The cobbled streets of the lower market district were usually loud with the haggling of fishmongers and the clatter of wooden carts, but today the noise carried a sharp, nervous edge.
Dust kicked up in clouds as squad after squad of Auzelian Imperial Guards marched through the thoroughfares. Their polished breastplates gleamed under the sun, their heavy iron-shod boots striking the stone in a steady, ominous rhythm that sent flocking pigeons scrambling into the sky.
For the common folk, a guard presence this heavy was never good news. Shopkeepers hastily pulled their display crates closer to their doors, mothers snagged their children by the elbows to yank them off the main street, and whispers spread like wildfire through the alleys.
Did the peace treaty fail? Is the war starting back up? Why are they tossing the shops?
