As the City of Marriet rose into view, Nathan stopped at the edge of the tree line, studying the fortifications. The walls were massive—thirty feet of grey stone, weathered by centuries of rain and wind. Banners hung from the battlements, crimson and gold, bearing the sigil of a crowned lion. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their armor glinting in the afternoon sun.
It was a medieval city. Properly medieval.
No mana-powered buses. No holographic displays. No Tower spires piercing the sky on the horizon. Just stone walls, wooden gates, and the smell of smoke and livestock drifting on the wind.
Nathan felt the displacement.
He had grown used to the capital—the modern buildings, the glowing signs, the constant hum of mana-powered technology. Even the outer regions had felt familiar, with their guild halls and communication crystals.
This was different. This was a world that had never known the Towers. A world that had developed on its own, without Babel's influence.
