SWNOVELXO Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Viktor Inox
The gates of Cairo loomed ahead, a testament to human craftsmanship and endurance. Built of sturdy stone and weathered by time, they stood as silent guardians to the bustling world within. As we passed beneath their towering archways, I was struck by the sudden shift in atmosphere—life, vibrant and unrestrained, washed over me like a wave.
Cairo was unlike anything I had ever seen. The streets beyond the gates were a sprawling mosaic of movement and sound, every corner alive with purpose. Merchants called out in a dozen languages, their voices blending into a cacophony that somehow became music. Stalls overflowed with goods: bolts of brightly colored silk, pyramids of fragrant spices, and glittering piles of gold and gems that caught the light like fallen stars. The air was thick with smells—saffron, roasted meats, incense, and the faint, cool scent of the nearby Nile.
Above it all, the city stretched toward the heavens. Towering minarets rose like sentinels, their domes and spires catching the sunlight, casting long shadows across the streets below. Patterns etched in stone flowed across their surfaces, interwoven with what I guessed to be verses, though I could not read them. The beauty of their symmetry captivated me, a silent expression of artistry and devotion.
The Nile itself gleamed in the distance, its surface a ribbon of silver. Boats with wide, triangular sails drifted lazily along its waters, carrying goods and people alike. It was hard to believe that this serene river, so tranquil against the chaos of the city, had carved out life from the desert for thousands of years. It felt eternal.
As I followed the caravan deeper into the city, I noticed the people. There was a richness to the crowd that I hadn't expected. Dark-skinned traders from distant lands displayed ivory and rare woods; Arab merchants, their robes immaculate, haggled over bolts of fine linen and sacks of spices. I even glimpsed a few pale-skinned foreigners—Europeans, perhaps—hauling crates of unfamiliar goods, their expressions wary as they navigated the bustling streets. Scholars in flowing robes gathered under shaded archways, their conversations passionate and animated as they debated over texts and scrolls.
The sheer diversity left me in awe. Humanity—every shade, every voice, every walk of life—came together here to trade, to share, to build something greater than themselves. For all the hardship I'd witnessed on the road, for all the fragility that life seemed to carry in this era, Cairo thrived. It pulsed with energy, as if the city itself were alive, feeding on the dreams and labor of its people.
"This is humanity," I murmured to myself, my voice lost in the din of the bazaar. "At its finest."
The merchants I had traveled with laughed, noticing my wide-eyed wonder. I didn't care. How could I not be amazed?
At the city square, the caravan came to a halt, and the leader turned to me with a grin. "Here we part ways, friend," he said, handing me a small pouch. I weighed it in my hand—the satisfying clink of coin met my ears. I peeked inside and saw dinars, their golden surfaces glinting faintly. Payment for my efforts on the road. Fair enough.
I offered him a nod of gratitude before slipping away, eager to lose myself in the beating heart of the city. There was something about Cairo that called to me—a whisper that hinted at possibilities waiting to be found among its streets and markets. If I was going to make sense of this strange world, this was as good a place as any to start.
And so, I wandered deeper into the throng, leaving the caravan behind as I let the city swallow me whole.
For the next few hours, I wandered aimlessly through the bustling bazaar, completely immersed in the world around me. Linen canopies stretched overhead, casting dappled shade across the cobblestone streets. The filtered sunlight created a warm, almost golden glow, and the gentle flapping of the fabric in the breeze added a calming rhythm to the chaotic hum of the market.
The bazaar was a tapestry of human activity, each thread vibrant and distinct. Merchants stood behind wooden stalls, their tables overflowing with every good imaginable—jewelry that sparkled like starlight, intricately patterned ceramics, and piles of spices arranged in a rainbow of earthy tones. Nearby, others squatted beside modest displays laid out on scraps of cloth: simple clay bowls, hand-carved figurines, and baskets woven with care. No one seemed out of place; this was a marketplace for everyone, whether they sold fine silk or handmade trinkets.
I passed a baker who was pulling fresh loaves of bread from a stone oven, the scent warm and inviting, and watched as customers bartered for their favorite loaves. A little farther down, a man with a thick black beard stood by a small pen, showcasing exotic animals to a curious crowd. A large, colorful bird squawked indignantly, while a small, spotted cat prowled its cage with an unsettling grace. I lingered briefly, but the noise of the marketplace pulled me onward.
Children darted through the crowd, their laughter rising above the chatter of merchants and customers. I watched as one little boy handed over a coin, his face lighting up as the vendor gave him a small piece of honeyed candy. Nearby, a woman carefully inspected a basket of dates, her young daughter tugging at her sleeve and pointing excitedly at a stack of bright orange apricots. A sense of familiarity settled over me as I observed these interactions. The details might have been different, but the scenes—the laughter, the bartering, the small joys—were universal. It was all so different, and yet, it felt like home.
