Eugene stood at the edge of the Veiled Pinnacle, watching the endless sprawl of the City of Cities stretch beneath him. It was, as always, overwhelming. The streets below coiled and twisted like living veins, pulsing with the daily chaos of merchants, rogues, scholars, and creatures of every imaginable shape and size. And here he was—just another speck trying to make his way through it all.

  "Alright," he muttered to himself. "I need a ride."

  It was a realization that had taken too long to hit. He’d spent too many days weaving through the city on foot, exhausting himself with endless walking. The Veiled Pinnacle wasn’t exactly well connected to the main roads, and half the time, he had to rely on sheer luck (and occasionally, coincidence, if Hazel Fortuna was in a good mood) to get where he needed to be.

  He made his way through the Pinnacle’s winding halls, asking around for advice on travel. Most of the members of the Number barely looked up from their books. Even Cozimia, usually full of suggestions, seemed more entertained than helpful.

  "Oh, sugar, the city’s got all kinds of ways to get around," she drawled from within her lantern. "You could find yourself a fine steed, take one of those fancy hand-carts, or—well, if you’re really feelin’ lucky, just let the wind take you where it may."

  "Yeah, I’ll pass on the ‘wind’ method," Eugene muttered. "I need something reliable."

  No one at the Pinnacle seemed interested in helping him secure transportation, so he set off alone, stepping onto the shifting staircases that led down into the city proper. The moment his boots hit the streets, the city welcomed him with the usual chaos—street vendors shouting, enchanted signs flickering, and the occasional pickpocket testing his reflexes.

  "Alright, Eugene," he said to himself. "Let's see what coincidence throws at us today."

  He strolled toward a bustling square, keeping an eye out for anything that resembled a stable. In a city this massive, surely there were places to buy or rent a mount. The problem was, he wasn’t even sure what kind of mount he wanted. A horse? Boring. A griffon? Probably too expensive. Something weirder?

  The answer came, as always, through sheer absurdity.

  Just as Eugene turned a corner, a massive, six-legged lizard barreled past him, nearly bowling him over. The creature skidded to a stop a few yards ahead, its long tail knocking over a stack of crates. Its scales shimmered between deep green and gold, shifting colors as it moved. Its head, somewhere between a dragon and a particularly smug-looking iguana, tilted curiously at Eugene.

  A second later, a wiry halfling came sprinting after it, red-faced and panting. "Stop that thing! Somebody stop my damn lizard!"

  Eugene blinked. Then he sighed. "Yeah. That tracks."

  He braced himself and did the only thing he could think of—he lunged for the reins trailing behind the beast. His fingers closed around the leather strap, and immediately, the lizard bucked, nearly tearing his arm out of its socket. Eugene held on for dear life, digging his heels into the cobblestone.

  The lizard hissed, snapping its teeth in protest, but Eugene wasn’t about to let go. He gritted his teeth and pulled, trying to angle the creature’s head downward to force it to slow. The trick worked—sort of. The lizard came to an abrupt halt, its legs skidding across the street as it let out a disgruntled huff.

  The halfling finally caught up, wheezing. "Hells—huff—you got him! You got ‘im!"

  Eugene, still struggling to catch his own breath, gave the lizard a sideways glance. "What exactly did I just get?"

  The halfling wiped sweat from his brow. "This here’s a runescaled drake. Best mount you’ll find this side of the city. Fast, smart, and can climb up walls if you train ‘em right." He straightened up, eyeing Eugene. "You interested? ‘Cause I was just about to sell this stubborn bastard."

  Eugene looked at the drake. The drake looked back. There was an unspoken moment of understanding between them. Or at least, Eugene liked to think there was.

  "How much?" Eugene asked, already regretting it.

  The halfling grinned. "Depends. You want him with or without the tendency to bolt?"

  Eugene hesitated. The drake was impressive, sure—powerful, fast, and just weird enough to be interesting. But then his mind caught up with his impulse, and he started thinking about logistics. Where would he even keep it? The Veiled Pinnacle wasn’t exactly lizard-friendly. He’d need food, training, and gods knew what else just to make sure it didn’t run off every time he blinked.

