Cohen walked down the alleyways of Underground Street with his head lowered, his gaze vacant, and he paid no attention to the beggars and vagrants huddled under the eaves or to the furtive looks they cast.
"Cohen."
The disheveled man to his left was hiding the stains of blood on his clothing, while a thug further away discreetly peddled what was in his pockets to passersby, and a beggar across the street squabbled with another emaciated figure over the ownership of an unclaimed ring.
But Cohen just wandered past them in a daze, seeing nothing and hearing nothing.
What did that have to do with him?
"Cohen?"
The Radiance of the Stars kept his energy focused within his own world, undistracted, unattracted by the noise in the distance or the filth nearby. To him, Underground Street and even the Lower City District seemed to be nothing more than names on paper.
