The city was always shifting with life, oblivious to the quiet shift of empires beneath its skin.
Velrosa walked ahead, her silhouette cutting a graceful path through the cobbled streets of Esgard's lower quarter.
She wore no veil today, no mark-laden cloak. Just a flowing dress of deep violet, cinched at the waist, its hem brushing the stone with each step. Her silver hair was tied in a braided knot that glinted beneath the sunlight.
Ian followed her in silence, boots crunching beside hers.
For once, he wore no cloak, only a dark tunic and gloves that hid the scars of battle. Vowbreaker rested sheathed and unnoticed at his back—though his senses were never truly at rest.
They moved through a narrow street flanked by merchant stalls and leaning buildings.
The scent of spice and oil drifted through the air, mingling with smoke from nearby chimneys.
