The morning after the duel, the estate gates opened for Eryndor for the first time since his awakening. He rode on horseback, a small escort trailing behind, though none dared ride beside him. Word of his performance in the arena had already reached the city, and the council wanted the "new heir" to be seen.
The city of Velastra stretched wide beneath the hill. Towers of pale stone rose above crowded districts, where markets spilled into the streets with colors and noise. The scent of spiced meats, roasted grains, and something faintly metallic from the blacksmiths filled the air. Children darted between merchants, while armored guards stood watch at every corner, their crests gleaming.
Eryndor slowed his horse at the first plaza, scanning the crowd. Curious eyes turned toward him—some full of awe, some doubt, and some open resentment. He could feel the weight of whispers trailing after him like shadows.
"Is that the Vaelith heir?" someone muttered.
"They say he changed overnight."
"Looks different… stronger, somehow."
He smirked faintly. Good. Let them wonder.
His escort peeled away to speak with city officials, leaving him to wander the plaza alone. It was then that he felt it—a gaze sharper than the rest, watching him with intent rather than idle curiosity.
He turned.
Among the crowd, a young man leaned against a post, dark cloak pulled tight, eyes narrow. Unlike the others, he didn't whisper, didn't bow, didn't flinch. Their eyes met for a single heartbeat before the man disappeared into the throng, vanishing with practiced ease.
An assassin? A scout? Or something worse?
Before Eryndor could follow, a voice cut through the air.
"Eryndor!"
He turned to see Lyanna approaching, her presence standing out like sunlight among clouds. Her emerald eyes carried that same sharp curiosity, but there was a warmth too—a balance she seemed to hold with ease.
"I didn't think they'd let you leave the estate so soon," she said, brushing her hair back as she fell in step beside him.
Eryndor shrugged lightly. "Perhaps they wanted to show me off before the city. Or test how I handle their streets."
Her smile tilted. "Both, I imagine. The council doesn't waste chances to measure you."
They walked together through the bazaar, merchants calling out their wares, colorful fabrics fluttering overhead. Lyanna paused at a stall of enchanted trinkets, picking up a small crystal that glowed faintly in her hand.
"This city may look peaceful," she said quietly, her voice dropping low so only he could hear, "but every house, every faction, every guild here hides daggers beneath the silk. Even the air you breathe has ears."
Eryndor studied her, then the crowd. He could feel it now—the subtle tension beneath the noise, like a current pulling beneath calm waters.
"And yet," he murmured, "this is the kind of place where power is made."
Lyanna's lips curved faintly, almost approving.
But even as he said it, his thoughts returned to the cloaked man who had vanished so easily. Whoever that was, he hadn't been just another face in the crowd.
For the first time since his arrival in this world, Eryndor felt the city pressing in around him—alive, dangerous, and full of secrets waiting to be uncovered.
And he knew one thing for certain: the duel inside the estate had only been the beginning.