  His excitement faded as reality set in. "You know what? I think I’m gonna pass."

  The halfling frowned. "What? After all that trouble?"

  Eugene shrugged, rubbing his sore shoulder. "Yeah. I think I’ll stick to walking."

  With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the halfling to wrangle his stubborn drake back under control. Maybe he'd figure out another way to get around—one that didn’t involve wrangling a six-legged reptile that wanted nothing to do with him.

  He kept moving through the city, letting his feet take him wherever they pleased, trusting that some coincidence or twist of fate would reveal a better solution. He turned down winding alleyways, past bustling markets, and through districts filled with mechanical marvels and arcane wonders.

  After nearly an hour of wandering, he found himself standing in front of an old, half-collapsed watchtower, its exterior draped in banners from an era long past. At the base of the tower, leaning against a rusted railing, was a familiar sight.

  A chickenfolk.

  Not just any chickenfolk—this one had a round-bodied frame covered in white and brown mottled feathers, his beak curved slightly at the tip in a way that gave him a perpetual look of mild amusement. His dark yellow eyes gleamed with a sharpness that didn’t quite match his otherwise disheveled appearance. His tail feathers were a little worse for wear, a few missing like they had been plucked or torn. He wore a vest that might have been stylish once, but now sat slightly crooked, one button missing, the fabric fraying at the edges. His cravat, entirely too large for his frame, was tied in an exaggerated knot, making him look almost comically overdressed for the state of the watchtower.

  Yet, despite the ruffled, almost bumbling appearance, Eugene wasn’t fooled. Those eyes were sharp—too sharp for a man who looked like he should be pecking at the ground for grain. Eugene would have to keep those thoughts to himself, however.

  The chickenfolk noticed him, tilting his head slightly. His beak parted in something resembling a smirk.

  "Eugene?" he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "What in all the hells are you doing here?"

  Eugene narrowed his eyes slightly. "Galloquin?"

  A grin spread across Eugene’s face. "Gall! Perfect timing!" He stepped forward, clasping the chickenfolk’s feathered shoulder, the fine texture of his feathers unexpectedly soft against Eugene’s fingers. "I need a faster way to travel, and I figured if anyone had a clever idea, it'd be you."

  Galloquin clicked his beak thoughtfully, his yellow eyes gleaming with interest. "A method of travel, eh? I might know a thing or two. Follow me."

  He led Eugene through the winding streets, weaving effortlessly through the city's chaotic flow. Eugene followed close behind, occasionally glancing at Gall's ruffled yet purposeful stride. The chickenfolk had a way of moving that suggested both ease and efficiency—he seemed like the kind of person who always knew the best shortcuts and could slip between crowds without so much as brushing a passerby.

  After a few turns through narrow alleys and across a skybridge, they arrived at an open courtyard where massive, sleek-feathered corvids stood in formation. Each bird was nearly a head taller than Eugene, their glossy black feathers gleaming under the midday sun. Their sharp, intelligent eyes flicked toward them as they approached, their beaks clacking softly, a low murmur of communication passing between them.

  "Now that’s impressive," Eugene admitted, taking in the sheer presence of the creatures. They were built for power, their talons gripping the stone floor with calculated precision. One of them fluffed its wings, and Eugene had to resist the urge to step back as the sheer size of the wingspan was revealed.

  "They’re excellent mounts," Gall said, running a feathered hand along the neck of one of the birds. "Fast, quiet, and smarter than most people. They never forget a face, and once bonded, they’re loyal for life. Only problem is…" He gestured toward a large wooden sign hanging above the stable entrance. It read: 'Sold in Pairs and Flocks Only.'

  Eugene sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figures. I don’t need a whole flock. Just one."

  Gall clicked his beak and chuckled. "They’re social creatures, my friend. They don’t take kindly to being separated from their own. It’d be like trying to buy half a chess set. You’ll never get the full experience."

