Season 1. Chapter 91: Yotel

Chapter: Encounter with the Inventor

The city moved like clockwork—cold, synchronized, and silent.

As Oliver and Fern stepped away from the spectacle of the ice cream truck, they entered a district where cobblestone faded into poly-metal plates, and overhead wires tangled like vines above flickering rune-lights. Market stalls buzzed with quiet enchantments, selling glowing wires, scrap runes, and tech-artifacts carved from stone, glass, and soulsteel.

This was the Crafting District, where Artificers made their living and legends.

Oliver walked calmly, his black cloak brushing along the alley walls. In his hand was a photo—slightly wrinkled, black-and-white. It showed a young dark-skinned man with intense eyes, wearing a white mop head like a loose hat, a plain white sleeve shirt, and black pants. In his hand? A mop—of all things.

"Yotel," Oliver muttered quietly.

He studied the image again before slipping it into his pocket, expression unreadable behind his mask.

"He should be nearby," he said.

Fern walked beside him silently, her feet making no sound against the ground. Her gaze flicked between alleyways, rooftops, and passing crowds. Everything around them felt strangely expectant—as if something knew they were coming.

Then—

A tap on Oliver's shoulder.

Fern's eyes didn't move, but she spoke calmly. "Oliver. Behind you."

Oliver turned.

There, standing only a foot away, was the man from the photo.

Yotel.

Dark-skinned, lean, and wearing the exact outfit from the image—white shirt sleeves rolled up, black pants slightly dusty, and a white mop resting loosely atop his head like an absentminded crown. In his hand… was the same mop, leaned against his shoulder like a scepter.

His expression was calm, faintly amused.

"…Hey there," he said, voice mellow but confident.

Oliver didn't speak immediately. Instead, he let his fingers glide toward his Systematic Guide.

The screen shimmered softly as the auto-analysis kicked in:

---

Target Scanned: YOTEL

Class: Artificer

Region: Unknown – Possible ties to the Great Spirits

Rank: High Green

Power Class: High King-tier (Leagues above standard Blue ranks)

Skills: Structure Creation • Investigation Enhancement • Field Integration

Favorite Color (Bio Entry): Yellow

Caution Level: ⚠️ Minimal Threat unless provoked — Collaborator status recognized

Oliver's eyes flicked over the data quickly, then took a few slow steps back—just enough to give the man space. Not out of fear—respect.

Fern, on the other hand, remained perfectly still. Her gaze was blank, as if studying Yotel through invisible lenses only druids possessed.

Yotel didn't seem threatened by either of them. He just casually leaned on his mop.

"You're Oliver, right?" he asked, his head tilted slightly. "Otherworlder with the auto-translator blessing. The English speaker."

Oliver gave a small nod.

Yotel smiled faintly but said nothing about the language—though the flicker in his eyes showed he definitely noticed.

Fern's voice broke the silence.

"How did you know we were looking for you?"

Yotel reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin silver hex-disc. He tapped the top. It flickered with light—projecting a simple message:

> [You've been added to the Multiplayer Collaboration: 'Traveler Foundation – Phase One Expansion']

Invite Sent by: Nico Faelwyn & Riven Blackstone

Yotel chuckled softly. "Got the invite three days ago. Didn't take much effort to figure out I'd be found eventually."

Oliver nodded, still quiet. The Systematic Guide slid back into his coat.

Fern gave a light blink, then spoke. "We need your structures. Investigation grids. You were scouted for surveillance and neutral architecture."

"I figured," Yotel replied, spinning the mop lazily in one hand. "I can build a pocket dome in under two minutes and filter tech signals through mist-woven lenswork. I assume that's why the fox kid wanted me."

"Nico," Oliver confirmed with a brief nod.

Yotel's smile deepened. "That one's weird. I like him."

He looked between the two of them.

"You're both calm. Too calm. That's good. Means I didn't walk into chaos."

Fern blinked. "Not yet."

Yotel laughed under his breath. "Fair."

The three stood in that alleyway—a masked outsider, a druid from the wilds, and a mop-wielding inventor with king-level ranking and casual confidence.

The city pulsed quietly around them, unaware that it had just gained another Traveler—one who would soon help reshape its streets from the inside out.

----

Chapter: First Target

The city streets stretched out in muted hues of gray and rust, the only color bleeding from neon signs and flickering rune-posts that hummed with tired vibe. Somewhere far behind them, the ice cream truck continued its slow parade of laughter and sprinkles. But here—deeper into the alley veins of the city—there was no joy. Only silence. Routine. Survival.

Yotel, walking just a step ahead, carried his mop like a staff, the ends frayed but somehow pristine. His presence was quiet, yet impossible to ignore—cool, composed, and strangely at ease in this decaying landscape. Each footstep seemed deliberate, as if the city itself stepped back to let him through.

Oliver walked beside him, expression unreadable beneath his mask, hands tucked in his coat.

Fern, silent and watchful, followed, her druidic senses filtering every sound, movement, and whisper of Vita energy around them.

Yotel suddenly raised a hand, slowing his pace.

"Look," he said softly, gesturing with a tilt of his chin.

Across the cracked street, beneath a shattered awning and half-collapsed wall, lay a homeless figure.

A young man, maybe seventeen, maybe younger. He was wrapped in tattered fabric, body curled atop a raw mattress covered in grime. His boots were mismatched. His fingers were calloused. One hand clutched a broken music player with no earbuds.

No one noticed him.

No one ever did.

But Yotel did.

"First target," Yotel said calmly.

Oliver and Fern both stopped beside him, eyes on the boy.

Fern lowered her voice. "He's not just sleeping."

Oliver tilted his head slightly. "Drugged?"

Yotel shook his head. "No. Dream-locked. Happens to teenagers who overuse citybound-tech—especially enchantments without proper filtration. Minds get caught between rest and broadcast signals. They never fully wake up unless pulled out."

Fern blinked slowly. "And you can pull him out?"

Yotel knelt calmly beside the boy, resting his mop across his lap like it was a sacred tool. "Not just yet. I don't wake people up unless they have somewhere to go."

Oliver said nothing at first. Then slowly stepped forward.

He crouched beside Yotel and looked at the boy's face—thin, marked by soot and something deeper: neglect. Hopelessness. A lack of belief that he ever mattered.

"We can offer him a place," Oliver said.

Yotel looked at him sideways. "You sure? One wrong breath and he'll disappear back into the cracks."

Fern stepped forward. "Then let's be the first breath that doesn't vanish."

Yotel exhaled softly. "Cool."

He pulled from his coat a tiny glowing cube—the size of a coin—etched with microscopic runes. He held it over the boy's forehead, letting it hover as it pulsed gently with yellow light—his favorite color, according to his Systematic Guide bio.

"Alright, kid," Yotel whispered. "Your world just changed."

He tapped the cube.

A breath later, the boy's eyelids fluttered. He blinked slowly, confused, mouth dry. He didn't say anything. Just looked—at three strangers standing over him like ghosts from a forgotten story.

Then, from behind the mask, Oliver spoke gently.

"You don't have to stay here anymore."

The boy blinked again.

For the first time in perhaps months, he heard someone speaking to him.

And this time, he believed it.