Wei Chen kept his skepticism close as he followed the fortune-teller—a woman with a half-moon painted across her cheek—into a cramped, velvet-draped booth at the edge of the Helmsgart night market. The air inside was heavy with incense and the faint, metallic scent of old coins.
The fortune-teller gestured for him to sit across a low table, where instead of tarot cards, a set of **ornate glass dice** and a battered brass astrolabe rested. Shadows danced on the canvas walls as she lit a lantern, revealing shelves lined with jars of dried herbs, feathers, and strange trinkets.
"Tonight, we cast the fates," she intoned, her accent thick with the city's eastern quarter. "No cards—only the bones and the stars."
Wei hesitated, glancing at the dice. "And this is still free?"
She gave a crooked smile. "For first-timers, the city's luck is on the house. But if you want to know about love or death, that costs extra."
He relaxed a little, pushing his revolver deeper into his coat. "Just the basics, then."
She handed him the dice—each face etched with a different symbol: a mask, a key, a spiral, a flame, a closed eye, a blank. "Think of your question, then cast."
Wei rolled the dice. They tumbled, clinking softly, and landed mask up, spiral up, and blank.
The fortune-teller leaned in, peering at the results, then spun the astrolabe, aligning its arms with the dice. "A stranger's mask, a path untraveled, and the void. You stand at a crossroads, but your true self is hidden—even from you. The city's shadows watch, but the outcome is unwritten."
Wei tried to hide his unease. "That's… vague."
"Fate always is," she replied, her gaze suddenly sharp. "But beware—sometimes the city answers questions you never meant to ask."
Just then, a commotion erupted outside. A street urchin darted into the tent, breathless. "Madam Varga! The city watch is searching the square—someone's been pickpocketed!"
The fortune-teller's expression darkened. She swept the dice into her sleeve and stood. "I must go. If you seek more answers, come back with a silver mark."
Wei nodded, slipping out as the tent emptied. No animal trainers, no comic interruptions—just the city's chaos and the lingering echo of the fortune-teller's warning.
He quickly lost himself in the market, buying what little mutton and vegetables he could afford. With his bread and groceries in hand, he hurried home, mind spinning with the cryptic reading.
Back in his rented room, Wei prepared for the ritual. He translated the old invocation into the city's forgotten dialect and a scholar's Latin, hedging his bets. He set four loaves of rye bread at the room's corners, then, after a moment's pause, added a coin to each—an offering to the city's hidden spirits.
He stood at the center, breathing deeply, and began the rite. At each corner, he whispered:
- "By the Sovereign of the Crossroads, grant me passage."
-"By the Keeper of Secrets, let the veil be thin."
-"By the Watcher in the Mist, guide my steps."
-"By the Silent Covenant, bind fate to will."
Completing the circuit, he closed his eyes and waited. The air thickened; whispers curled around him, half-heard and shifting. Pain lanced through his head, colors whirled, and the world slipped away.
When he opened his eyes, he was adrift in endless gray mist, crimson lights flickering in the distance. Reaching out, he brushed one—light flared, and his spirit trembled.
Elsewhere in Helmsgart, a young woman's mirror glowed red; on a river ferry, a man's compass burned with strange fire. All were drawn into the mist, faces blurred, fates entangled.
Wei stared at the others who appeared in the fog. "Where are we?" he managed.
The others looked just as lost.
And so began the true crossing