The city was not really a city. It was a pile of broken homes and leaning towers with no names. Smoke rose from the cracks in the stone roads. People moved like ghosts. None of them looked up.
Ian walked through it with his hood up. His wings were hidden. His steps were slow. He asked no one. But he listened.
Everyone had a story. All the stories had one name in them.
Christian.
They said Christian knew things no one should know. They said he once spoke with a dead god and lived. They said he did not age. They said he once found a dragon's real name and sold it for a piece of candy. Ian did not care about the stories. He only cared if Christian knew Varnak.
A priest stood by a broken temple. His robe had stars on it. Not drawn. Real stars that moved in the cloth like water.
"You look lost" the priest said.
"I am looking for Christian" Ian answered.
The priest gave a small nod.
