Silas let out a silent breath.
Whatever this place was, it did not match any realm cataloged in the Heavenly Library.
Across a million years of reading, through archives describing thousands of civilizations, he had never encountered anything resembling this society.
A soft click interrupted his thoughts as the door swung open.
His regular nurse stepped inside, accompanied by a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties.
She had bright blonde hair and wore an unusual outfit, resembling a cross between an elegant robe and a traditional eastern wrap.
The nurse lifted Silas from his cradle and handed him over without hesitation.
The two women spoke in their unfamiliar tongue.
The blonde woman offered Silas a warm smile, gently touching his small hands while periodically pausing to ask the nurse questions.
Ten minutes later, after signing several documents at the reception counter, she held Silas securely against her shoulder and carried him out of the facility.
Silas studied his surroundings with keen attention.
I knew this day would come eventually.
A month in a hospital crib is more than enough.
He had no complaints.
In truth, he was eager to leave.
At long last, he could observe the world beyond those four walls.
As they stepped out into the open air, Silas took in every detail.
His initial impressions immediately forced him to rethink his theories about their technology.
He had jumped to conclusions too quickly.
Many of the objects’ people carried were not high-tier artifacts at all.
They were constructed from common metals, alloys he recognized from basic metallurgical texts in the library.
Yet their manufacturing precision and intricate designs bore no resemblance to any historical civilization he had studied.
Their power sources remained a mystery, as did their approach to healing.
During his weeks under medical observation, he had watched doctors administer synthetic tablets, injections, and mechanical tests.
Many worlds relied on medicine, but those were elixirs brewed by alchemists and saturated with spiritual energy.
The treatments here held no spiritual resonance whatsoever.
He had no frame of reference for this civilization.
Nothing in the Grand Library had prepared him for it.
Something about this world operates on entirely different principles.
His gaze swept across the crowd.
While a few people carried cloth bags, the vast majority held structured leather cases or compact containers.
Their clothing was equally strange.
None of it appeared designed for combat or unrestricted movement.
Men and women wore garments tailored tightly to their bodies, clearly prioritizing appearance over utility.
The most glaring anomaly, however, was the complete absence of Path Awakened.
Silas could not sense a single practitioner or cultivator.
This appeared to be a mortal realm that had never undergone path evolution, an assessment reinforced by the thin spiritual energy lingering in the air.
Yet the architecture suggested an advanced society.
Most structures were modest homes or storefronts, but the masonry and layout were neat, orderly, and precise.
Silas struggled to reconcile the contrast.
How could a society completely devoid of awakened paths build with such precision?
He lacked a proper standard to judge their true capabilities.
The weather was pleasant.
A bright sun set high in the sky, tempered by a thin layer of clouds that kept the heat manageable.
A gentle breeze moved through the trees lining the path, scattering soft petals from the blooming cherry blossoms along the walkways.
Silas watched the falling petals in silence.
It was a calm, vivid scene, the sort of simple beauty he had only ever read about on dry parchment.
Smooth, dark gray roads cut through the district, filled with pedestrians walking between rows of merchant stalls selling household goods and fresh produce.
Silas took it all in.
Before he could analyze further, the blonde woman raised her free hand to wave down a three-wheeled motor vehicle.
The small machine pulled over to the curb.
After a short exchange with the driver, the woman climbed into the back seat, keeping Silas held close.
With a low mechanical hum, the vehicle accelerated, navigating the crowded streets with surprising ease.
Silas watched the scenery blur past.
Interesting.
He watched the spinning spokes blur as the machine cut through the streets.
A contraption of iron and glass, rolling faster and smoother than any beast of burden.
Dozens of these metal carriages crowded the roadway, swerving past each other in steady, practiced lanes as they hauled cargo and commuters.
Further along, the clatter of the market district thinned out.
The fruit stalls and ironmongers fell behind, giving way to narrower, quieter residential roads.
The driver pulled up beside a low iron fence in front of a small, weather-beaten house.
The blonde woman stepped down to the curb, her arms wrapped firmly around Silas.
He watched her slide a small slip of paper into the driver’s palm.
His eyes narrowed.
Fine engravings, layered watermarks.
He peered closer from over her shoulder.
Yet their primary trade relies on flimsy paper?
He let out a silent breath.
Perhaps I gave this world too much credit.
The house looked worn.
Sun had baked the exterior paint into dull flakes, and fine cracks webbed across the plaster near the eaves.
Still, the frame stood straight, and the garden plot was weeded clean.
Despite the peeling paint, the little property held a comfortable, lived-in warmth.
She carried Silas up the gravel walk and rapped her knuckles against the door.
“Coming!”
The latch gave way, revealing a dark-haired girl.
The exhaustion in her face vanished the second she saw who was on the porch.
“Mother Clara!”
So that’s her name, Silas noted, glancing up at the woman holding him.
“You’re back,” Alice said, stepping aside, her eyes locked on the bundle in Clara’s arms.
“Is that him?”
“It is,” Clara said, smiling softly.
“The poor thing was all on his own from the start.
Once I held him, I couldn’t leave him behind.”
Alice reached out and took Silas into her arms.
She made quiet, soothing noises against his cheek, pressing him to her shoulder before walking him through the rooms to show him around.
Silas stayed still, his gaze mapping the corners of the ceiling, the doorframes, the faded rugs.
So, this is the new home.
He scanned the small hallway once more.
A modest roof in a foreign world, worlds away from the freezing stone aisles of the Grand Library.
Nothing here resembled anything he had known for a million years.
He let his head rest against Alice’s shoulder, listening to the steady thump of her chest.
Well.
His eyelids grew heavy.
I can get used to it.
READERS BY NOW YOU WOULD HAVE GUESSED WHICH WORLD HE HAS BEEN BORN IN.
IF YOU HAVE NOT, THEN LET ME POUR COLD WATER ON THE READERS WHO ARE THINKING I WILL PRAISE IT