The night had thickened like a heavy shroud over the restless city of Nevan. From the balcony of the aging inn, Kael stood still, arms resting on the rough wooden railing, eyes cast down upon the streets below.
The once bustling alleyways were now occupied by the rhythmic march of armored boots, the sharp glint of polished spears reflecting in the sparse lamplight. Guards prowled in clusters—some interrogating civilians, others checking house doors and corners like hounds hunting a scent. The occasional shout broke through the stillness, followed by the thudding of hurried footsteps and the rattling of gear.
From his vantage point, Kael could see the checkpoints forming at intersections, torches burning brightly as soldiers scanned each passerby with hostile suspicion. It was clear the city was in lockdown.
The nobility and commoners alike had retreated into their homes, peeking out from behind closed curtains, while fear loomed like a ghost over every rooftop and shadow.
