The capital of Drakensfall was never silent.
The streets of Drakensport roared with life: the clang of smiths hammering steel, the hawking of merchants selling wares from distant lands, and the chatter of nobles carried in jeweled carriages that cut through crowds like blades through cloth. Soldiers in dark crimson armor patrolled every corner, their polished halberds gleaming under the late-afternoon sun. The shadow of war hung over the city, though few dared speak of it aloud.
"Another levy went out this morning," Dave muttered, weaving through the crowded street with a loaf of bread clutched in his hand. He was sharp-eyed, with a grin that could charm a coin from a miser's pocket. "Second time this week. Bet they're scraping the bottom of the barrel now."
Beside him walked L, taller, lean, his brown hair neatly tied back. He carried a stack of scrolls tucked under one arm, his steps quieter, more careful. L wasn't one for loud words. He noticed things instead—the way soldiers' boots were caked in dust from marching, or the worried glances nobles cast at the fortress-like palace looming in the distance.
"Scraping the barrel because they're afraid," L replied at last. His tone was calm, thoughtful. "Kings don't call levies unless they feel pressed. Something's brewing."
"Something's always brewing," Dave said, tearing the bread and offering half. "Rumors, wars, monsters, the sky falling—" He smirked. "What's next, L? Demons knocking on the city gates?"
L didn't smile. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing in Nytherra."
A third voice cut in, sharp with mischief. "You two sound like old men already."
Paige dropped down from the edge of a stone wall, landing lightly between them. Her silver hair, streaked with black, caught the light as her green eyes danced with amusement. She wore a patched tunic, leather boots scuffed from climbing places she shouldn't. "What happened to enjoying a walk through the market? Maybe buying sweets, talking to pretty girls, not worrying about who's going to stab who in the back this week?"
Dave grinned. "Talking to pretty girls, huh? Funny, I don't see any around."
Paige elbowed him hard enough to make him stumble, earning a few chuckles from passing merchants.
The three wandered deeper into the heart of Drakensport, past banners bearing the crest of Drakensfall—a black wyvern coiled around a spear. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air, but beneath it lingered the less pleasant stench of smoke and iron, a city arming itself for something unseen.
As they passed an alley, Paige slowed. Her smile faded.
"Wait," she whispered.
On the cracked stone wall, half-hidden in shadow, a symbol had been scrawled in black ash. A spiral of jagged lines, sharp and uneven, like a claw tearing through reality.
L's brows furrowed. "I've seen this before… in old texts. A mark of secrecy. Of… rebellion."
"Looks more like chicken scratch," Dave muttered, though unease slipped into his voice.
Before they could linger, footsteps echoed from deeper in the alley. Two cloaked figures emerged, speaking in hushed tones.
"…the king will move soon. The others are already in place. Nytherra's balance won't hold."
Paige grabbed the boys' arms and pulled them back into the flow of the crowd. Her heart raced. She forced a laugh, as though they hadn't seen anything at all. "We should, uh, keep moving. Not our business."
But as they walked on, Dave glanced back. The cloaked men were gone. Only the spiral mark remained, almost pulsing against the wall.
"Not our business, huh?" Dave said under his breath. "Then why does it feel like someone's watching us?"
L didn't answer. His gaze swept the rooftops.
Paige, trying to brush it off, gave a shaky laugh. "You both worry too much. Come on. We're just three nobodies. Who'd ever bother with us?"
Yet as they rounded the corner, her smile froze. A cloaked figure stood at the end of the street, still and silent, facing them.
And this time, it wasn't moving away.