Judas exited the inn shortly after. The climate in the Dragon region was steamy.
The volcano below and the sun above made the temperature unlivable for someone like him, who would get heatstroke the moment the temperature hit thirty degrees Celsius.
Nyx was already gone. The little dragon had vanished from his shoulder the moment they stepped past the threshold, likely sniffing out the nearest treasury or pickpocketing wealthy merchants. Judas didn't worry about her. If anyone was in danger, it was the city's economy.
The moment he walked onto the main street, a wave of heat passed through him. The air was thick, humid, and smelled faintly of sweat and spices.
The locals walked around with exposed skin and light fabrics, obviously adjusted to the temperature.
But for a Northerner like Judas, whose body was tempered by snow and biting winds, this was torture. He had no immunity to temperatures above thirty degrees Celsius.