At every turn, the bazaar offered something new to see, hear, or smell. A trio of musicians played in one corner, their instruments blending into a tune both rhythmic and soulful. A crowd had gathered around a storyteller, his gestures wide and expressive as he wove a tale that drew laughter and gasps from his audience. I couldn't understand all the words yet, but the emotion in his voice and the joy in the listeners' faces told me everything I needed to know. Stories, I realized, were another kind of wealth, something that connected people across time and distance.
My attention, however, is torn from the bard as my senses pick up on something different, something faint but unmistakable. Magic. It's not the overwhelming power I feel within myself, but the presence is there—a quiet hum that stands out amidst the mundane bustle of the bazaar. My expression remains neutral, but inwardly, my mind races. Since arriving in this world, I've felt nothing like this. Until now, magic had been solely my domain, locked within me. But this… this is something else.
I follow the pull, weaving through the crowd until I find myself in front of a small stall tucked away on the edges of the square. The wares displayed are a mix of the ordinary and the curious, and running the stall is a portly man with a jovial demeanor. His turban is wrapped loosely around his head, his flowing robe worn but comfortable. As I approach, his sharp eyes catch mine, and he greets me with the effortless charm of a seasoned merchant.
"Ah, good day!" he greets me with practiced charm, though his attention lingers on a… mature woman bartering over a copper kettle.
"Hello there, friend," I reply, returning his smile. "Might I pester you for a closer look at your wares?"
"Pester? Nonsense! A fine customer such as yourself is always welcome." He gestures to the table with a flourish. "Here, wonders from every corner of the world—each with a story, each with a purpose."
I let my gaze wander over the items spread across the table: wooden carvings, faded scrolls, tarnished copper jewelry, and small pouches of herbs. It all seems ordinary at first glance, but then I spot it—a small metallic pendant half-hidden beneath a tangle of cords. As I reach for it, the hum of magic grows slightly stronger. My fingers brush the surface, and I feel it clearly now. Faint, old, and stable, but undeniably magical.
I lift the pendant carefully, turning it over in my hand. It's circular, about the size of a coin, with symbols etched into its surface. The markings are intricate and familiar—Nordic runes. They're not ornate, nor are they arranged in any particularly significant way, but they give the pendant a distinct character. An enchanted item. Simple, functional, nothing groundbreaking, but it holds significance for one reason: it's the first trace of magic I've found outside of myself.
"This piece," I say, keeping my tone neutral as I hold it up to the sunlight. "What's its story?"
The merchant leans in slightly, squinting at the pendant with a faint shrug. "Ah, that one? A charm, my friend, for good luck. Blessed by wise men of the frozen north, or so they say." He taps his temple conspiratorially. "Wear it, and fortune will follow you. Keep it close, and danger will turn away."
I glance at him, but his expression tells me he's oblivious to what he's truly selling. That's no surprise—magic this subtle would go unnoticed by anyone without the ability to feel it. I run my thumb over the runes again, noting their clean engraving. Functional, not ornamental. Whoever made this wasn't looking to impress, only to imbue it with utility.
"Well," I say, tucking the pendant into my palm, "perhaps a little fortune wouldn't hurt."
The merchant's eyes light up as he senses a sale. "Ah, a wise choice! A bargain for such a fine piece—only a few coins for a gentleman such as yourself."
I hand him a small portion of my dinars, careful not to betray any particular interest. He beams as he pockets the coins, and I thank him before turning back toward the crowd, slipping the pendant into the inner fold of my cloak.
As I walk away, I feel the faint hum of the magic through the fabric, steady and unyielding. It's nothing special, nothing powerful. But it exists, and that fact alone is monumental. Until now, I'd thought magic was something unique to me, isolated to whatever brought me to this world. But this pendant proves otherwise. Magic is here, hidden in plain sight, woven into the fabric of this world in ways I've yet to understand, and that bothers me greatly.
My face remains a stone mask as I move through the bazaar, weaving past merchants and patrons, heading toward an inn I passed earlier. Outwardly, I appear calm, just another traveler blending into the pulse of the city. Inside, however, my mind is a whirlwind as I run diagnostics through Occultism.
The pendant's nature is clear now: a ward against dark forces. Small and unassuming, its enchantment hums faintly with intent—a silent guardian against something unseen. Dark forces. The very existence of such a tool carries an implication I can't ignore: dark forces exist here.
A chill crawls up my spine as the pieces begin to fall into place. The villagers' ramblings—what I had dismissed as superstition born from ignorance—now take on a new, sinister light. Stories of creatures lurking in the night, warnings against ancient ruins, whispers of curses and hexes… were they truly just tales?
