🌒 Whispers Beyond the Eastern Gates
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The marble road stretched like a vein across the dying fields, carrying the last heartbeat of empire westward.
Enai walked it with quiet steps, the sigil of Lynoua stitched into her cloak:
—a silver crescent embracing a deep blue star—
the mark of a kingdom older than any living memory, older even than Necon's marble dreams.
A cart rattled up behind her, drawn by a pair of dusty mules. The driver, a wiry man in a battered leather cap, slowed and called out.
"You walk heavy for someone so light, girl," he said.
"Where are you bound?"
She turned, the setting sun outlining her in gold.
"Noneas," she said simply.
The man squinted.
"Lynoua blood," he muttered, half to himself. "I see it now. Proud as the old pillars."
Enai allowed herself the ghost of a smile.
"I seek passage."
The driver tapped the side of his cart.
"Climb up, my lady of stars. There's always room for one of the old blood."
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🛞 On the Road to Noneas
The cart swayed as it trundled westward.
Around them, the fields lay fallow and the statues of forgotten kings leaned into the wind.
The driver whistled tunelessly for a time, then said:
"Strange days.
Necon still clutches its crown like a drunk to his last coin.
Amchel sharpens their blades in the hills.
Ronor signs treaties with one hand and hires sellswords with the other.
And now Lynouans walk the open roads again."
He glanced sideways at her.
"What's stirring in the east, girl?"
Enai kept her gaze steady on the horizon.
"Hope," she said.
The man laughed, a short, dry sound.
"Hope?" he echoed. "That's rarer than gold these days."
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🏛️ At the Gates of Noneas
As the city came into view, Enai straightened her cloak, brushing road dust from the fine weave.
She knew how Noneas saw Lynouans — as dreamers of lost glory, clever with words but dangerous when cornered.
The gates loomed: cracked marble lions, chipped but still majestic.
Mercenaries lounged nearby — rough Amchelians with wolf-fur cloaks — but they eyed Enai with wary curiosity, not hostility.
A traveler from Lynoua might carry secrets worth more than gold.
The driver pulled up short.
"Here's as far as I go, my lady."
Enai dropped a silver coin into his hand and stepped down.
He touched two fingers to his brow in salute.
"Watch your back," he said. "The old world's dying slow — and all the vultures smell it."
Enai said nothing.
She tightened the strap on her satchel and stepped into the river of humanity flowing through the broken gates of Necon.
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🏺 The Agora
The Agora boiled with life:
• Philosophers in dusty togas shouted over each other in the colonnades.
• Ronorian diplomats in blue sashes whispered with Lynouan traders under faded banners.
• Amchelian captains bargained for steel, their laughter loud and sharp.
Enai slipped between them like a reed in a flood, unseen yet seeing everything.
A spice-seller with cinnamon-stained hands caught her wrist.
"Lady of Lynoua!" he cried, half in jest. "Looking for the Broken Moon?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"What is that?"
He winked.
"A place where old swords and young ambitions meet."
He let go of her wrist and turned back to his stall without another word.
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🌘 Toward the House of the Broken Moon
As the last light drained from the sky, Enai found it — a cracked archway marked with a slivered moon.
The tavern beyond breathed smoke and secrets.
Inside, voices murmured, dice rattled, and the future of kingdoms trembled on every whispered bargain.
She drew a slow breath, touched the crescent-star badge at her collar, and stepped into the gathering dark.