The midday sun bore down on Iron Hearth's central market, casting long, jagged shadows between crowded merchant stalls and the weaving foot traffic of townsfolk. The square buzzed with life—children dashed between carts, chasing a half-deflated leather ball; vendors hawked their wares with booming voices, each trying to outshout the next; the scent of sizzling meat tangled with the earthy musk of old stone, sweat, and horse dung.
And in the midst of it all stood Tannus.
Not lurking in an alley. Not tucked away in some shadowy corner.
He stood right there, in the center of the chaos, as if daring the sun itself to challenge him. Calm. Still. His arms folded across his chest, flanked by two silent lackeys trailing behind him.
On the surface, he looked like any other weary traveler—dressed in plain leather armor, a sun-bleached brown cloak draped loosely over his shoulders, a dust-caked satchel hanging at his side. But the moment anyone's gaze met his eyes, they knew.
