The air was alive with the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and too many unwashed bodies packed together in one noisy, glorious mess. The Marketplace of Whispers, as the locals called it, was bursting with life. Traders shouted over one another, coins clinked in greedy palms, and nobles pretended not to notice the pickpockets sneaking around their carriages.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Luther could actually breathe.
He stretched his arms wide, grinning like a child seeing the sun after years underground. "Ahh… the smell of sweat, cheap perfume, and bad decisions. Home sweet home."
A voice puffed from behind him, breathless and annoyed.
"Sire! Slow—down! You're walking like you're being chased by a demon!"
