The soft gray light of morning shone through the cracked wooden shutters of a small room on the city's edge. Lira stirred awake, her frail form cocooned in a blanket. Her heart, as always, skipped a beat when she heard the faint sounds of the city waking up—the clatter of distant carts and the muted calls of merchants setting up their stalls.
Lira sighed and sat up, her fingers brushing her auburn hair away from her face. The mirror hanging crookedly on the wall reflected her tired eyes and hollow cheeks. Life in the capital under the Arbiters' rule had taken its toll, but she couldn't afford to let despair consume her.
She slipped on her cloak, tugged her boots over her calloused feet, and grabbed the woven satchel she carried everywhere. Inside, she had her daily essentials: a small coin purse, a few scraps of cloth for wrapping food, and a worn-out journal where she kept sketches and notes—small reminders of better days.
