The morning sun had barely risen, but the city of Greythorne was already alive with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares, the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestone, and the chatter of townsfolk bustling through the plaza.
The scent of fresh bread and roasted meats mingled with the less pleasant stench of livestock and sweat, creating the unmistakable aroma of the marketplace.
Werf and Jil weaved through the throng of people, their laughter rising above the noise as they playfully shoved each other. Fenr trotted beside them, his tail wagging as he sniffed at the passing stalls.
The city, for all its troubles, always felt vibrant in the early hours of the day. But beneath the bustling trade and lively chatter, an undercurrent of tension lingered, subtle but present.
"Hey, Werf, look!" Jil pointed at a street performer juggling daggers in front of an eager crowd. "Think you could do that?"
Werf scoffed. "Give me a few years."
Jil smirked. "Or maybe never. You're too serious for that kind of thing."
Before Werf could argue, a loud voice interrupted. "Make way! Make way!"
A group of armored men strode through the crowd, their silver-plated breastplates gleaming under the morning sun. The city guards. People stepped aside instinctively, muttering under their breath.
The guards weren't necessarily cruel, but they served the nobility first, and the common folk second.
Werf watched them carefully, eyes narrowed. Jil, always quick to notice his mood, nudged him. "Don't stare too long. You'll get us in trouble."
"I'm not scared of them," Werf muttered.
"Maybe not, but we've got a job to do."
Fenr huffed, mirroring Werf's irritation, but they kept moving. Soon, they reached a familiar stall at the center of the plaza.
It was run by Burke, a towering, rotund man with arms like tree trunks. Despite his intimidating size, his round face was always lit with a broad grin.
"Ah, if it isn't my favorite little troublemakers!" Burke boomed, crossing his arms as the children approached. "What brings you to my humble stall today?"
"Vegetables, Old Lady Hild's orders," Jil said, tossing the coin pouch in her hands.
Burke let out a hearty laugh. "That woman still keeping you two on a tight leash? Good, someone has to!"
Werf ignored the banter and eyed the fresh produce on display—plump tomatoes, leafy greens, and thick-rooted carrots. He knew better than to waste time. "We need onions, carrots, and potatoes."
Burke chuckled and began filling a small sack. "Efficient as always. You sure you don't want an apple? Got some fresh ones today."
Jil's eyes lit up, but Werf shook his head. "Hild will know we spent extra."
Burke sighed dramatically. "Always the serious one. Fine, fine. Here's your order. That'll be six coppers."
Werf handed over the coins, taking the sack in return. Jil pouted but didn't argue as they turned to leave.
"Be careful on your way back!" Burke called after them. "There's been trouble in the streets lately!"
Werf and Jil exchanged glances. They had heard rumors—whispers of unrest, of nobles clamping down harder on the poor, of people disappearing in the night. It was hard to tell what was true, but the tension in the air was real.
They walked through the market, weaving past carts and beggars, taking in the sights of merchants hawking their wares. A tailor displayed fine silks that neither of them could ever afford. A blacksmith showed off a gleaming short sword, far too large for Werf to wield yet but intriguing nonetheless.
Jil suddenly tugged on Werf's sleeve. "Look over there."
She pointed toward a narrow alley between two buildings where a group of rough-looking men were gathered. They weren't dressed as guards, nor did they look like simple merchants. One of them was speaking in hushed tones, his eyes darting back and forth.
"Thieves?" Werf guessed.
Jil frowned. "Or worse."
Before they could look any longer, Fenr growled low in his throat. A warning.
"Come on," Werf said, gripping the vegetable sack tightly. "We should get back."
They walked briskly, keeping to the main roads. As much as Werf hated to admit it, Burke's warning lingered in his mind. Trouble was brewing in Greythorne.
By the time they reached the orphanage, the sun was climbing higher in the sky. Hild was waiting for them by the door, her sharp eyes scanning them from head to toe.
"No bruises, no trouble?" she asked.
Werf held up the vegetables. "All here."
Hild took the sack and nodded. "Good. Now, go wash up. You stink of the city."
Jil groaned but obeyed. As Werf followed, he glanced back toward the city, toward the noble district that loomed in the distance. One day, he wouldn't just be another orphan scurrying through the market. One day, he'd walk those streets as an equal.
And nothing—not the guards, not the nobles, not fate itself—would stop him.