Sunday Morning, April 19th. Dark Town District.
The dim morning sunlight entered through the only small, dirty, and barred window, illuminating the dust floating in the air, which felt damp and musty. The stone walls of the room were cracked and the plaster was peeling in many places, revealing the older brickwork beneath. From outside, the clamor of merchants beginning to open their stalls, the hurried footsteps on the muddy streets, and the faint chatter of people starting their activities could be-heard.
Fyar woke from his sleep. He sat on the edge of the rickety wooden bed, the thin straw mattress rustling beneath him. He gave a wide yawn, then massaged his stiff neck. This small room was his new residence: it only had a bed, a small table with a chair, and a door leading to a simple bathroom.
