
Alex watched, mask slipping in his belt. He saw a young couple win free meal vouchers; an old man find his dog returned—only to lose his hat to a sudden gust. "Odd," Alex said quietly. "Some of this luck feels like... padding. Like the world's afraid to let something go wrong today."
The Price of Too Much Good Luck
They followed Mr. Fortunate to a lottery stand, where every ticket was a prize—until suddenly a huge bell tolled, and all the good luck collapsed: the cafe burned coffee, the chess player lost three pieces, rain started with no umbrellas handy, small annoyances swarmed all at once.
"Luck stacks, then resets," Mr. Fortunate said, almost apologetic. "Your city's luck has tipped. I warned you: equilibrium demands cost. The more you fix, the worse it breaks when it breaks."
Mina tugged Alex aside. "We can't live in a place where risk is an illusion, where reward always follows intention. If every consequence gets scheduled, we lose the point of trying."
Marcus agreed. "If none of our mistakes stick, neither will our triumphs."
Sam added what they all sensed: "Besides, people aren't happier when things are perfect—they're just waiting for the trapdoor."
Alex turned to Mr. Fortunate. "You must've started this tidy luck for a reason. What's chasing the city's odds today?"
Truth Behind the Coincidence
Mr. Fortunate's smile cracked. "Once in a generation, a streak of pure chance threatens to tear a city's fabric—a run so strange that it shakes belief in all rules. If no one keeps track, possibility unmoors, chaos floods in, and magic—yours, mine, this city's—unravels."
He held out his pocketwatch, its ticking grown frantic. "But I'm tired. To keep balancing fate is to never take a risk, never feel the thrill of chance. Dream-Called, will you take the clock for a while? Will you be the agent that unwinds us, makes luck wild again?"
Alex felt the object's heaviness, the promise of layered order and the hint of accident poised beneath each second. "Isn't there a better answer?"
Mina, recalling the rhyme-day, suggested, "Maybe the city doesn't need one master of luck. Maybe luck needs many hands—shared, taught, celebrated."
She called over the people in the square: the café chef, the chess novice, the lottery player, the tourists, the busker.
"Each of you—take a turn with the watch. Make a wish, flip a coin, toss a risk. Let the city share its chance."
Letting Go, Letting Flow
One by one, the citizens wound the watch, wished, risked, folded losses into laughter. The clock's magic softened, then brightened, clicks growing lighter until chance and intention wove together—a pattern, but one no hand alone controlled.
Logan's device beeped: "Luck index normalized, variance back to healthy. City resumed."
Oliver breathed relief, and Marcus grinned as rain finally stopped, a rainbow hemming the plaza like a promise.
Mr. Fortunate bowed, lighter, free. "Thank you, Dream-Called—and all. In the end, luck is best when it's shared, when no one knows what comes next… but everyone gets to play."
He vanished, leaving a scattering of copper coins and a streetful of breathless awe in his wake.
When the Day Unwinds
The Department's board updated:
CASE: THE LUCK ENGINEER — RESOLVED
City's odds restored—pleasant surprises and hearty stumbles properly mixed.
New recommendations: flip a coin before every committee meeting, and let someone else pick the restaurant.
That night, Alex sat on the rooftop with his friends, watching a shooting star arc erratically across the sky.
He flipped a coin: heads, he told a joke; tails, he told a secret. To his (and Gramps's) delight, it landed on the edge, spinning a moment longer before settling—reminding him that in the City of Shadows, the best moments always had a little chaos, a little grace, and a lot of uncertain possibility.
And as the city exhaled, wild and lucky again, its people walked the fine line between accident and intention—Fools and dreamers every one of them, ready for whatever tomorrow rolled their way.