Chapter 8: The Art[3]
The city gates stood tall and rusty, barely holding themselves together against the morning wind.
Beyond the gates, the city was already awake.
The streets buzzed with life. A fruit seller shouted over the crowd, "Three for one silver! Sweetest berries this side of the market!" His voice was almost drowned out by the sounds of boots on cobblestone, spirit beasts grunting, and wheels clattering over the road.
Everyone had somewhere to be.
"Busy morning," I muttered under my breath.
But it wasn't the people that caught my attention, it was what walked beside them.
A massive six-legged horse trotted proudly through the crowd, steam rising from its nostrils. It pulled a heavy cart filled with steel barrels.
Floating above the rider's head were two glowing rings symbolizing his strength, while his grimoire hovered by his side.
"Make way! Heavy load coming through!" he called, and the crowd parted with practiced ease.
Not far away was a small, blocky golem waddling along with two full buckets of water.
Its clay feet squelched with every step. Its master, a weary old man with a two-star grimoire chained to his belt, walked behind it, wiping sweat from his brow.