The fox slowed as they approached the city gates.
Lantern light washed over the stone walls, casting long shadows across the road. Two guards stood at the entrance, spears in hand, armor worn but intact. A few late travelers were being inspected before entering.
The fox adjusted the child in her arms and lowered her cultivation aura, concealing the instability left by her earlier injuries.
Calm.
Unremarkable.
Just another wandering cultivator.
The lizard remained perched atop her head, smaller now, wings folded tightly.
Still.
Listening.
"Many humans," it thought.
Footsteps.
Heartbeats.
Metal shifting.
Voices layered over one another.
The city was alive.
The child shifted again and lifted a hand, trying once more to reach the lizard.
The lizard leaned back slightly.
"Not again," it thought.
They reached the gate.
One of the guards stepped forward.
"Name and purpose?"
Routine.
Bored tone.
The fox offered a faint, polite smile.
Her turquoise eyes glowed faintly.
The guard met her gaze—
And his eyes reflected the same soft hue.
"I'm just an ordinary woman seeking entry for the night," she said gently. "Traveling with my child. We need safety."
Her voice was smooth.
Warm.
Unthreatening.
The guard blinked once.
Then stepped aside.
"Please come in, miss."
He gestured to the other guard.
"Open the entrance for her."
The heavy gate shifted slightly to allow her through.
No suspicion.
No inspection.
The fox walked past without haste.
Controlled.
Natural.
The moment they crossed the threshold—
Sound exploded around them.
Voices overlapping.
Merchants arguing.
Footsteps on stone.
Carts rolling.
Metal clanking.
Animals snorting.
The lizard's ears snapped inward instinctively, folding tightly against its head to shield its sensitive tympanums from the overwhelming noise.
Too much.
Too layered.
Too chaotic.
"Unpleasant," it thought.
As it sealed its hearing to a tolerable level, its body began to blur.
Edges softened.
Presence thinned.
Light bent subtly around it.
Invisibility.
Not perfect.
It did not vanish from human perception.
But within moments, the reptilian form faded from sight entirely. The fox could no longer sense it—only feel its weight on her head.
The child blinked.
She stared at where the lizard had been.
Confused.
Her small hands reached upward again—
Grasping only air.
The fox continued walking into the city.
Lanterns hung from wooden posts.
Stalls lined the streets.
Late-night vendors still sold food and small trinkets.
She did not linger.
She needed lodging.
Privacy.
Recovery.
And distance from attention.
Her eyes scanned ahead for an inn.
The lizard remained invisible, perched on the fox's head.
Noise.
Too much.
Voices layered.
Metal scraping.
Footsteps.
Heartbeats.
It rolled slightly, claws gripping tighter to maintain balance.
"The noise," it thought.
Unpleasant.
Not dangerous.
But overwhelming.
Each sound struck like a small blow, vibrating through its skull.
"They are too many sounds," it thought.
Hard to focus.
Hard to map.
Information flooded in without structure.
Its ears twitched instinctively beneath invisibility, trying to filter, but the city was dense with life.
Human voices arguing.
Children laughing somewhere nearby.
A merchant calling out prices.
Carriage wheels grinding against stone.
All at once.
The lizard's body quivered faintly.
Not visible.
But felt.
The fox walking beneath noticed the subtle vibration.
She sent a voice transmission.
"It looks like the noise is getting to you."
The lizard processed the message.
True.
Noise excessive.
But manageable.
"I'll control it," it thought.
It tightened its mental focus.
Filter.
Prioritize.
Heartbeats—irrelevant.
Voices—ignore.
Movement—only threats.
Gradually, the overwhelming flood dulled to a tolerable level.
Not silent.
But structured.
The lizard exhaled slowly.
"Better. It's quieter now," it thought.
Still invisible.
Still perched.
The city continued around them.
The fox searched for an inn.
The child in her arms watched the streets with wide red eyes, taking in the unfamiliar world.
The fox felt the small vibration on her head lessen.
She sent another voice transmission.
"It looks like you've got it under control," she said. "That's good. This will help you get the hang of it quickly. Maybe try practicing. This is a perfect environment for that."
The lizard processed the words.
Noise still existed.
Voices.
Footsteps.
Metal.
But it could separate them.
Focus on one sound.
Filter the rest.
"Hm," it thought.
The fox was right.
Training required pressure.
Not comfort.
If it wanted to adapt—
It had to learn.
Even here.
Even surrounded by humans.
"I just need to focus only on what I wish to hear," it thought.
One sound.
Heartbeat.
Or air movement.
Or its own breathing.
Anything consistent.
Everything else—
Ignore.
Slowly, it adjusted.
The city remained loud.
But the lizard's awareness narrowed.
One layer.
Then another.
The overlapping chaos dulled.
Not gone.
Not silent.
But manageable.
The fox continued walking.
Lanterns cast warm pools of light across the street.
Vendors called out prices.
A small crowd moved past them.
The child in her arms watched everything with wide red eyes.
Fascination.
Confusion.
The lizard remained invisible.
Focused.
Practicing.
This place was overwhelming.
But adaptation required exposure.
It would learn.
One sound at a time.
After a short while, the fox spotted an inn ahead.
A modest building.
A wooden sign hung above the entrance.
Warm light spilled from the windows.
Not luxurious.
But sufficient.
She adjusted the child in her arms and approached.
The fox pushed open the inn door and stepped inside.
Warm air greeted them.
Soft light from hanging lanterns cast a gentle glow across worn wooden floors. The air carried the faint scent of roasted food and aged timber—comforting compared to the sharp, metallic tang of the village they had left behind.
The interior was modest but clean.
A counter stood near the entrance, polished by years of use. Behind it, the innkeeper arranged small ledger books and coins, glancing up as the fox approached.
Shelves lined the walls with spare supplies—bottles of wine, wrapped parcels, and small trinkets for travelers. A few tables were scattered nearby where late guests spoke in quiet tones, drinking and resting after long journeys.
The sound inside remained lively—voices, the scrape of chairs, the occasional clink of cups—but far more contained than the chaos of the city streets.
The fox adjusted the child in her arms as she walked to the counter.
The girl looked around with wide red eyes, taking in the unfamiliar environment. Her small hands gripped the fox's robe, unsure but curious.
The lizard remained invisible.
Quiet.
Focused.
The fox stopped at the counter and addressed the innkeeper.
"We need a room for the night."
Her tone was calm and professional.
No extra details.
No unnecessary explanation.
The innkeeper blinked, then nodded.
"Of course."
He reached for a ledger.
"Single room? Or something larger?"
The fox considered briefly.
A single room would suffice.
Private.
Secure.
She nodded.
"Single room."
The innkeeper wrote something down and slid a small token across the counter.
"For one night. Breakfast is included in the morning."
The fox placed payment on the counter—coins that glinted faintly in the lantern light.
The innkeeper accepted them and gestured toward the hallway.
"Room at the end. Quiet. It should suit you."
The fox picked up the token and turned toward the hallway.
Behind her, the inn continued its subdued activity.
Travelers talking.
A fire crackling in a hearth.
The scent of food drifting from the kitchen.
Normal.
Safe.
For now.
The lizard remained focused, still practicing its control of sound and awareness.
The child leaned slightly against the fox, eyes following the inn's interior with cautious interest.
They had a place to rest.
Only temporarily.
But that was enough.