I stood there for a solid minute, just watching people casually walk by in this impossible place.
The streets were paved with some sort of pearlescent material that seemed to absorb and reflect light in equal measure.
Buildings stretched impossibly high, some with sections that appeared to float independently of their main structures—defying everything I knew about physics and architecture.
"This can't be real," I muttered, earning a strange look from a man passing by.
My brain was cycling through explanations like a broken slot machine.
Drug-induced hallucination?
Elaborate prank?
Coma dream?
I pinched myself hard enough to leave a mark.
Nope, still here in Fantasy-Tech-Land.
I started walking, mostly because standing still was making me a bigger spectacle than I already felt like.
Holographic signs in that strange language I somehow understood hovered at intersections.
"Welcome to Central Ward," one particularly large sign proclaimed, the letters shifting between languages I recognized and some I didn't.
Central Ward.
Why did that sound familiar?
I kept walking, my feet somehow knowing where to go even though my brain was still buffering.
People passed by in normal, everyday clothing—jeans, t-shirts, casual dresses, business attire—looking just like they would in my world. The normality of their dress made the floating buildings and glowing signs around them seem even more surreal by contrast.
Some had features that weren't entirely human: pointed ears on some, grayish skin and small horns on others, and occasionally stockier builds with intricate beards.
A memory tugged at the edges of my mind.
I'd seen this before.
Not in person, obviously.
But I'd read about it.
Central Ward, the technological heart of Vandegarde.
Wait.
Vandegarde?
I stopped so suddenly that someone behind me nearly crashed into my back.
"Watch your step," they muttered, stepping around me.
And then it hit me like a truck full of bricks.
"Holy shit," I whispered to myself. "I'm in 'The Infinity Hero.'"
A novel I'd read last summer when I was going through a fantasy phase.
Not even a particularly good novel—just some webfiction I'd binged during a weekend when I was avoiding homework.
I frantically patted my pockets, looking for anything familiar.
My phone was gone, replaced by that weird card with symbols.
But in my back pocket, I found a wallet.
The material felt strange—not quite leather, not quite synthetic—but it opened normally enough.
Inside was an ID card with my face on it.
Well, mostly my face.
The features were slightly different—sharper cheekbones, more defined brow—but still recognizably me.
And the name printed below: Zensalem Holloway.
My address was listed as "Residential District 7, Block C, Unit 404."
So I had the same name in this world.
Convenient, if extremely weird.
The ID card had a strange shimmer to it when tilted at certain angles.
I needed to figure out where I was, exactly.
And then I needed to figure out how to get home.
Or if I even could get home.
I glanced up and saw what could only be a train station entrance—a sweeping arch of stone and crystal that pulsed with soft blue light.
Right, the Sky Rail.
I remembered it from the novel—a transport system that connected the various wards of Vandegarde.
I approached the entrance, following the flow of people who seemed to know exactly where they were going.
No turnstiles or ticket booths in sight.
Just archways that glowed as people passed through them.
I hesitated before one such arch, watching as others simply walked through.
Each person's ID seemed to flash briefly as they passed.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward.
The arch glowed brighter as I passed through, and I felt a slight tingle across my skin.
A soft chime sounded, and a pleasant automated voice said, "Citizen Holloway, Residential Ward 7 access granted."
Well, at least I wasn't getting arrested for fare evasion.
The platform beyond was even more impressive than the entrance.
It stretched out in a wide circle, with multiple branches extending like spokes on a wheel.
And there were no tracks.
Instead, crystalline tubes extended outward, glowing with blue energy.
A train—if you could call it that—pulled into the station with barely a sound.
It was more like a series of connected transparent bubbles, floating above a glowing rail of pure energy.
"Residential Wards 5 through 9," announced the pleasant automated voice from earlier.
That was me.
I stepped forward with a small group of others and entered one of the bubble-cars.
The interior was sparse but comfortable, with seats that seemed to adjust to the person sitting in them.
The floor was transparent, offering a dizzying view of the city below as we pulled away from the station.
"This is insane," I whispered, watching as we accelerated along the glowing rail.
The city spread out beneath us like a living painting.
Spires and towers connected by arching bridges, parks with trees that seemed to glow with ambient light, and everywhere, people living their normal lives in this impossible place.
I recognized landmarks from the novel—the massive Arc Institutes where the magic of this world was studied, the sprawling Accord Council building where the city's laws were created and enforced.
It was all real.
Or I was having the most elaborate hallucination in human history.
Fifteen minutes later, the train announced, "Approaching Residential Ward 7."
I stood, legs feeling surprisingly steady for someone whose entire reality had been upended.
The station in Ward 7 was smaller, less grandiose than the Central Ward hub.
I exited onto streets that were quieter, lined with apartment complexes that rose maybe twenty stories instead of the skyscrapers downtown.
The address on my ID led me to a modest building with a facade of stone and some kind of material that shifted colors in the ambient light.
Unit 404.
The universe apparently had a sense of humor about my situation.
The door recognized me somehow—probably scanning my ID card through my pocket—and slid open silently.
The apartment was small but neat, with simple furniture and minimal decoration.
A kitchen area to the left, a living space straight ahead, and what appeared to be a bedroom through a door on the right.
No photos on the walls.
No signs of family.
I remembered now—in the novel, most characters in Residential Wards were orphans or transplants from other cities.
Apparently, I was one of them.
I walked into the bedroom, taking inventory.
A bed, neatly made.
A desk with nothing but a small crystal that pulsed with gentle light.
A closet filled with normal clothing—jeans, t-shirts, simple jackets—not much different from what I'd wear back home.
I picked up the crystal, examining it.
In the novel, these were personal devices that connected to Vandegarde's network.
I held it in my palm, and it immediately seemed to respond to my touch.
A small light pulsed once, twice, then a projection appeared above my palm.
"Welcome back, Citizen Holloway," the projection read. "You have no new notifications."
Small mercies.
I sat at the desk and began searching for information, my fingers somehow knowing how to navigate the interface despite never having used one before.
First search: "Vandegarde city map."
A detailed projection appeared, confirming I was exactly where I thought I was—a fictional city from a novel I'd read.
Second search: "Arc Institutes enrollment."
Results showed the five major Institutes that trained people in different disciplines.
The enrollment period for new students was just beginning, according to a notification at the top of the results.
Which meant I had landed at the very beginning of the story.
Before any of the major events had occurred.
Third search: "Magic basics."
A flood of information appeared—explanations of how people in this world could manipulate energies through special channels in their bodies.
Everyone had some ability, but the strength and specialization varied widely.
Last search: "How to return to your original world when trapped in a novel."
No results found.
Worth a shot.
I closed the projection and fell backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
So I was trapped in a fantasy novel, in the body of a character so minor I couldn't even remember him from my reading.
Probably an extra who'd get killed off for dramatic effect once the plot needed to raise the stakes.
"Perfect," I muttered to the empty room. "Just perfect."
I should be panicking.
I should be screaming or crying or running through the streets demanding answers.
Instead, I just felt tired.
And slightly annoyed.
"Yeah..." I sighed, closing my eyes. "I'll deal with this tomorrow."