  Eugene studied the birds, considering. It was tempting—really tempting—but the last thing he needed was to be responsible for multiple massive birds that might not even fit within the Veiled Pinnacle’s halls. He imagined stepping inside with three towering corvids at his back, feathers molting everywhere, and dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. "Yeah, as much as I’d love to show up somewhere with an entire murder of giant crows, I think I need something a little more... solo."

  Gall nodded sagely, giving one of the birds a gentle pat. "Fair enough. Then we keep looking."

  Without missing a beat, Gall led Eugene through another series of winding streets, this time cutting through a series of covered markets and past an enclave of artificers testing out strange mechanical contraptions. Eugene was beginning to suspect that Gall had a whole mental map of the city’s oddities, the kind of knowledge you could only get from spending years drifting through every forgotten corner and back alley.

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  Eventually, they arrived at a much smaller stable tucked between two leaning towers of mismatched architecture. Unlike the corvid pen, this place had no uniformed keepers or grand signage—just a wooden gate and a small, rusted bell that Gall rang twice. A few moments later, an elfin woman in thick leather overalls appeared, wiping oil from her hands onto a rag.

  "Ah, if it isn't Galloquin. Here to buy this time, or just looking?" she asked, eyeing Eugene with mild curiosity.

  "Looking, but with intent," Gall replied smoothly, gesturing for Eugene to step forward. "My friend here is in the market for a mount. Something fast, something clever. I thought of your drakelopes."

  The elf raised an eyebrow, then turned and whistled sharply. Moments later, the ground trembled slightly as a group of long-legged, sinewy creatures trotted into view from the back of the stable. They were sleek, almost predatory in their movements, their bodies covered in fine, overlapping scales that shimmered in hues of dark bronze and copper. Their heads resembled something between an antelope and a dragon, complete with narrow, alert eyes and small vestigial wings folded tightly against their flanks.

  One of them, a particularly large specimen with a streak of emerald green running down its spine, leapt effortlessly onto a wooden beam overhead, balancing on the narrow surface as if it were solid ground. Another gave a low, warbling trill and flicked its tail, its clawed hooves clicking against the stable floor.

  Eugene stared, utterly impressed. "Okay, that’s pretty damn cool."

  "They can sprint across rooftops," the elf said with pride. "And if you train them right, they'll even glide between districts. You’ll never find a mount more suited to city travel."

  Eugene stepped forward, running a hand along the smooth scales of one of the drakelopes as it sniffed at him curiously. Everything about them screamed efficiency and speed, their powerful limbs practically vibrating with untapped energy. He could already picture himself darting across the city skyline, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with impossible grace.

  Then reality crashed in. It was still the same problem.

  "Where the hell would I keep it?" he muttered aloud, rubbing his temples. "I barely have space for myself in the Pinnacle, let alone a giant lizard-deer that needs to sprint full-speed on a regular basis."

  Gall chuckled. "Ah, you’re learning, my friend. The dream of a perfect mount always dies at the feet of practicality."

  The elf snorted. "You say that, but half my customers don’t think that far ahead. They buy first and regret later."

  Eugene sighed, giving the drakelope one last appreciative pat before stepping back. "They’re incredible, but I can’t make it work."

  The elf shrugged. "Your loss. Let me know if you change your mind."

  Gall gave Eugene a knowing glance. "Alright then, third time’s the charm. Let’s keep searching."

  As they stepped away from the stable, Gall rubbed his beak in thought. "You know, you do have access to one of the greatest artificers to ever exist."

  Eugene blinked. "Bahumbus?"

  Gall nodded, his dark yellow eyes gleaming with interest. "Think about it. If anyone could build you a mount tailored exactly to your needs, it’s him. No need to worry about stabling it, feeding it, or it running off like a lovestruck drakelope. A mechanical beast, built to last, designed just for you."

  Eugene mulled it over. It wasn’t a bad idea—Bahumbus was Krungus’ brother, a legendary artificer, and probably the only person who could make something truly unique. But...

  Gall must have caught Eugene’s hesitation because he tilted his head slightly. "What exactly can he make, anyway? I mean, I know the stories, but what’s the truth? What’s he actually capable of crafting?"

