After my breakdown, though it brought a sense of calm and release, my emotions remaiumultuous. I o step back, breathe, and find my footing. Frankfurt turned out to be the ideal pce tain my bance. As I roamed the city and took in its sights, the blend of the new and the old slowly drew me out of myself. The jarring trasts mirrored my iurmoil, f a sense of e—or maybe solidarity—with the city.

  In the Bankeel district, sleek modern skyscrapers rose like gss-covered bdes, each pane refleg shards of clouds and sunlight. Nearby, the R?mer stood with turies-old elegas weathered gables and stone walls a testament to past lives. The trast was surreal—t steel giants juxtaposed against an a, unshakable mo. The city felt like a perfect refle of my mental state: shattered, drowning in grief and pain, scared, and uai, at the same time, I was excited, curious, slightly optimistid holding on to a sliver of hope.

  While I sat there, the cool stoh me and distant voices grounding the moment, a wave surged through my diaphragm. My chest tightened, vision blurred, and tears welled up, spilling in heavy, silent streams—a relief in each drop. The ache in my chest crested sharply before subsiding, leaving behind a strange calm, like the stillness after a storm. My hands pressed firmly against the cool bench, its solidity anch me, a remihat I was here, still standing amidst everything. I had thought my breakdown at the hotel marked the end of this strange phenomenon, but it wasn’t. Throughout the day, small surges of energy still rose from my diaphragm, flooding my chest and bringing tears to my eyes. Thankfully, they were brief, passing in seds, and the calm that followed was a blessing.

  I sat on another bench by the Maine River, where the water mirrored the city skyline in rippling, silvery shades. Spring warmed the air, though a lingering chill crept through my jacket, prig my skin. In the distahe hum of voices and the soft rush of the river filled the surrounding space, an urban symphony. My vision surprised me. I could see people far off on the Eisereg bridge—clearer than I should have been able to. Someone was waving, a woman’s hair was flying in the wind, a family stood for a photo, and a kid was tugging at his mother’s coat and saying something. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but saw everything clearly from a few hundred feet away.

  I kept moving from pce to pce, losing myself iy. The Esheimer Tower loomed ahead, a medieval relic surrounded by sleek gss and steel. Its poiurrets ahered stone looked like something out of a fotteanding stubbornly against time. For a moment, I paused, thinking about the turies it had watched over the city, from knights and merts to the endless rush of modern life. The streets buzzed with people, and the air smelled of grilled sausages from a nearby stand. Somewhere in the distahe bells of St. Paul's Church rang, a soft echo threading through the hum of the city.

  In Sahausen, the old part of town, I wandered down cobblestoreets lined with ?ppelwoi bars. Though I didn’t drink much, I ducked into one for a quick gss of the local apple wihe cider was sour, but it warmed me inside.

  When I returo the hotel, I was exhausted, and my feet hurt, but my mi clearer. Frankfurt had dos job, keeping the worst thoughts at bay for a while. Each twist iy felt like an ey tangled past—polished and calm pces sat beside rough patches that held stories of upheaval.

  On the sed day, after spending the m wandering through crowded streets, I went to Frankfurt’s botanical park, the Palmengarten. It hadn’t been part of my pn, but the need for quiet was too overwhelming to ighe city’s noise melted away when I stepped inside, repced by a soothing stillness. Only the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant birdcall interrupted the tranquility—a hidden paradise among the crete.

  The air in the Palmengarten was fresh and sweet, with hints of damp soil and flower perfume. Each breath brought a calm energy, a wele trast to the city. I wandered down winding paths, losing myself in the gardens' serene embrace. Each se felt like a different world—the humid, pnt-filled Tropicarium, the stark desert house with alien-like cacti. I let myself simply exist, allowing the Gates, the stats—everything—to fade into the background. During those hours, I wasn’t ed about my past or future. Instead, I anchored myself in the here and now, the present moment around me, letting the quiet work its way into my bones.

  Finally, I felt banced and in trol, no longer shatteriionally—whether from my own problems or the strange surges from my diaphragm—and my thoughts stopped scattering in every dire. I began to focus oher side of my jourhe side that demanded more from me than just emotional bahe stillness of the gardens erfect for pnning what came , so I checked my mana.

