At last, they arrived. A massive wooden gate loomed ahead, marking the entrance to the middle-class district. Kael stopped short, his breath catching as his eyes rose to the sign painted in bold white letters:
FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS.
The mud-brick huts gave way to sturdier buildings, their walls painted in muted ochres and blues, with carved balconies and shuttered windows. The streets grew wider, straighter, and cleaner, the air carrying faint aromas of spices and fresh bread. Villagers moved with measured ease—some setting up stalls, others walking in bright clothes, their voices carrying a confidence Kael had never seen in the lower-class quarter.
Kael's lips curled faintly. 'So this is the middle class… interesting'.
Kael's father walked steadily ahead, while Kael's gaze darted everywhere—at the cobbled streets, the bustling stalls, and the towers that pierced the skyline.The inner wall loomed beyond, its sandstone blocks rising like a fortress, a barrier that split the middle-class district from the lower.
"Father… I think we came too early. Only a few stalls are set up," he said, his expression neutral.
His father glanced at him with a grin, then rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, guiding him toward the corner of the sandstone wall.
"Son… the lower class has no right to attend the grand celebration. If the overseers catch us lingering here after dusk… trouble will follow."
Kael felt a flicker of unease, but he steadied himself quickly.
"Oh… okay, Father. I'll keep that in mind," he said calmly.
As they moved through the district, Kael noticed the looks—some people eyed them with clear dissatisfaction, while others didn't seem to care. Ahead, shops were already open. Workers hauled heavy sacks on their shoulders, while others pushed handcarts piled with goods toward the back doors.
Kael's sharp gaze lingered. Most of them were clearly lower-class folk—people who had skipped their morning meals just to earn a few quick coins. For them, wages meant more than health.
Then it hit him—the warm, irresistible scent of fresh bread. He turned his head and saw a bakery on his left, sturdier than the huts back home. Its walls were stone, its roof solidly layered with flat stone tiles.
"Father, let's check the bakery first," Kael said, his tone even.
"Yes… son, we should," his father replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he caught the same aroma.
They stepped inside. The shop was alive with chatter. Customers sat at wooden tables, breaking bread and sipping from clay cups. A few seats were still empty.
"Hello, sir... How can I help you?" the shopkeeper greeted warmly from behind the counter.
A chubby man with a thick moustache stood there, his white shirt partly hidden beneath a flour-stained apron that stretched across his round belly.
"We'd like four slices of bread," Kael's father said with a smile.
"Coming right up!" the man boomed with cheerful excitement.
Soon, four warm slices were placed before them, and Kael and his father took a small window table—two chairs, just enough space for them, with a view of the street outside.
"Father, how much does this cost?" Kael asked curiously.
"Not much… just two silver coins," his father replied.
Kael studied the bread. He remembered it from his previous life—something called a baguette. But unlike the long sixty-centimeter loaves he knew, this one was shorter, half its size, yet still warm and crisp.
As he ate, the rich scent of the bakery filled his senses. A young waiter appeared, setting down a cup of hot milk tea with a bright smile. "The first drink is free for everyone today."
Kael dipped the bread into the steaming cup, savoring the taste. His father did the same, and for a brief moment, both of them enjoyed a peace Kael had never felt in this life—warm bread, fresh air, and a comfort far removed from the struggles of the lower quarter.
But as they neared the last piece, his father shifted uncomfortably, then rose. "Son… stay here and don't move. I'll be back in a minute," he said firmly, his tone carrying a quiet warning. Without another word, he slipped out through the shop's entrance.
Turns out his father had been suppressing the urge to relieve himself for some time, but the hot milk tea made it impossible to endure any longer.
Kael finished his bite and set the crust down, blinking against a sudden wave of sleepiness. He forced his eyes open and turned them to the street to keep himself awake. Outside, the market thrummed: cloth sacks bumped hips, carts creaked, and men hammered iron nails into posts to secure rope lines for stalls.
*Ting-Ting-Ting-Ting*
The hammering was steady and loud—enough to swallow smaller sounds. A horse's hoofbeat sounded briefly beyond the gate, then faded under the din. Kael didn't notice it at first; his attention was on the people tying ropes and arranging crates.
A moment later the bakery door opened. The bell at the lintel gave a soft chime that barely rose above the hammering. A neat, well-dressed boy stepped in, rose scent clinging to him, flanked by a slim attendant in black and two silent guards.
Everyone stood immediately—everyone except Kael, still distracted by the bustling streets.
The boy's eyes found him, and his expression twisted with instant fury.
"How disrespectful…," he muttered.
"GUARDS! Seize that boy!" he shouted.
Kael froze as a voice cut through the clatter. He turned to the right and saw two guards striding toward him. Panic rose hot and sudden in his chest. Before he could think, Rough hands grabbed Kael before he could rise.
*Thud*
He was shoved down and forced to bow flat; a guard flexed a whip, leather whispering as it uncoiled. The bakery went so still Kael could hear his own pulse.
The bakery fell silent. Chairs scraped softly against the wooden floor as every eye turned to the young prince. Whispers fluttered through the room like restless birds. Some customers stared wide-eyed, frozen in fear; others ducked their heads, pretending not to notice. Even the shopkeeper's hands tightened over the counter, jaw stiffened.
Kael's eyes flicked around, noticing the subtle divide in reactions: lower-class workers avoided the prince's gaze entirely, while a few middle-class patrons exchanged cautious, judgmental glances. The air was thick with unspoken tension, each heartbeat measured against the boy's authority.
"You will be punished for that insolence," the boy said, voice laced with contempt.
At that exact moment the back door crashed open—Kael's father burst in, breathless and wild. He darted to Kael, dropped to his knees before the boy, and pressed his forehead to the floor in a frantic kowtow.
"Your Highness, he is only seventeen," Kael's father begged, pressing his forehead to the floor. "Inexperienced… still learning his place in the world. Please, show mercy."
The boy listened, expression unreadable. For a heartbeat the room held its breath. Then the boy's face eased into a small, satisfied curl. "Let them go," he commanded, and the guards stepped back.
The shopkeeper hurried forward with exaggerated deference. "My lord, forgive the interruption. Here's the bread you requested—I packed it all myself," the shopkeeper said, bowing slightly. His smile was oily, every syllable dripping with flattery.
The bundle was large, wrapped carefully, enough to feed several people.
The boy tossed five gold coins across the counter; they clinked and landed with a cold finality. "That will do," he said, voice low and hard. He stared at Kael until the words cut like a blade. "Next time you won't be spared. Remember it." With that, he turned and left, his footsteps a warning.
The prince's attendants followed closely, forming a human wall as they exited. Dark-clad, precise, and silent, they moved with the quiet authority of trained guards, parting the room effortlessly, leaving a tense silence in their wake.
The room let out a collective, tentative exhale. Kael's father stayed kneeling a moment longer, letting the relief settle. Slowly, he rose, and Kael followed suit. Together, they returned to their seats, each movement measured, as if testing the calm. Around them, the murmurs of the bakery resumed, soft and hesitant, the tension lingering faintly but beginning to fade.
"Son… let me bring another tea for you," he said calmly, rising from his seat.
Kael kept his gaze lowered, simmering with the sting of humiliation. A quiet, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips. 'Target number one… young prince', he muttered under his breath.