Over the bustling streets, the rising sun shone down but there was little warmth in the air. Damien walked with measured steps, his sharp silver eyes scanning his surroundings.
The town was alive with activity—vendors hawked their goods, children played among the market stalls, and groups of mercenaries loitered near taverns and weapon shops.
Despite the liveliness, Damien couldn't ignore the unease lingering in the air. It was subtle, like a taut string ready to snap. Perhaps it was his heightened senses as a Terrace descendant, or perhaps it was the faint signs of desperation etched into the faces of the townsfolk. Or maybe it was even due to him being in danger in the past for more times than he could count.
