The capital breathed like a beast.
Its streets wound steep through the mountain, each one alive with banners, silver lanterns, and the press of claws, hooves, and wings. Guards patrolled in steady lines, armor black and gleaming, their spears pulsing with faint wards. Merchants shouted through the noise, their stalls heavy with smoked meats, blacksteel trinkets, and talismans etched in runes. Refugees filled the gaps, their voices cracking with desperation, offering heirlooms, tusks, or even their own labor for a corner of shelter.
Karl drifted through it all, hood low, his grin absent for once. His claws twitched at his sides, but he kept them still. He had grown up in these streets. He knew every bend, every step, every echo of stone against his boots. Yet the city did not look the same anymore.
It had changed. Or maybe he had.