No. I stop myself before I plunge too far into that rabbit hole. Speculation is dangerous without information. I need facts, not half-formed fears. But the undercurrent of concern lingers, coiling like a snake in the back of my mind.
The inn comes into view, a humble sandstone building with a slanted roof and wooden windows that seem older than the merchants I passed. I step inside, the air cooler in the shade, and approach the innkeeper. A brief exchange of coin secures me a room for a week—a safe haven while I begin to process what I've discovered.
The room itself is simple, as I expected. Sandstone walls, wooden shutters over a small window, and a bed of straw topped with a coarse woolen blanket. I sit at the foot of the bed, the weariness in my limbs momentarily forgotten as I pull the pendant from my cloak.
I flip it between my fingers, studying its form under the dim light. Such a small, insignificant thing… yet it has brought me so much worry. Its existence changes everything. Magic is real, not just within me, but woven into this world. And if magic practitioners exist here, then what else might be out there?
Monsters are a given. The very presence of a ward against "dark forces" guarantees them. But how many myths are factual here, not mere legends as they were in my old world? Are the ancient tombs of the pharaohs filled with restless mummies? Does Europe hide forests teeming with mythological creatures—griffins, wolves the size of horses, dragons? How far do these truths go?
And then there's the question I don't want to ask but can't avoid. The god. The God that so many venerate with unwavering faith. Is He real here? Does this world offer undeniable proof of His existence? The very thought sends shivers across my skin. Back home, gods were stories, faith an act of hope. But here? Here, the rules feel different.
These questions rattle inside my skull, one after another, relentless and unyielding. A part of me wants to tear out into the world, to find answers now, to face this head-on. But I must be cautious. Recklessness is death.
So far, I've used little magic and even less so in the presence of others. But I don't know the rules of this world. What if someone can sense me? What if, by using magic, I've already drawn attention to myself—like a flare in the dark? For all I know, I might be unknowingly screaming my presence to anyone sensitive to the supernatural.
I close my hand tightly around the pendant, its faint hum of magic pressing against my palm. This world is a mystery, vast and dangerous, and I am walking a path filled with shadows. Caution must guide my steps.
But one thing is certain: I need answers. And I will find them.
A few days have passed since I first discovered that this world is not as mundane as I had once believed. In that time, I've barely left the safety of my rented room at the inn, venturing downstairs only to eat and observe the locals as inconspicuously as possible. I needed the time—to think, to plan, to adapt.
In those quiet days, I made progress. Using my knowledge of Occultism and a touch of creative inspiration from the stories and media I once consumed, I've crafted a subtle yet effective cloak around myself. To supernatural senses, I now appear as nothing more than an average, healthy human. No sparks of magic, no unnatural presence—just mundane flesh and blood. Even my physical illusion holds up, though in truth, it's merely a trick of light and perception, nothing more. Still, it serves its purpose: I can breathe easier knowing that I'm no longer a walking beacon for whatever might lurk in the dark.
And so, for the first time in days, I've allowed myself the confidence to stroll through the city streets once more. Cairo remains a marvel—lively, chaotic, and thriving—but now my perception extends beyond what the eye can see. With the pendant's enchantment giving me insight into this world's magic, I've begun testing the limits of my senses. Slowly, I allow myself to reach out, tasting the threads of energy that flow unseen through the streets.
It doesn't take long for me to notice them—certain places that light up in my mind's eye like distant stars. The most powerful, by far, radiates from where I know the mosque to stand. It burns with intensity, a sensation that is both warm and overwhelming, like standing in the presence of something immense. I file the observation away for later. It answers a few of my unspoken questions, but raises far more.
I turn my attention elsewhere, following a weaker thread of magic that pulls at my senses. The feeling is strange—familiar, yet hollow. It has the same ethereal quality as the energy near the mosque, but something is missing. It's like seeing the outline of a masterpiece with the paint stripped away: still impressive, but undeniably incomplete. Curious, I let the pull guide me through Cairo's twisting streets and narrow alleyways.
The feeling grows stronger until I spot the source.
At first glance, she appears unremarkable—a Middle Eastern woman, dressed modestly and moving quietly through the crowded alley. Her presence doesn't stand out to the people around her, and her pace is steady, almost purposeful. But the moment I allow my true vision to pierce the mundane illusion, I nearly choke on my own breath.
What I see is not normal.
Beneath the illusion walks a figure that seems ripped straight out of the more risqué stories of mythology. Her long hair flows like black silk, its sheen resembling a raven's feathers in the light. Folded against her back are two large wings, also jet-black, their glossy surface rippling slightly as she moves. It's not just her wings that give her away, though—her clothing is another story entirely.
