Lord of Mysteries: The Dream That Waits

The City of Miracles was not a place one could simply walk into.

It was a city that only existed when it wanted to.

A place built on contradictions—where every street could lead somewhere new, where time moved in uncertain rhythms, and where even the concept of "truth" itself was a matter of perspective.

But Klein and Yeaia were not ordinary travelers.

They stood at the edge of the fog, watching as the city breathed.

Buildings shifted. Streets rewrote themselves. The skyline flickered between eras, as if uncertain whether it belonged to the past, present, or future.

Yeaia tilted their head.

"I see why they call it that."

Klein didn't respond. His eyes were sharp, scanning the distortions, trying to find an entry point.

The City of Miracles had never been an ordinary city.

It was a place of stories.

And to enter it, one had to be part of its tale.

"It's looking for something," Yeaia murmured.

Klein frowned. "Looking for what?"

They turned to him, mismatched eyes glinting.

"A reason to let us in."

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The Entrance That Was Never There

Klein took a slow breath.

The pathways of the Fool revolved around uncertainty, deception, and hidden truths. He had walked through doors that never existed, found answers hidden in contradictions, and seen through illusions woven by gods.

So he played the game.

He stepped forward.

And instead of forcing his way inside—

He let the city find him.

The fog rippled.

A street materialized beneath his feet.

And suddenly—they were inside.

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A City of Fragments

The City of Miracles was unlike any place Klein had ever been.

Everywhere he looked, reality was fractured.

Buildings stood in different styles from different centuries. A single streetlamp flickered between gaslight, electric, and something he couldn't name.

The people—if they could be called that—moved like echoes, repeating the same actions over and over, as if stuck in the pages of an unfinished book.

Yeaia exhaled, their gaze scanning the city with an almost nostalgic expression.

"Memories," they muttered.

Klein glanced at them. "What?"

"That's what this place is made of." Yeaia gestured toward a café where a waiter had just dropped a tray—only for the entire scene to reset a moment later, like a looped performance.

"Someone's memories," they continued. "Layered on top of each other."

Klein frowned.

"Not just someone's," he realized. "The city's own memories."

If this place had been built by a Visionary…

Then it was entirely possible that it was a living narrative.

A city that remembered its own past.

And if that was true—

Then buried somewhere in these streets was the memory of the Hidden Author.

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The Truth That Changes

Klein and Yeaia moved cautiously through the streets, careful not to disturb the looping echoes of the city's past.

They didn't know how much time passed before they saw it—

A library at the heart of the city.

Unlike the ever-shifting buildings around it, this structure was stable.

Old, grand, built of obsidian stone that refused to be rewritten.

Klein met Yeaia's gaze.

"If there's any record left," he said, "it'll be here."

Yeaia nodded.

Together, they stepped inside.

And the city watched.

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End of Chapter 21

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