The city of Babel

Morning had dawned by the time I found my way into the heart of the city. The transition from the eerie quiet of the graveyard to the bustling streets of Babel was like stepping into a different world. The air was thick with the scent of coal and machinery, mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the street vendors. Steam hissed from pipes that crisscrossed above, powering the myriad contraptions that defined this steam-punk metropolis.

I walked among towering buildings adorned with intricate gears and clockwork, their facades a testament to the ingenuity of the city's engineers. People hurried past me, dressed in attire that blended Victorian elegance with an industrial edge. It was a city both familiar and alien, a place where the past and future intertwined in a tapestry of brass and steam.

As I navigated the bustling streets, I felt a sense of disorientation settle over me. I had missed so much— its been hundred and ten years, according to the date displayed on a nearby clock tower, "07/11/1667". How was it possible? It was as if I had awoken from a long slumber, finding myself in a world that had moved on without me.

Babel—the name echoed in my mind, unfamiliar yet strangely resonant. I had never heard of this city before, yet here I was, standing amidst its towering structures and bustling crowds. The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth. What had happened during my absence? So much had changed. Where had I been all this time? Was it within the grave, but my body haven't change at all?

Carrying the storm of questions in my mind, i observed my surroundings. The city of Babel was a stark contrast to my hometown of New Albion. Where New Albion had been steeped in tradition and history, Babel thrived on innovation and progress. Its streets were a maze of labyrinthine alleys and towering spires, each corner hiding secrets waiting to be unearthed. If circumstances were different, i would have called this city place of my dreams.

Despite my unease and confusion, there was one thing that struck me as even more unsettling—I understood the language spoken here perfectly, even when i spoke with watchmen earlier, i realize i was not only understanding but speaking it fluently as well. as if I had been speaking it all my life. The words flowed effortlessly from my lips, despite having never encountered this dialect before.

My hands reached for my pocket again, it all cards doing. I concluded. It was as if the Fool's card, with its mysterious power, had bestowed upon me not only a journey into darkness but also a gift of comprehension that transcended time and place.

I frowned, grappling with the implications of this newfound ability. Had I been marked by something beyond my understanding? Was there a reason I had been drawn into this world, into Babel, with its secrets and mysteries?

Lost in my thoughts, I wandered deeper into the heart of the city, seeking answers that seemed to elude me at every turn. The streets of Babel stretched out before me, a labyrinth of possibilities and perils, where every corner held a story waiting to be told. And as I delved deeper into its depths, I knew that my journey had only just begun.

Lost in the bustling streets of Babel, I struggled to make sense of the whirlwind of information I had gathered. Each person I questioned only added to my discomfort- the time, the date was jsut beginning, they talked about four churches, and four diffrent gods. The more i hear them, their answers left me with more questions than before. It was as if everyone knew something I didn't, speaking in hushed tones about events and places that were foreign to me.

Deciding to push these thoughts to the back of my mind, I realized my first priority should be to find sustenance. The gnawing hunger in my stomach reminded me of my immediate needs. However, as I reached into the pockets of the fine Victorian-era coat I inexplicably wore, I discovered I had no money.

Surveying my own attire, I noted the expensive quality of the clothing—tailored trousers, a waistcoat adorned with intricate embroidery, and a long coat that whispered of old-world elegance. It was a striking ensemble, befitting a gentleman of high esteem, except for the absence of a top hat. Without it, my appearance fell short of the complete illusion.

Disappointed by the lack of funds and unable to rely on my attire alone to garner assistance, I reluctantly touched the brooch pinned to my lapel. It was the only item that seemed out of place—a family heirloom, that marked me as more than a commoner. With it, I had received polite responses to my inquiries; without it, I had been met with suspicion and dismissiveness.

With a sigh, I made my way towards a nearby jewelry shop, resigning myself to the necessity of parting with the brooch. The bell above the door chimed softly as I entered, greeted by the tinkling of glass cases filled with sparkling treasures. The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter, his eyes immediately drawn to the brooch as if sensing its value.

"Good morning, sir," he said, his tone polite but guarded. "How may I assist you today?"

"I... I'm looking to sell this," I replied, removing the brooch from my lapel and placing it carefully on the counter. The shopkeeper inspected it closely, his fingers tracing the delicate filigree and shimmering gemstones.

"A fine piece," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "May I ask where you acquired such an exquisite item?"

"It's... a family heirloom," I answered vaguely, unsure of how much to reveal about my circumstances.

The shopkeeper nodded understandingly, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I see. Well, allow me a moment to determine its value."

And i waited patiently, hoping it holds the same value it did in New Albion.