The world flipped sideways.
Frank landed on stone—not hard, but firm enough to remind him that magic portals and stomachs would never be friends.
He pushed himself up and blinked.
The space around him was… surreal.
He stood at the center of a massive circular platform hovering in void-light, surrounded by shifting ledgers and floating price tags. Above, no ceiling. Below, no floor. Only rows and rows of glowing runes spiraling into darkness, like some endless auction stage carved into starlight.
A single phrase hovered in the air before him:
> Welcome, Trader Frank Hagan. Duel-Trade Arena Instanced.
On the far end, another platform shimmered into focus—and footsteps echoed.
Frank squinted.
A figure emerged from the light—tall, robed in antique silk layered with dozens of stitched trade receipts, and wearing a wide-brimmed hat covered in glowing runes.
The figure stepped fully into view.
Not Moggrel. Not a goblin.
A man.
