As Alexian stepped through the iron gates, the world seemed to shift.
The slums — the filth, the desperation, the unrelenting hunger — were left behind in an instant.
It was as if an invisible barrier separated the two worlds, dividing the people who mattered from the ones who didn't.
The Noble District was pristine, its streets paved with smooth, polished stone that barely bore the mark of footprints.
Ornate buildings loomed on either side, their balconies lined with ivy, their windows shimmering with imported glass.
The air was lighter here, scented with fresh bread and exotic perfumes, a stark contrast to the rot and decay of the slums.
Alexian kept walking, his pace steady. His grip on Jorad's stolen coin pouch remained firm inside his robe, and the ID tucked within his sleeve pressed against his wrist — a reminder of the risk he was taking.
This place was not his home.
Not yet.
But it would be.
He forced himself to relax, to blend in.
The guards had let him through without much trouble, but that didn't mean he was safe.
Any moment, someone could recognize the real Jorad. Someone could call out his name, expecting familiarity, and when none came…
'No. Stay calm. Stay in control.'
For now, the city belonged to him.
The streets bustled with people, but the energy here was different from the slums. There was no urgency, no desperation — only leisure.
A merchant stood beneath a silk-draped awning, displaying his wares — jewelry, rare spices, enchanted trinkets that glowed faintly under the sun. Well-dressed women strolled past, their laughter light and careless, their guards trailing behind like shadows.
A group of men sat outside a café, sipping from ornate cups, discussing politics as if their words shaped the world.
It was surreal.
The former Alexian had spent his life clawing through the filth of the slums, where a single silver coin was enough to kill for.
But here, wealth wasn't just owned — it was assumed. These people had never worried about starving. They had never feared freezing to death in an alley.
He had.
And yet, in Jorad's clothes, with Jorad's name, he was suddenly one of them.
A pair of noblewomen passed by, their eyes flicking toward him, curious but uninterested. He adjusted his posture, kept his expression neutral. He looked like he belonged here.
For now, that was enough.
A man in formal attire strolled past, flanked by two guards in silver-trimmed armor. The man's robe was embroidered with gold, his boots polished to a mirror shine. A noble.
Alexian lowered his gaze slightly, stepping to the side just enough to let the man pass without incident. He didn't know the customs here — did nobles expect bows? Deference? He couldn't afford to stand out, not yet.
The noble barely spared him a glance.
Relief settled in his chest. As long as no one gave him a second look, as long as he kept moving, he could figure out his next move.
But first, he needed a place to stay.
Wandering aimlessly would only invite suspicion. He needed information, an inn — somewhere he could observe and listen without drawing attention.
Up ahead, a large establishment came into view. Unlike the cramped, makeshift taverns of the slums, this place radiated elegance.
The sign above the entrance bore a name he didn't recognize, but the warm glow of lanterns spilling from the windows and the steady stream of patrons suggested it was popular.
He stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The scent of roasted meat and aged wine filled the air.
A bard played a soft tune in the corner, and servants weaved through the crowd, balancing trays of food and drink with practiced ease.
No one paid him any mind.
He approached the counter where an older man stood, polishing a silver goblet. The innkeeper's sharp eyes flicked toward him, assessing.
"Looking for a room?" the man asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
Alexian nodded. "For a few nights."
The innkeeper held out his hand expectantly. "Two silver per night, meals included."
Alexian reached into Jorad's pouch and placed the coins onto the counter. The weight of them felt unnatural in his palm — he had never held this much wealth before, let alone spent it so casually.
The innkeeper swept up the coins with a practiced motion. "Second floor, third door on the left. No trouble."
Alexian inclined his head in understanding before making his way upstairs.
The room was modest by noble standards, but to him, it was luxury. A proper bed, clean sheets, a washbasin. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment.