Morning air in Nocture always carried a different impression from other cities still clawing their way back from the remnants of the apocalypse. Here, there was no lingering frenzy of fear etched into the walls, no constant shadows of dread haunting the streets as in most human settlements. What filled the air instead was the bustle of the market coming alive, the steady rhythm of soldiers' boots on patrol, and, from time to time, the low rumble of a creature larger than a three-story building Noir, Sylvia's zombie dragon.
Yet unlike the dragons of old tales, forever painted as savage guardians, Noir was more often seen lazing in the castle's inner courtyard. His mountain-sized body sprawled across mossy stone, his head resting against a folded wing. Each heavy breath sent a cold gust sweeping across the ground. Sometimes his tail shifted with a lazy thud, startling soldiers into glancing up warily, but beyond that, he rarely stirred.