  It was disappointingly low at 76 out of 3000. That made me huff in irritation; the issue had to be addressed in a more active fashion. I stocked up on supplies–a few takeaway meals, drinks, a sleeping bag with a yoga mattress, a couple of paperbacks for the quiet hours, and an oil mp. With my gear in Ste, I headed to the Gate. I wao raise my mana baething useful.

  The first day passed in almost plete stillness. I stretched out on the cool ground, the roughness of the stoh the sleeping bag pressily against my back. Above, the fractured archway reached out in jagged lines, framing the soft, fading light that filtered through the dense opy above. The air felt heavy, holding a profound silence woven into the ruins. I closed my eyes, breathing it iing the stillness soak through my skin, like sinking into deep, untouched waters.

  Only an occasional breeze rustled the dry grass. The tension uncoiled with each exhale, releasing another yer of worry. My focus drifted. I slipped into a half-daze. My thoughts ebbed and flowed with my breath.

  The day, I checked eagerly to see if my patience had paid off. My mana increased to 384 out of 3000—over 3eed ht, far better than the 100 I’d expected from the Travelers’ at. This progress should have been encing. But it frustrated me. The process was too slow.

  Desperate to speed up my regeion, I gave meditation a shot. All the books I read mentio as a method tee. Sitting cross-legged, I closed my eyes and focused on clearing my mind. Easier said than doray thoughts barged in, stubbornly ging to every er of my mind. After a frustratiernity—or maybe ten or twenty minutes—I finally found a sembnce of quiet. It wasn’t perfect, but it rogress. I stayed in that state for an ierminate amount of time, but when I checked my mana, it was at 396.

  Maybe I’m not doing this meditation thing right?

  I tried sitting cross-legged, staring down at my navel, hoping some mystical crity would hit me. After a feard minutes, I mostly just felt ridiculous. When my mana hadn’t budged, I was relieved.

  , I tried meditating on the beauty of nature. Trees rustled, and light filtered through the leaves—pleasant enough, but for my mana? No ge.

  I focused hard on my mana, mentally ting, “Mana, go up.” There was not even a ti the meter.

  Still frustrated, I visualized my mana system, imagining currents flowing inside me. But nothing clicked, no sudden surge, no insights. Each attempt left me staring at the same, almost unged numbers. It was as if the mana was ughing at my efforts.

  What was I missing?

  Then, aruck me. I closed my eyes and trated, trying to sehe mana in the surrounding air. At first, it was a struggle. The air held a weight aure, but nothing distinctly mana-like. Still, I Knew I was on the right path. I was so gd about this Knowing fun. It didn’t give me nudges in the right dire, which was annoying, but at least it did give a sense of aowledgment when heading there. So, I pushed on, and focused on finding that differehat subtle quality in the air.

  Three of four hours in, there was still no noticeable ge. Walking bad forth in the main hall with the Gate, also didn’t yield any insights. Hm, how does mana feel? By this point, it was clear that the surges from my diaphragm were mana waves. They were responsible for the tears. I trated and recalled their feeling to the best of my ability. Their sistency.

  Slowly, it came into focus. There was an energy there—not only in the air but radiating from the trees, the ground, and even the vines and moss around me. I could feel it, faint and stant, a hum beh everything, eg it all in a quiet, unbreakable way. I let myself sink into the sensation, abs the presence of this energy, letting it wash over me. It was incredibly satisfying to tuo it, finally. Like finding a yer I didn’t know was missing.

  I stayed calm, reveling in the e to the mana. Then, a fshing red dot blinked in my field of vision. It was annoying, insistent, airely out of pce.

  What now?

  You have learhe Skill [Mana Sense]

  Alright, I could five the interruption—this time.

  Mana: 439/3000.

  I developed the ability to se, but still didn’t absorb it faster. It was still out of reach. I closed my eyes, reached out to that subtle energy again, and tried something new: willing it into my body. I focused hard, like I could coax the mana to flow into me if I just thought it strongly enough. Naturally, nothing happened. If anything, I could almost hear the mana ughing at me, calling me an idiot.

  attempt: I tried “grabbing” at the energy, like I’d maniputed blood before, hoping the familiarity would help me. But the mana stayed stubbornly outside my reach, untouched by my efforts.

