A bazaar situation

The shift was never smooth. One moment, I was nowhere, tumbling through the unseen cracks of reality. The next—I landed hard on stone, the scent of damp rock and old history filling my lungs.

I knew this place. The Basilica Cistern—or at least a version of it. But something was wrong. The air was too dry. The usual lapping of water was gone. I glanced around, heart pounding. The cavernous chamber had been drained, its pillars rising from cracked earth instead of dark water. Somewhere nearby, the great stone Medusa head still watched, unbothered by time.

Voices.

A tour group shuffled past, their cameras clicking as they admired the ghostly arches above. The guide, a man in a sharp suit, gestured grandly. But the words were wrong—familiar yet distorted, as if someone had taken Turkish and twisted it into something else.

I exhaled slowly, pulling my hood up and moving with the flow of tourists. Blending in was key. I kept my head down, pretending to be just another traveler, another wide-eyed visitor to this city’s deep past. But I needed a way out. A way home. A way home that didn't involve getting caught.

Above ground, Istanbul sprawled in gold and shadow, domes and minarets cutting against the sky. The streets were alive—vendors shouting over sizzling food, ferry horns bellowing from the Bosphorus, the scent of spice and sea air mixing. But as I walked, it became clear that this Istanbul was… off.

The Hagia Sophia’s dome shimmered faintly, as if it weren’t fully locked into this reality. The trams ran without wires, gliding soundlessly. The sky had a second, paler sun, barely visible behind the clouds.

I needed to find another portal. The last one had dumped me here near Medusa’s head—maybe another existed at another historical site, some other forgotten place where the walls between worlds were thin.

The Grand Bazaar was a good place to start.

The bazaar was chaos. A maze of colors and voices, haggling, selling, bargaining—a perfect place to disappear. But I wasn’t the only one who knew that.

I felt them before I saw them. Three men, moving too smoothly through the shifting bodies, their eyes locked onto me. Pickpockets? Maybe. But the way one of them cracked his knuckles suggested something worse.

I turned a corner fast.

Wrong move. Dead end.

A dimly lit alley lined with crates of spices and old tapestries. I spun just as they stepped in after me, cutting off my escape.

"Hey, traveler," one of them said in that strange, twisted version of Turkish. I understood just enough to know what came next. "You look lost. Maybe you should hand over your valuables before something bad happens."

I sighed. I was already broke in this reality.

"Listen, guys," I said, raising my hands. "You don’t want to do this."

The biggest one grinned. "Yeah? Why not?"

Because I had seen this play out before. And the best way to survive wasn’t to fight—it was to act crazier than the people trying to rob you.

So I laughed.

A deep, unsettling laugh that echoed through the alley. Then I muttered something incomprehensible—some half-remembered gibberish from an ancient reality. I jerked my head to the side, eyes wide, as if I was listening to something they couldn’t hear.

"You hear that?" I whispered. "The Medusa still whispers. She knows your names."

The smallest one visibly shuddered. Superstition was still strong in this city, in every version of it. I took a slow step forward.

"She likes thieves the most," I said, voice low, leaning into the myth.

That was all it took. The leader backed off first, muttering something to his friends. They turned and disappeared into the bazaar, leaving me alone with my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I watched them go, relief flooding through me.

I didn’t wait around. I needed to move. I needed a portal, fast.

I followed my instincts—historical sites, hidden places, echoes of other worlds. I checked the Galata Tower, but no luck. The Blue Mosque? Beautiful, but ordinary. Finally, my gut led me to a quieter place—an abandoned hammam, steam rising from cracks in the tiled floors.

There.

A shimmer in the air near a half-collapsed arch. Not visible to the crowds, but to me? Clear as a silver thread.

I stepped toward it, feeling the pull of another world. One last glance at Istanbul’s impossible skyline—then I leapt, vanishing before anyone could stop me.