The streets of Asgard had their own rhythm during the afternoon.
Even under the fine snow that still fell on the rooftops, the city remained in constant motion. Carriages crossed wide avenues, workers pushed carts loaded with wood and metal, merchants called out to customers in front of their shops, and soldiers patrolled intersections with the disciplined posture of those who had become accustomed to the absurd size of that city. The distant sound of the factories mingled with the occasional whistle of the locomotives, creating a kind of heavy, vibrant, and impossible-to-ignore urban music.
In the midst of that movement, Strax walked calmly, holding Vex's hand.
But he didn't look like Strax.