  Maybe… breathing it in? I took a deep breath, slowly pulling it through my nose, and something ged. There was a faint, almost tangible differe was a sense of something else slipping into me, carried on the air. Enced, I found a rhythm. I breathed in deeply through my hen exhaled slowly out my mouth. Each breath brought a faiion of maering me. Just as I settled in, the red dot blinked bato view, interrupting the moment. I rolled my eyes, exasperated.

  You have learhe Skill [Maation]

  Alright, I fave it this time as well.

  Mana: 614/3000.

  Now we’re talking!

  I settled in for the day, fog on each breath, letting the mana flow. Hours passed, aually, my legs went numb from sitting cross-legged. I flopped onto my sleeping bag and discovered that lying down also worked. No need for the lotus position, then. When I checked again, my mana was 1833 out of 3000.

  Progress is the best.

  I drifted to sleep when night fell, half-expeg my mana would keep regeing. M came, though, and my mana was at 1971. No boost during sleep. Bummer. I shrugged it off aated until my mana finally topped off.

  Returning to Earth, I headed straight for my car. The sight of it stopped me in my tracks. It was covered in dust and looked like it had been sitting here for at least a week, not the three days I’d spent oher side. Frowning, I grabbed my phone from the trunk, powered it on, and checked the date.

  Eleven days. My hand froze. The pho heavy in my grip as I stared at the s, my mind bnk. Time stretched, turning surreal. Nothi real. Nothing made sense. My pulse pounded in my ears; each beat eg in the emptiness of my thoughts. I could feel a weight settling over me, pressing down, my breaths ing shallow and jagged as if the air itself had thied. Shock swallowed every coherent thought, leaving my body frozen i was like my brain had short-circuited and colpsed, leaving only ay, endless loop of disbelief.

  I blinked, shaking my head, desperate to jump-start my mind into thinking, to form a coherent thought. But my brain was a mess—questions tumbled over each other, slipping through my fingers like sand. What? How? Why? The questions swirled in a dizzying storm, each left hanging unanswered. Every sed felt like ay.

  Finally, as if rebooting, my brain kicked bato gear, only to be flooded with a barrage of questions I couldn’t answer:

  Time moves differently?

  How could this even happen?

  Was it some glit the Gate? Did I miss something?

  My mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible.

  How did 11 days pass here when it was only three days over there? Had aiced I was gone? Were there other Travelers who had experiehis? Was this a one-off thing, or was I looking at a recurring nightmare?

  More and more questions crashed in, eae relentless.

  Why was there nothing in the Archive warning about this? What did it mean for future travels? If I left and came back, would years pass oh? Decades? turies? Was I just supposed to guess and hope for the best every time? I didn’t have friends or family to lose to the passage of time, but still! If I traveled through a few worlds aurned, what would I find? A pletely ged society? Progress? Dee? What? The enormity of it all weighed heavily on me. I was going in blind, stumbling through an unknown situation with no guidance or warnings. Every ued twist felt like a gut punch. Guar Shum had his father prepare him for this madness, giving him a solid base to stand on. But me? I was getting blindsided at every turn.

  As I scrolled through my phoill in shock from the lost days, a line of missed calls caught my eye—my wyer. I dialed him back with a sinking feeling, brag myself for whatever news he’d been trying to deliver.

  The phone barely rang before he picked up. “You’re a hard man to reach these days,” he said, a toupatien his voice.

  I rubbed my neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been… plicated.”

  “plicated or not, there’s something you o know.” His tone shifted, growing serious. “The court date’s beewo weeks from now. Your in-ressing forward with the trust fund case.”

  I exhaled slowly.

  “I sent you an email with all the information. Just wao make sure you saw it when I didn’t get a reply,” he added, his tone sharp.

  The call ended, leaving a heavy silehat settled in yers, another weight added to an already overloaded pile. I let out a long breath, booked my flight, aally marked the court date as the finish line I had to reach. But for now, I reminded myself to take things slow a my poor, shocked mind adjust. Rushing wouldn’t do me any good.

