Three weeks had passed since the Mock Battle, and Azurefall was no longer just a city recovering from a siege. It was a carnival of power.
The streets were choked with banners representing the heraldry of gathered nations. The crimson sun of the Sand-Walker Guild fluttered next to the jagged blue icicle of the Glacial Spire Witches. The rhythmic tick-tock of the Clockwork Mages' brass automatons echoed on the cobblestones, a constant, mechanical heartbeat beneath the city's pulse.
In the center of this chaotic swirl walked Squad 7.
They moved with the weary, synchronized grace of a unit that had spent too many hours training and not enough sleeping. Dain Ragnor walked point, his shield strapped to his back, using his bulk to gently but firmly part the sea of tourists.
"Five coppers for a skewer?" Dain grumbled, glaring at a street vendor selling 'Siege of Azurefall' commemorative pastries. "That used to be two. We save the city, and they hike the prices."
