The streets below the towering wall still hum with life, though different than before. The colors are muted, voices hushed. Most of the nobles have long fled, but the humans that remain? Traders. Cooks. Blacksmiths. The people who kept the city running. Now they serve under new masters—monsters wearing Alix's banner.
Alix's forces—organized, quiet, efficient—don't rampage or steal. But that doesn't mean humans feel safe.
Inside a narrow eatery nestled beside an old alley, the scent of fried tuber and smoked fish wafts in the air. It's lunch hour, and despite the tension, three beastkin soldiers lounge inside, weapons stacked near the door.
The owner, a stout woman in her fifties named Mirsa, watches them carefully as she wipes down the counter. Her hands tremble slightly, but she forces her voice to stay level.
"You sir's want anything else?" she asks. "Still got soup from this morning."