  Later, sprawled on my bed at the hotel, I tried to focus on something productive to take my mind off the shog aspey experience. Most of the books I’d read for research mentioned looting spells or skills, but when I scrolled through the lists, I didn’t see anything that matched. Of course, I hadn’t examihem thhly, so it might have slipped by unnoticed. From everything I’d read, fights seemed iable—that was why I’d trained so hard. And if I was going to fight, I figured I should be able to cim the rewards. To the victo the spoils, and all that jazz. It was time to dig deeper. Lying there, I scrolled through page after page, more determihan ever. Did I find anything? Not a thing!

  Maybe it’s under something weird?

  I squi the descriptions of every vaguely pusible skill. I scoured through things like “Resathering,” which was a sixth seo find specific things, and “Iory Expansion,” which expanded a Mert’s skill of all things. My brows furrowed deeper with each dead end. Nothing eveely reted to looting. It was like the system fot this one essential detail.

  “Bad system uidance or whatever you are, you’re missing crucial pos for successful adventuring,” I griped, letting the s close as I slumped back. “Who builds a system without looting skills?”

  A feeling of rebuke washed over me.

  I froze in shock.

  Holy crap, it unicated with me!

  And yeah—I might have hyperventited.

  I o raise my Strength stat. Maybe I’d stop feeling shocked at every turn. It said something about dealing with stress better.

  I closed my eyes, shook my head, ched my fists, and took a deep, fortifying breath.

  No thinking about a judgmental text box.No thinking about a judgmental text box.No thinking about a judgmental text box.

  The following day, I wahrough the city streets without thinking, letting my legs carry me wherever they wanted. I wasn’t ready for another shock. Instead, I let my gaze drift over the shop fronts and the architecture, soaking in the surroundings and pushing away any thought that tried te in. It worked the first time around to deal with my equilibrium; I hoped it would help with the shock. A pawn shop caught my attention on a narrow side street. I remembered the Archive mentiohese pces, so curious, I stepped inside.

  The pce was nothing like I’d expected. I’d pictured a small, dark, dusty shop crammed with random odds and ends. Instead, I found a vast, aore—bigger than most of the shops I’d visited tely. A long gss case cut the store in two, filled with watches, jewelry, gems, and s. On ead of the gss dispy were cameras. One side showcased sleek, high-end DSLRs, while the other dispyed a row of collectible vintage models—some of which looked genuinely antique. The air carried a faint st of polished wood and lemon, an odd yet f bination that made the pce feel inviting.

  The store was divided into ses by partitions, each dedicated to a different category of expensive pawns. Men’s and women’s clothes bore tags like Versace, Valentino, and el, alongside equally pricey bags and shoes. There were paintings, sculptures, antique a, and silverware made from actual silver. Vinyl records and books filled another se. Leafing through the books, I could see why they were valuable—some had signatures or dedications by the authors, while others were printed 80, 90, or even 100 years ago or more. Large ses featured sp equipment, musical instruments, and even power tools. It was like a giant sedhament store within a shop.

  I approached the ter, catg the salesperson’s attention. “Excuse me, could you tell me about your jewelry and gems? Specifically, the prices?”

  He g the case and nodded. “Ja, of course! These all very good price. Much cheaper than normal store.”

  After a thh look through the colle, I chose 34 pieces, primarily rings and pendants. But my eyes kept drifting to an old, vintage camera from the ‘80s—sturdy, meical, a of all, it didn’t need batteries. I picked it up, tur over, a its satisfyi.

  The salesperson noticed my i. “Ah, for that ohere is no fsh. You see, ja?” He studied me closely, gauging my rea.

  “That’s fine. I doubt I’ll need one where I’m going,” I said.

  He looked fused, but didn’t ask.

  After paying, I tucked the camera into my bag, feeling a tiny spark of anticipation. Si didn’t need batteries, I hoped it would bypass the warning in the Archive that teology didn’t work with mana.

  Ba the street, I looked at the pawnshop, the weight of my bag reminding me I had some steps to take and preparations to make. The salesperson gave me the taformation of a photography store that offered workshops in film development. I had enough on my pte without more surprises, so a down-to-earth workshop on a subject that ied me sounded just right.

  Hands in my pockets, I kept walking. Whatever came , I’d ha.