The sound hit him first.
Not one sound.
Thousands.
Blackstone City roared like a beast too large to see all at once.
As the caravan passed beneath the iron-shadowed gate tunnel, echoes layered over each other—wagon wheels grinding stone, hawkers screaming prices, smith hammers ringing, animals braying, children laughing, guards cursing, coins clinking, arguments blooming and dying every few breaths.
Then sunlight opened ahead.
Sun stepped into the city proper and stopped walking.
Traffic split around him immediately.
Someone shoved past carrying eels.
Another man swore because Sun blocked a handcart full of bricks.
A woman with three baskets balanced on her head clicked her tongue.
"Village?"
"Yes," Sun said automatically.
"Move."
He moved.
Blackstone's main avenue stretched wide and paved in fitted stone blocks polished by countless wheels. Buildings rose three and four stories high with carved balconies, tiled roofs, hanging lanterns, painted signs, and banners marking guilds and clans.
Perfume drifted from one doorway.
Blood from another.
Two musicians played flute beside a pawn shop while, twenty feet away, a man was being beaten over debt.
Sun turned in a slow circle.
"This place is insane."
Varen adjusted his cloak.
"This is the nice street."
The caravan advanced carefully through crowds.
Samira's guards rode flank positions while Brin barked for pedestrians to clear the way.
Lucan Teryn, somehow cleaner than everyone else despite travel, had reappeared beside his personal cart and now smirked constantly as if city walls personally endorsed him.
Sun noticed.
"Why is Onion Prince happy again?"
"Because he is home," said Varen. "Small men grow taller near inherited furniture."
Lucan overheard only the tone and frowned.
"You there."
Sun looked at him pleasantly.
"Yes, Decorative Nobility?"
Lucan's nostrils flared.
"You should be careful in Blackstone. Here, names matter."
Sun nodded.
"Then yours remains unfortunate."
Brin coughed into her fist to hide laughter.
Lucan pointed ahead.
"You mock me now because we stand in common traffic. Wait until my family receives me."
Sun leaned on a wagon rail.
"I'm trembling in several directions."
Lucan rode off stiffly.
Varen watched him go.
"He'll seek cousins."
"Good."
"You say that too often."
"I mean it every time."
They reached a broad plaza centered around a black fountain carved into rearing wolves. Roads branched from it like spokes.
One led uphill toward gleaming mansions and walled estates.
Another toward towers marked with sect banners.
Another downward into smoke and packed rooftops.
And on the far side stood a massive marble-fronted building draped in crimson silk:
BLACKSTONE EXCHANGE HALL
Men in rich robes entered.
Others left poorer.
Sun pointed.
"What's that?"
"Loans, investments, trade contracts, discreet ruin," said Samira.
"Useful city."
Before they could move on, a sharp whistle sounded.
The same gate officer from outside—now mud-streaked, furious, and somehow free—stormed into the plaza with six guards behind him.
Sun blinked.
"They released him quickly."
Samira frowned. "Someone intervened."
The officer jabbed a finger.
"That one! Seize him!"
Crowds instantly widened into a circle.
Nothing attracts citizens faster than trouble involving someone else.
The guards hesitated.
Not because of fear.
Because Samira stood there.
The officer shouted, "By order of Deputy Registrar Malvek!"
A carriage nearby stopped to watch.
Merchants leaned from balconies.
Street children climbed statues.
Blackstone collectively prepared snacks.
Sun sighed.
"I just got here."
The officer sneered.
"Rural filth thinks mockery protects him."
He drew a baton and strode forward himself.
Brin muttered, "Please hit him."
Sun rolled his shoulders.
"Any rules?"
Samira considered.
"Try not to kill tax officials in daylight."
"Restrictive."
The officer swung the baton hard at Sun's head.
Sun used Wolf Step.
He vanished sideways in a blur.
The baton missed entirely and smashed into the wolf fountain, rebounding straight back into the officer's own forehead.
Crack.
He staggered, eyes crossing.
The crowd gasped.
Then laughed.
Sun appeared behind him.
"You attacked city property."
The officer spun wildly.
Second swing.
Sun ducked.
The baton struck one of the officer's own guards in the stomach.
The guard folded around it.
Laughter spread like fire.
Third swing—angrier, sloppier.
Sun caught the officer's wrist, pivoted, and sent him flying face-first into the fountain pool.
Water exploded upward.
The officer surfaced sputtering with algae in his mustache.
Children screamed with delight.
Someone started taking bets.
Deputy Registrar Malvek himself now emerged from the carriage.
Thin face. Rich coat. Eyes like a rat promoted beyond competence.
He looked at the scene, then at Samira.
"Lady Dax. Explain why my officer is bathing."
Samira smiled sweetly.
"Fitness initiative."
Malvek's jaw tightened.
"You harbor violent drifters."
Sun raised a hand.
"I prefer upwardly mobile drifter."
Malvek ignored him.
"This youth struck city personnel."
"He charged first," said Brin loudly.
"He extorted first," added a merchant from the crowd.
"He overcharges everyone!" shouted another.
Voices piled on immediately.
"Twice taxed my onions!"
"Confiscated my goat!"
"Tipped over my noodles!"
The plaza sensed blood and chose democracy.
Malvek realized public support was collapsing.
He glared at Sun with memorized malice.
"This city is large. Accidents happen."
Sun smiled wider.
"I'll be careful near fountains."
The crowd roared.
Malvek turned sharply and stormed back to his carriage.
The soaked officer was dragged out of the pool by his own men to mixed laughter and applause.
As traffic resumed, a skinny street boy ran up to Sun and bowed dramatically.
"Master Fountain Fist!"
Sun blinked.
"I hate how quickly cities name things."
Brin slapped his back hard enough to hurt.
"You did well."
"That was praise again."
"Don't spread it."
Later, as the caravan turned into a narrower lane heading south, people still whispered and pointed.
Sun noticed glances.
Recognition.
Amusement.
Interest.
He had entered Blackstone less than an hour ago and already embarrassed two officials publicly.
Not bad.
Not safe either.
Varen walked beside him.
"You enjoy attention too much."
"I enjoy hypocrisy slipping."
"Attention also attracts knives."
"Then let them queue."
They entered poorer streets where paving cracked and smoke thickened.
The rich avenue disappeared behind them like a lie.
Ahead, slums spread in layered rooftops and hanging laundry.
Sun's smile faded.
This kind of place he understood immediately.
And understanding hurt more than mockery ever had.
To be continued...