The morning light in Marasva wasn't so much a sunrise as it was a reluctant bureaucrat forcing its way through narrow, winding streets. Seraphina and I stepped carefully toward Gate Nine. It wasn't the grand gateway to the city; rather, it was a modest, almost apologetic entrance on the western edge, as if trying to be inconspicuous. And in a city where mana mingled with mist like gossip at a town meeting, inconspicuous was often a sign of trouble.
At first glance, Gate Nine looked as unremarkable as a signpost in a bureaucrat's memo. Two guards stood at their posts with expressions that suggested they'd long ago forgotten what a real crisis felt like. In the background, a cluster of warehouses stretched toward the wilderness—a perfect place for discreet transactions.
I nudged Seraphina. "This is it," I murmured.
