The streets of Aschel buzzed with a vitality Kaidën was barely acquainted with.
These streets three years before had consisted of nothing more than cracked roads and dust, sprinkled about with the broken dreams of the indigent. The alleys had been lined by beggars, the streets by robbers who roamed free, and the atmosphere thick with despair as thick as smoke.
But now.
Now there were asphalt roads, neat market stands, and cheerful voices in the breeze.
It was far from perfect — the whiff of hidden corruption hung over parts of it — but a renewed country.
Kaidën and Zarel walked side by side, both clad in brown hooded robes and mingling with the crowds.
Yet despite the lively surface, Kaidën's senses caught everything — every suspicious glance, every greedy murmur.
His ears, honed to unnatural sharpness, picked up whispers half a mile away. His closed eyes, wrapped lightly in a thin golden blindfold, saw the world in a clarity that human sight could never hope to match.
