The city radiated an air of grandeur, but as he stepped closer, it became apparent that its shine was merely a façade, masking the stark class divisions within.
At the gates, a guard clad in iron armor stopped him. "State your business," the man barked, his tone as cold as the steel he bore.
"Passing through," George replied calmly, his gaze steady.
The guard eyed his gear and the companions at his side—Kas perched on his shoulder, Typhon prowling silently beside him. After a moment's hesitation, the guard waved him through, mumbling something about keeping beasts in check.
Once inside, George was greeted by the sprawling chaos of the Slums. Makeshift homes and narrow alleys formed a labyrinth of desperation, with inhabitants struggling to survive. A rancid smell lingered in the air, and everywhere he turned, he saw hollow eyes and malnourished faces.
