Thalara, like every city in Kaaraore, was cleaved in two. The West: a grimy tangle of fish markets, slaughterhouses, and desperate souls scraping coins from the harbor's filth. The East: a gleaming facade of white sand beaches, luxury resorts, and the Lord's pristine manor, bathed in perpetual sunlight. It was a city of harsh contrasts – the East basked in the light, while the West festered in the shadow it cast. For years, Corvus and Melissa had survived in that shadow.
Now, Corvus strode purposefully through the Eastern district's immaculate brick streets, drawing horrified gasps and disdainful stares. He was a walking affront to Pearlstrand Boulevard – mud-caked, carrying a dirt-encrusted chest, his clothes stiff with grime from his night's digging. He ignored the looks. Living by others' standards was what had trapped him in the capital; self-respect, he'd learned, often looked like defiance.
He navigated the clean-swept avenues, past sparkling buildings and artificial streams designed to mimic purity. Pearlstrand was where the wealthy idled and shopped, a world away from fish guts and leaky roofs. Corvus wasn't here for trinkets. His eyes scanned the opulent storefronts.
A procession crossed his path: pilgrims in simple white robes, barefoot, chanting low hymns as they shuffled towards the ferry docks. Their destination: the Healing Isles, the last bastion of human civilization before the immense Ocean's Wall. Home, it was whispered, to the last known goddess walking among mortals – the Goddess of Healing and Fertility, slumbering eternally within her central spire.
Corvus rolled his eyes. Fools. In his youth, he'd prayed to countless gods, deaf ears every time. Answers were a luxury reserved for the chosen, the Ascendants, not gutter rats or desperate pilgrims.
Pushing past the chanting figures, Corvus turned down a slightly narrower side street, still impeccably clean but less trafficked. His boots squelched faintly in a puddle left by overzealous street-washers. Ahead, near an alley mouth, a small commotion caught his eye. Two city workers in drab grey uniforms stood on ladders, vigorously scrubbing and painting over a section of a pristine white wall. The vibrant, defiant image they were trying to erase was still partially visible beneath the thick, whitewash: a stylized, soaring bird wreathed in stylized flames – a flaming phoenix.
The graffiti was bold, expertly rendered. The phoenix seemed almost alive, its wings spread wide as if challenging the very sterility of the East. Corvus paused for a moment, watching the workers labor to erase it. One muttered to the other, "...damn troublemakers. Third one this week. Think they're clever, painting this filth..."
The other worker grunted, slapping more whitewash onto the fiery tail. "Sedition, is what it is. Mark my words, linked to those whispers comin' outta the Foundry District. Lord Aris won't stand for it."
Corvus felt a familiar prickle of unease. Symbols like that rarely appeared without meaning, especially in the tightly controlled East. The phoenix... rebirth? Rebellion? He didn't know the specific group, but its presence here, defacing the Lord's perfect streets, spoke of discontent simmering beneath the polished surface. Things are getting tense. He stored the image away, another piece of the city's hidden puzzle, before moving on.
A few steps further, his gaze finally landed on the sign he sought, gleaming above wide, spotless windows: Lunaforge Bespoke.
Bingo.
The delicate chime of the doorbell sounded absurdly loud as he entered. Inside was a temple to wealth and warfare: pristine stone floors softened by deep emerald carpets, plush couches, and walls lined with displays of exquisite armor and tailored garments. The air smelled of leather polish and money.
The shopkeeper, impeccably dressed, turned with a practiced smile that froze, then curdled into open contempt as he took in Corvus's appearance. The man drew himself up, spine rigid, ready to eject the walking stain.
Before a single syllable of dismissal could leave his lips, Corvus dipped a grimy hand into his pocket. He pulled out the two heavy gold velmora and placed them deliberately on the nearest polished glass countertop. They clinked with undeniable weight.
The transformation was instant. The contempt vanished, replaced by a wide, obsequious smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. The shopkeeper rubbed his gloved hands together. "Welcome to Lunaforge Bespoke, sir! How may I assist the gentleman today?"
Corvus suppressed a snort. Shameless. You were two seconds from tossing me into the gutter. But time was short. "Need something light. Easy to move in. Decent protection. Not parade armor."
The shopkeeper reached for a sleek notebook. "Of course, sir! We excel in bespoke creations. Tailored to your precise measurements, finest materials, enchantments upon request..."
"No time," Corvus cut him off, already scanning the displays. "I'll take something off the rack." He pretended to browse, his gaze skipping over gilded breastplates and impractical silks. He knew exactly what he wanted. He stopped before a display stand.
It held a long duster coat, masterfully crafted. The dark fabric wasn't ostentatious, but the cut was sharp – the shoulders subtly reinforced, the chest paneled with hidden plates beneath symmetrical straps fastened by polished obsidian buckles. Silver thread traced discreet, functional lines. The high collar stood stiff, lined with protective padding designed to deflect fangs or blades. Long tails tapered like crow's wings, cut for minimal drag. Matching trousers were dark, tightly woven, reinforced at knees and thighs with flexible hide for silent movement. Black leather gloves lay beside them, knuckles and wrists reinforced.
It was grim elegance built for survival. Perfect.
"How much?" Corvus asked, keeping his voice casual.
The shopkeeper glided forward, radiating false warmth. "Ah, an exceptional choice, sir! The 'Raven's Wing' ensemble. A statement piece. Currently available for... one Velmora and eighteen Terren."
Corvus slowly turned, his sharp yellow eyes locking onto the clerk. Nearly all I have left. "One Velmora and eighteen Terren?" he repeated, his tone flat. "Funny. That seems... steep. Especially for something just sitting here." He let the implication hang – you're inflating the price for the mud-covered mark.
The clerk gave a nervous laugh, smoothing his lapel. "Steep? Perish the thought, sir! Lunaforge Bespoke reflects the unparalleled quality and craftsmanship. That is the retail price for such a remarkable..."
Corvus didn't let him finish. He walked to the plush couch and sat down, deliberately leaving a smear of mud on the pristine fabric. He placed the two gold coins on the low table before him with a heavy clink. Then he leaned back, a lazy, challenging smirk playing on his lips.
"One Velmora. Fifteen Terren. That should cover it. More than fair, wouldn't you say?"
The shopkeeper's smile tightened. The pleasant facade cracked, revealing the calculating merchant beneath. A long, uncomfortable dance of haggling had just begun, and Corvus had drawn first blood