In the bustling streets of Goshen—the golden city of trade—life surged with a rhythm that was both chaotic and beautiful. Over the years, the city had swelled in size, drawing thousands who sought fortune in this promised land of greener pastures. Those who had refused to relocate often lived to regret their choice, watching from afar as Goshen's light grew brighter, its influence reaching the far edges of the Dukedom.
One needed only to visit the famed Westfield Restaurant to witness the transformation firsthand. What once was a humble two-storey eatery had grown into a towering four-storey mansion-like structure. It boasted private chambers for the elite, upper-classmen floors with exclusive service, lower-class dining halls with vibrant hustle, and even dedicated entertainment quarters that pulsed with music, laughter, and the clinking of gold.
On the ground floor, a symphony of voices filled the air as nearly every table was packed to capacity.
