Lysithara was beautiful.
For a village boy like Mugu, it was overwhelming.
His head turned constantly as he walked, eyes wide, drinking in everything. His gaze lingered on the countless magic seals etched into walls, glowing faintly like living things. Runes drifted in the air, forming and dissolving in patterns he could not begin to understand.
He was not familiar with this kind of magic.
Everything was… refined.
The roads were smooth stone, clean enough to reflect light. Buildings stood tall and elegant, crafted with precision and care. The people walking those streets were dressed in fine fabrics, their movements calm, their expressions composed.
It felt like everyone here was a noble.
"Is this heaven?" Mugu muttered under his breath.
"No. It is not."
The voice came from the side.
A man stepped out from a nearby room, dressed simply in a light tunic. His posture was relaxed, his expression calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that did not match his appearance.
