As Roseiral entered the outskirts of Centro del Cuore, the chaos engulfing the city was unlike anything she had anticipated. The people seemed possessed by a collective frenzy, rushing through the streets in disoriented clusters, their eyes wild with fear and voices raised in panicked speculation. Whispers spread among them of an impending retribution, a reckoning tied to the mountains that had risen overnight. Some clutched charms, muttering prayers, while others brandished fists at the heavens as if blaming unseen forces.
This was not the Centro del Cuore she remembered. In her memories, the city had been vibrant, orderly—a place of well-mannered nobles and diligent merchants, all set against the backdrop of a warm, sunlit sky. The last time she'd visited, the streets had bustled with lively marketplaces and cheerful tradespeople. She recalled the scent of spices wafting through the air and the calls of vendors selling their wares. Now, that familiar hum of life had given way to a discordant mix of desperation and fear.
With a sigh, Roseiral pushed deeper into the city. She knew she needed to blend in, to shed the aura of a traveler and take on the role of an ordinary citizen, at least in appearance. Spotting a stall that sold clothing, she approached an old vendor who seemed unperturbed by the city's upheaval. She traded a handful of Argento coins for a thick, woolen coat, its dark hue matching the somberness that hung over the streets. Pulling it tightly around her shoulders, she felt the comforting weight of the garment and resumed her exploration.
The chaos slowly receded as she ventured toward the heart of the city, and as the familiar Centro del Cuore began to reemerge around her, she found herself awash in memories. It was a city unlike any other she had seen: streets twisting through stone buildings like veins, leading to secretive alleyways and bustling markets, with wide squares where fountains bubbled with clean water—a luxury that seemed surreal now.
Centro del Cuore's social order had always been clear and rigid. Nobles dominated the city's core, residing in grand, walled estates with banners depicting family crests. Even in the current disarray, their influence was evident. She watched as a pair of noblemen strode confidently down the street, flanked by guards. Their cloaks were trimmed with silver, and their fingers gleamed with rings crafted from Oro, a metal reserved for those who wielded true power. In Centro del Cuore, Oro was not merely currency; it was the currency of influence and authority, exchanged only among those at the top of the social ladder.
Surrounding the core of noble estates were the homes and shops of the merchants and artisans, the lifeblood of the city's economy. For these skilled tradesmen, Argento was the common currency. Silver coins changed hands for every transaction, from elaborate textiles to finely crafted weapons, and Argento was accepted almost universally. These merchants formed a bustling middle class that kept Centro del Cuore humming with activity, even as fear loomed over the city.
On the outer edges of the city lived the laborers and street vendors. For them, Rame, the gritty, reddish copper coins, sufficed for their needs. Though humble, Rame kept the markets moving and the bread ovens burning. For many, Rame was a symbol of sustenance rather than wealth. These were the people who walked the narrow streets and narrow lives, who earned their living in the city's alleys, selling the simple goods that kept the city alive in its own way.
As she wandered, Roseiral reached the main marketplace, a bustling hub brimming with treasures from across the Heart Kingdom. Familiar scents mixed with unfamiliar aromas, and her eyes were drawn to the many goods she had never encountered elsewhere. One of the stalls sold Tessere, intricately woven scarves that shimmered in the sunlight, their colors changing as they moved. Made from rare silk found only in the kingdom's eastern highlands, Tessere scarves were prized for their rumored ability to retain warmth, a luxury that made them popular among travelers and nobles alike. Roseiral started to wonder how rare it's going to be now that everything around them is the highlands.
Nearby, she found a vendor selling translucent stones encasing tiny plants and insects, called Vitrase. The merchant explained that these stones came from the highland caves and were believed to bring protection to the wearer. City folk prized them as talismans against evil, displaying them as jewelry or hanging them near their doors.
One stall caught her attention with an array of brightly colored spices, the air around it thick with fragrance. Known as Fumare, these spices were exclusive to the Heart Kingdom, harvested from the lush southern forests. The vendor explained that the spices were cherished for their intense heat and distinct flavors, too bold for the northern palates but perfect for the Heart Kingdom's cuisine. Wealthy patrons paid in Oro or Argento for even a small amount, seeking the supposed health and energy benefits that Fumare could bring.
Turning another corner, Roseiral found herself drawn to a display of jewelry crafted from Lucente, a silvery metal found only in the Heart Kingdom. Unlike any metal she'd seen before, Lucente was rumored to have magical properties, strengthening the wearer's spirit against the influence of dark forces. She marveled at the faint pulse of light that seemed to emanate from each piece, as though responding to the heartbeat of whoever held it.
As Roseiral approached the fountain to take a break, a voice called out, breaking through the noise of the marketplace. "You there, traveler. Lost, are you?" The speaker was a tall, gaunt man with eyes that seemed to hold a glint of amusement. He gestured to her with an almost mocking air, as if he had seen her type before—a drifter, a foreigner, someone who didn't belong.
"No," she replied evenly. "I'm just passing through."
He tilted his head, studying her with an unsettling intensity. "Strange times to be passing through," he murmured. "Strange days. Have you noticed the mountains?"
Roseiral felt a bit uncomfortable talking to him. "I saw them," she admitted, her voice low. "Do you know anything about them?"
The man gave a slow, ominous smile. "Only that they weren't there yesterday. And that they don't belong."
A silence fell between them, heavy and charged. Roseiral didn't dare break it, she wanted to leave asap. The man continued, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "Beware of what doesn't belong, traveler. In this city, there are forces at play that care little for people like us. Even Oro cannot shield you from them, nor Argento buys you safe passage. Sometimes, even Rame carries a price."
As the man walked through the crowded market, Roseiral's layer of anxiety simmered beneath the bustling noise. She wanted to go back home quickly. Whispers floated from huddled groups, fragments of conversations hinting at unrest. Some muttered about taxes and the nobles hoarding resources; others exchanged rumors of strange happenings, people who had vanished without a trace, and mysterious lights seen over the mountains.
A vendor nearby leaned in to share a hushed tale with a customer: "They say the earth is shifting because it's angry, that something has awakened." The customer nodded solemnly, clutching a small Vitrase amulet as if to ward off the very forces they spoke of.
It wasn't long before Roseiral noticed more eyes watching her than she was comfortable with. As she turned a corner, Roseiral found herself face to face with a pale man draped in a long black cloak. His skin was ghostly white, contrasting sharply with the dark hood that cast his face in shadows, and his movements were smooth, almost unnatural. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, and before she could react, he collided into her shoulder with a soft but deliberate pressure.
"Oh, sorry," he muttered, his voice smooth yet faintly rasping. His gaze lingered for just a moment, piercing and cold, sending a chill down her spine.
"It's okay," Roseiral replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a half-step backward, her eyes narrowing as she instinctively felt something off about this encounter. She glanced back, trying to catch another glimpse of him, but he was gone as quickly as he had appeared, vanishing into the throngs of people as if he had melted into the shadows themselves.
Confused and disoriented, Roseiral looked down, realizing she now held a small piece of parchment in her hand, as if by magic. She hadn't felt him place it there, nor had she seen him slip it into her palm.
Startled, Roseiral unfolded the note. The message was scrawled hastily, as if written in desperation:
"The mountains have awoken. Trust no one."
The words sent a chill down her spine.
Farete* = km