The capital of Velmora—Caerywn—was a city that defied silence.
Ten million lives pulsed within its colossal boundaries, wrapped in spires of stone veined with enchantment, and streets cobbled with mana-bound wards that never slept.
Light poured from floating crystals strung between towers like festival garlands, illuminating everything from marble balconies to crooked merchant tents.
It was a living monolith.
Majestic.
Eternal.
And utterly ruthless.
Caerywn was built in rings—six great sectors spiraling outward from the palace heart. Each ring reflected a different layer of power: the gilded nobility, the arcane academies, the merchant dynasties, the artisan guilds, the common masses, and beyond them, the shadowed fringe of the outer slums.
Alaric and the girls had been staying in the mid-tier Crydias Estate, located on the edge of Goldbar District, a relatively quiet zone bordering both noble traffic and merchant routes.