  Eugene exhaled. "That’s kind of the problem. The answer is... almost anything. He’s a genius, but he’s also a lunatic. He doesn’t just build practical stuff; he builds weird, unpredictable things that usually have some kind of ridiculous gimmick. One time, he made an automated bread slicer that doubled as a combat drone. Another time, he created a teapot that could teleport, but only when no one was looking at it."

  Gall let out a low whistle. "Sounds like a guy with more ideas than restraint."

  "Exactly," Eugene said. "I’m not saying he couldn’t make me something amazing, but the odds of it having some... unexpected features are pretty high. And I don’t exactly have time to test a mechanical mount that might explode or turn into a sentient philosophy major halfway through a ride."

  Gall chuckled. "Fair point. But if you could get him to focus—really focus—what would be your dream mount? Something fast? Armored? Amphibious? Something that turns into a flying machine when needed?"

  Eugene thought for a moment, the idea of a custom-built, personal vehicle from Bahumbus taking root in his mind. "I mean... something fast, definitely. But also durable. Maybe something that could adapt to different terrains. And if it could be self-repairing, that’d be a huge plus."

  Gall nodded slowly, as if cataloging Eugene’s wish list. "Interesting. So, the real question is—can you convince Bahumbus to make something sensible, or will you end up with a war-ready pogo stick?"

  Eugene exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I’m leaning away from asking him. Even if I did convince him to build something normal, I’d still be paranoid it had some hidden ‘surprise’ I wouldn’t find out about until it was too late. No thanks."

  Gall chuckled. "Probably a wise choice. Alright, let’s pivot. What about something a little more... traditional? I don’t suppose you’ve considered a magic carpet?"

  Eugene’s eyes lit up. "Now that’s an idea. You know anyone selling them?"

  Gall tapped his beak, thoughtful. "There are a few dealers. Most of the reliable ones operate out of the Bazaar of Boundless Goods. It’s a little ways from here, but if you’re serious, we could check it out."

  Eugene nodded. "I’m definitely interested. But do they have anything else? Maybe some enchanted boots or something similar? I’m open to alternatives."

  Gall smirked. "Ah, looking to keep your feet on the ground but still move fast, huh? Well, let’s just say the Bazaar has no shortage of unconventional transportation methods. If it exists, someone there is selling it."

  And so began a whirlwind tour of everything Gall could find. They strode through the Bazaar of Boundless Goods, a sprawling maze of market stalls, pop-up shops, and enchanted kiosks, each promising some new and strange method of transportation.

  The first thing Gall showed him was a pair of winged sandals that supposedly allowed the wearer to hover inches off the ground. Eugene stepped into them and immediately felt his stomach lurch as the enchantment sputtered, sending him gliding forward with all the grace of a startled deer on ice. He barely managed to wrench them off before he crashed into a potion stand.

  Next came what looked like a self-propelling skateboard, which seemed promising until Eugene realized it had a mind of its own—quite literally. The moment he stepped on, it took off in the opposite direction, zigzagging wildly through the market while shouting phrases like, "Radical!" and "Let’s shred the City, dude!" in a gratingly high-pitched voice.

  Gall, ever the enthusiast, then brought him to a merchant who claimed to have a personal teleportation harness. But after witnessing a very unfortunate customer materialize halfway into a fruit cart, Eugene politely declined.

  "Alright," Eugene groaned, rubbing his temple as they left another stall behind. "I’m starting to think this city has an overabundance of ‘almost good ideas.’"

  Gall gave a knowing shrug. "You just have to know where to look."

  That was when Eugene saw it—tucked in the back of one of the less flashy stalls, leaning against a rack of assorted walking sticks and mundane broomsticks, was an old broom. It looked well-worn, its bristles slightly frayed, its wooden handle nicked and scuffed by years of use. But something about it caught Eugene’s attention.

  "What about that one?" he asked, pointing.

  The shopkeeper, a gnarled old goblin with oversized spectacles, peered up from his ledger. "That one? Hah! You sure? The enchantment on it’s got... room for improvement."

