After leaving the inn, Nova took a deep breath of the morning air; it was crisp with a nearby bakery's breads and other pastries filling the air.
Nova stepped out into the city's streets, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. The sun had already risen past the rooftops, and the golden haze it cast made the stone-paved roads shimmer as if the city itself was stirring from a dream, but he knew it was just the magical energy of the folks that lived there; it was seared within the very earth.
Nova made his way through the winding paths of the upper district, avoiding the heavier foot traffic. Since it was a working day, everyone would be rushing to do their own business. His mind was razor-focused, replaying the voices he had heard and the strange feeling that everything—every move, every encounter—was weaving a web around him, each connected to one set of things but spread out too far, making it hard to connect.
