The sharp grip on my wrist startled me more than the soldier's glare had. One second I was standing there, flicking my hair back out of my eyes while the duke's cart rolled away, and the next, a small hand tugged me into the side street. I stumbled, half out of confusion, half because the little thing had more energy than I expected.
"Hey, mister," the girl said, her voice light but filled with something like awe. "You're quiet brave."
I blinked down at her. She couldn't have been more than eight. Her hair, chestnut-brown and tied up with a ribbon that looked frayed from too much use, bounced as she looked up at me. Her eyes, though—big and curious, the kind that took in everything—almost made me forget the chaos I'd just escaped.
"Brave?" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "More like stupid. Didn't you see everyone else bowing?"
She giggled, covering her mouth with both hands. "Everyone bows. It's boring. But you… you just stood there."
I sighed, realizing how ridiculous I must have looked. Still, her smile made the weight in my chest feel lighter.
"Not all nobles are bad," she went on quickly, as though afraid I might get the wrong idea. "Some are kind. Some even help people like us. I heard the duke's eldest daughter is actually really gentle, not like her father or the guards."
Her words surprised me. After what had just happened, I had already decided every noble here was rotten to the core. But the way she spoke, her little voice so certain, it planted a tiny seed of doubt.
"Thanks for the info," I said softly. "What's your name?"
"Reilia," she answered, puffing her chest a little like she was proud to announce it. "And you?"
"Leif," I said.
Her smile widened, showing a gap where one tooth was missing. "Bye-bye, Mister Leif. Mama's calling me."
Before I could reply, she darted off, skirts flying as she ran back to a woman scolding her for talking to strangers. Reilia turned once, waving with all her strength, and I couldn't help but wave back.
I stood there for a moment, smiling faintly. Strange how a single child's words could ease the sting of being humiliated in front of a crowd. For the first time since entering the capital, I didn't feel so out of place.
But the city wasn't about to let me stand still. Life surged around me again—voices, footsteps, the clatter of hooves, the ever-present smell of roasted meats and sweat mingling in the warm air. I shook my head, straightened my back, and started walking once more.
This time, I kept my steps slow, deliberate. The capital was far too big to rush through, and I had no reason to hurry. The Academy wasn't going anywhere.
The streets here widened, and the buildings grew taller, blocking some of the sunlight. Wooden signs swung above shop doors, painted with symbols of everything you could imagine: a loaf of bread, a golden goblet, a hammer crossed with a sword. Merchants shouted in voices hoarse from years of haggling.
I passed a tavern with stained-glass windows, its laughter and music spilling into the street. Across from it, a jeweler's shop glittered, the gems catching sunlight like fire trapped in stone. Further down, a guild hall rose above the other buildings, its double doors carved with the image of a lion gripping a spear. Men and women in armor came and went, their weapons clinking at their sides, their faces carrying the weight of too many battles.
I kept my hood down, my white hair falling into my eyes as usual. Better to see and not be seen, at least not too much. Reilia's warning lingered in my head—some nobles are kind, some are harsh. I couldn't afford to test which kind I'd run into next.
Still, I couldn't help but stare at everything. Carriages rolled past with curtains drawn, giving only glimpses of the nobility inside—velvet sleeves, jeweled hands, eyes that never looked at the common folk around them. Their horses were bred stronger and sleeker than any I'd seen back home, their armor polished until it gleamed like mirrors.
And then there were the commoners. Farmers carrying baskets of produce on their backs, children darting between legs to snatch at dropped coins, blacksmiths with soot-stained arms shouting prices for their blades. It was messy, alive, and beautiful in a way that books back home had never been able to capture.
But no matter how much I walked, the city seemed endless. Each corner revealed another street, another crowd, another story. It was both thrilling and exhausting. My legs ached, but I pushed on.
At one point, I heard chanting—low, rhythmic, powerful. I followed the sound until I saw a procession of priests in deep blue robes embroidered with silver threads. They carried lanterns that glowed even in daylight, and their voices rose together in prayer. People stepped aside, bowing their heads, some even kneeling as the priests passed. I lowered my gaze but didn't bow, unwilling to mimic a devotion I didn't feel.
After the procession faded into the distance, I realized I was hopelessly turned around. South, east, west—it all blurred together. I stopped a man carrying crates and asked him where the Royal Academy was. He looked me up and down, skeptical, but eventually pointed east.
"Middle east of the city, boy. Can't miss it if you keep to the eastern roads. But it's a long walk from here. You're in the southern quarter."
I thanked him and, after a bit of bargaining, bought a rough map from a nearby vendor. The parchment was yellowed and smelled faintly of oil, but the lines and labels gave me something to cling to.
Holding it tight, I looked up at the sky. The sun had dipped lower, its golden rays stretching long across the rooftops. My reflection in a shop's glass caught my attention—hair falling loose around my shoulders, eyes tired but burning with resolve.
"Alright," I muttered to myself. "East it is."
With that, I set off again, this time with purpose, weaving through the crowd and keeping the map folded in my hand.