The woman isn't wearing traditional robes, but rather what can only be described as bondage gear. Thick leather straps crisscross her body, hugging her form tightly while leaving much of her pale skin exposed. Metal buckles and clasps glint faintly beneath the light, accentuating the unnatural, almost sinister aura she carries.
For a brief moment, I wonder if I've lost my mind. My previous musings about this world come crashing back with new weight. Monsters exist here—that much is obvious—but what the fuck am I looking at?
My face remains calm as her head snaps toward me, and our eyes meet. I feel it immediately—a thread of magic trying to worm its way into my mind, like a slithering parasite seeking purchase. Instinct kicks in, and I crush it ruthlessly, snuffing it out before it can take hold.
Her eyes widen, and I see it: realization dawning as the illusion of my mundanity shatters in her mind. The jig is up.
I don't hesitate. Pushing my "mundane aura™" to its absolute maximum so the next events do not garner attention, I teleport behind her in an instant. Before she can react, my hand clamps around the back of her neck like a vice. Her startled gasp is cut short as I teleport us both across hundreds of miles.
The crowded noise of the bazaar vanishes, replaced by the eerie silence of the open desert. The blazing sun beats down on an endless expanse of golden sand dunes. I release her, and she stumbles forward, twisting around to face me, panic flashing across her features.
"Where the hell are we?! What did you do, human?!" she shrieks, her voice echoing across the empty landscape.
I don't answer, ignoring her growing hysteria as I focus inward, reinforcing my body with magic. My muscles hum with strength, every inch of me ready to act.
Her panic turns to rage, her features twisting into something far less human. "Fine! I'll make you talk either way!"
She jumps into the air effortlessly, her illusion peeling away like smoke. Her real form is fully visible now—two massive black wings unfurl from her back, their feathers gleaming darkly in the sun. Her pale skin contrasts sharply against the leather straps wrapped tightly across her body like some grotesque mockery of armor. In her hands, glowing light spears crackle into existence, their energy humming audibly.
The sight makes something click in my mind, but I shove the thought aside. I watch calmly as she hurls the first spear at me.
I don't dodge. I don't need to. I shift slightly, my body reinforcing itself with a casual thread of magic as the spear whizzes past where I stood a moment ago. It slams into the sand, disintegrating with a muted hiss. My attention is on her, not her weapon—I'm already two steps ahead.
I tilt my head, unimpressed. "Light spears, is it? Not bad."
Her lip curls, and she prepares to throw the next one. I decide to respond in kind. With a flick of my hand, mana pools beside me, taking shape as a glowing arrow of ethereal energy. "Magic Missile," I murmur softly, almost as an afterthought.
The arrow streaks through the air before she can blink. It slams into her gut with enough force to knock the wind out of her. She chokes on a gasp, the spear she was preparing flickering out as she doubles over midair.
"Wha—?" she wheezes.
I don't let her recover. In a single bound, I close the distance, grab her leg, and swing her downward. The impact as she hits the sand sends up a puff of golden dust. She rolls awkwardly before managing to push herself to her knees, eyes wide and furious.
I'm already forming another projectile, this time funneling a touch more precision into it. "Let's try this one," I say casually. Magic gathers around me, crackling as I imbue the arrow with two simple properties: shock and subdue.
She flaps her wings, leaping back into the air to avoid the strike, but the projectile adjusts course mid-flight like a homing predator. It smashes into her chest.
"ARGH!" she screams, her voice raw as visible arcs of electricity dance across her body. Her wings spasm violently, and she collapses face-first onto the sand, twitching uncontrollably.
I approach her cautiously, but I know she's not going anywhere—not yet. With a bite to my thumb, I let blood well up and kneel beside her, scrawling a series of precise runes on her exposed back: 'Restraint,' 'Flow,' 'Mundane.' Each stroke hums with magic, locking her body down, sealing away the flow of her "light," and stripping away the faint magical resistance I can still perceive.
She groans weakly, the arcs of electricity finally fading. "H-Human… W-what did you do to me?" Her voice is shaky, a mix of anger and disbelief.
I ignore her question, stepping back and pacing nearby as my thoughts race. Her wings. The spears. The absurd bondage-like outfit. It all clicks together with the force of a hammer blow to my skull. The memory is sharp, familiar, and deeply unsettling.
I stop pacing and turn back to her. Lifting my foot, I nudge her lightly in the side, forcing her to look at me.
"Say," I begin, my voice calm but carrying an edge, "your name wouldn't happen to be Raynare, would it?"
The reaction is immediate. She freezes mid-squirm, her wide eyes locking onto mine in disbelief. Her mouth opens, but no words come out for a moment. Then, finally, she stammers, "H-How did you know?!"
The pit in my stomach deepens. Raynare.
Well shit… I have a lot of work to do if I want humanity to rise.