The streets of Esgard's shadows reeked of piss, smoke, and broken dreams.
The usual.
Ian moved beneath the cover of a tattered black cloak, his steps muffled on the grime-slick cobblestones. Above him, the sky was a dull brown haze, as though the filth of the city below had risen to infect the heavens themselves.
Somewhere behind him, beyond the choking smog and crooked rooftops, the grand coliseum loomed unseen—a silent titan hiding behind its veil.
Here in the Shader Vicinities, the city bore no resemblance to the towering spires and polished promenades of the noble districts.
Here, stone crumbled, and people broke.
Ian passed a collapsed stall and a man with a swollen eye sitting in its wreckage, begging for coin or pity—probably both. A few streets down, he witnessed a man being beaten by three others, their fists thudding against his flesh with rhythmic brutality.
