The aging goldsmith sat at the counter of his modest shop, wiping the dust off a gilded vase. Outside, the canals of Braavos shimmered beneath a pale sun, their waters sluggish in the autumn chill. Business had been steady these past months—strangely steady, in fact. He could not remember a time when so many wealthy foreigners flocked to his city. Something about it made him uneasy. Braavos had always been a sanctuary, a place that welcomed outcasts and traders from all corners of the world. But this new influx of Edenites was different. They weren't fleeing hardship or seeking refuge. They arrived in waves, bringing with them their strange customs, flawless beauty, and boundless wealth.
The goldsmith's thoughts drifted to his son, who had recently asked for a loan. "A man my age shouldn't still be providing for his children," the goldsmith grumbled to himself. But he had given his son the gold. What else could he do? The boy had fallen in love and needed a home to start a family. Yet housing prices in Braavos were climbing to absurd heights. Every day, rumors swirled through the markets: Edenites were buying up houses by the dozens—vacation homes, they called them. Entire neighborhoods were filling with these ethereal strangers, driving out locals who could no longer afford the rents.
Braavos had always prided itself on its independence, but cracks were beginning to show. The Faceless Men—the city's most feared and infamous guild—had been eradicated in a single, devastating blow. The rumors said they had been killed in their own sanctum, the Temple of Black and White, which now lay in ruins. Fires had consumed the sacred building, and the ashes had barely cooled before new whispers began: Eden was behind it.
The goldsmith knew better than to speak openly about such things. Everyone in Braavos did. The fall of the Faceless Men left the city leaders scrambling, and whispers of surrender floated in the air. There were talks of Braavos becoming a vassal of Eden—an unthinkable notion just a few years ago. The goldsmith had no love for the assassins, but their presence had kept the city's enemies at bay. Now, with the Faceless Men gone, Braavos felt vulnerable for the first time in generations.
His Edenite customer arrived just as the goldsmith was polishing a sapphire necklace. The man slipped into the shop with an effortless grace, his face the kind of perfection that belonged in ancient marble statues. He was breathtaking to look at—almost unnaturally so. The goldsmith found it difficult to hold the man's gaze for long. It was as if the Edenites weren't entirely human.
The man inspected the necklace with a practiced eye, his long fingers tracing the intricate patterns of gold filigree. He smiled, a soft, charming expression that made the goldsmith uneasy. "This is exquisite work," the Edenite said, his voice smooth as velvet. "How much for it?"
The goldsmith named a price, though he doubted it mattered. Edenites never haggled. They paid without hesitation, their wealth seemingly infinite. As the man continued to admire the jewelry, the goldsmith hesitated, then decided to ask the question that had been gnawing at him.
"Tell me something," the goldsmith began, clearing his throat. "Why do so many of your people come here? From what I hear, your cities are like paradise. Why would anyone leave that behind?"
The Edenite looked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Paradise can be exhausting," he said, chuckling softly. "New Qarth and Londonium are magnificent, yes, but they are... overwhelming. Perfection is beautiful, but it is also relentless. Some of us long for a slower life, a place where we can breathe. Braavos offers that."
The goldsmith frowned, still not entirely convinced. "But isn't Eden everything a man could want?"
The Edenite gave him a knowing smile. "It is. But not everyone wants the same things forever. We all need a change of scenery now and then."
The goldsmith mulled over the man's words as he wrapped the necklace in fine cloth. He had never thought of paradise as tiring, but he supposed even perfection could become stifling. As he handed the package to the Edenite, he felt a strange pang of envy. These people could flit between cities and lifestyles with ease, while the locals struggled just to keep their homes.
The Edenite tucked the necklace into his coat and paused before leaving. "You know," he said, almost as an afterthought, "your city reminds me of the new block that the administration built in Londonium apparently it was modelled after a powerful city state know as Venice. That's a rare thing."
With that, the man gave a polite nod and slipped out of the shop, his movements as fluid as water. The goldsmith watched him disappear into the bustling crowd, his mind swirling with thoughts.
As the door swung shut, the goldsmith sighed and returned to his work, but the encounter lingered in his mind. The Edenites might find Braavos charming, but he couldn't shake the feeling that their presence marked the beginning of something unsettling. With every house they bought, with every business they invested in, the city changed—slowly but inevitably. Braavos was ancient, but it was not invulnerable.
And as the sun dipped low over the canals, the goldsmith couldn't help but wonder how long his beloved city would remain its own. Change was coming, brought on the wings of these flawless strangers from Eden. Whether that change would be a blessing or a curse was still unclear.