  Eugene exchanged a glance with Gall. "‘Room for improvement?’" he repeated, intrigued.

  The goblin shrugged. "It works. Just not well. Bit temperamental. Might drift a little. Might decide to take a nap mid-flight. But hey, you seem like an adventurous lad. Could be fun."

  Eugene studied the broom again. Unlike the rest of the bizarre contraptions they’d seen today, this one wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying too hard. It was simple. And it had potential.

  "I’ll take it," he said, already fishing into his pocket.

  "Now hold on—" Gall started, but Eugene was already pulling out a small diamond, one he’d gotten from Krungus during a moment of the wizard’s casual generosity.

  The goblin nearly choked on his own spit. "You’re... you’re paying with that?! For this?"

  Eugene hesitated, glancing at the tiny, unimpressive-looking broom. "Uh... is that too much?"

  Gall clamped a feathered hand over his beak, suppressing laughter, while the goblin nodded so fast it looked like his head might pop off. "Yes. Very. You could buy half the stall with that!"

  Eugene sighed, realizing he had once again completely misjudged the economy of this place. "Alright, alright, just take it before I second-guess myself. Actually, wait—can you make change?"

  The goblin blinked at him. Then snorted. "For a diamond? What do I look like, a bank?"

  Eugene groaned. "Figures." He glanced over at Gall, then back at the shopkeeper. "Alright then, since I’m clearly throwing money away anyway, Gall, you want something? Pick something out, my treat."

  Gall’s eyes widened slightly, then his beak curled into a smirk. "Now that’s an offer I don’t hear every day. Don’t mind if I do."

  The goblin, still holding the diamond like it might explode, muttered, "You two are the strangest customers I’ve ever had."

  A few minutes later, outside the shop, Eugene slung the broom over his shoulder. He was still half-expecting it to crumble under its own mediocrity, while Gall stood beside him, admiring his own new purchase.

  It resembled a small motorcycle, if motorcycles had been cobbled together from spare parts found in the depths of an artificer’s junk heap. The frame was a mismatched combination of brass, steel, and what looked suspiciously like repurposed kitchenware. Tubes ran along the sides, occasionally releasing a faint puff of steam, and the front wheel wasn’t so much a wheel as it was a constantly shifting array of spinning gears and metal treads. The seat was lumpy and uneven, but Gall seemed absolutely thrilled.

  "Goblin-made," he said with unmistakable delight, giving the side of the contraption a pat. "Always wanted one of these. Unpredictable, unlicensed, and liable to explode if you ask too much of it. Perfect."

  Eugene eyed the vehicle warily. "That sounds like everything I was trying to avoid."

  Gall swung a leg over the seat, flexing his talons as he gripped the handles. "That’s where we differ, my friend. I live for the thrill of uncertainty." He gave the throttle a twist, and the machine sputtered to life with a violent cough of smoke and an alarming clank from somewhere deep within.

  Eugene took a step back. "That thing’s going to kill you."

  Gall grinned, his beak curving upward. "Perhaps. But what a way to go."

  With that, he twisted the throttle again, and the machine belched out a thick plume of smoke before jolting forward. The sputtering vehicle lurched down the street, rattling like a dying clockwork dragon, sparks occasionally flying from its undercarriage. Despite its erratic start, Gall rode with absolute confidence, leaning into the chaos as if he had been born for it.

  Eugene watched, half in amusement, half in horror, as the chickenfolk gunned the contraption toward the horizon. The dying sun cast long streaks of gold and crimson across the city, and for a brief moment, Gall’s silhouette—riding his unstable, goblin-engineered death trap—looked almost heroic.

  Then, with a loud bang, a stray bolt shot out from the engine, and the entire bike jolted sideways. Gall yelped but quickly righted himself, throwing his head back in laughter as he sped into the distance.

  Eugene shook his head, grinning to himself. "Yeah. He’s definitely gonna die on that thing."

  He adjusted the broom on his shoulder, exhaling as he turned back toward the Veiled Pinnacle. "Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, ‘room for improvement.’"