Crowds flowed through the sidewalks in steady currents, people moving with the confidence of those who had lived their entire lives inside this rhythm. Some wore ordinary clothing suited to office work or trade, while others carried equipment that marked them as something different. Protective vests, reinforced gloves, compact tools clipped to belts. A few individuals passed with the unmistakable bearing of trained fighters, their posture balanced and alert even in casual movement. Evan watched them silently as he began walking east along the avenue.
Shops and offices occupied the lower levels of most buildings, their entrances opening directly onto the wide sidewalks. Glass fronts revealed interiors arranged with quiet efficiency: repair workshops where technicians worked over mechanical parts beneath bright lamps, cafés where patrons sat at compact tables speaking over steaming cups, small storefronts displaying tools, clothing, and travel gear. The variety of trades gave the district a constant, low hum of activity that blended easily with the flow of traffic outside.
Evan walked slowly enough to take it in without appearing lost. Screens mounted along certain storefronts cycled through notices and advertisements, some projecting small three-dimensional diagrams that rotated gently in the air above their bases. The effect was subtle rather than dramatic, more like an extension of the information panels he had seen earlier in the Authority complex. Each new detail added another layer to the picture forming in his mind. The place operated on technology he recognized, but it had grown in directions he had never seen before.
Evan kept walking, letting the movement of the crowd carry him forward while his eyes moved from storefront to storefront. The district stretched farther than he had first assumed. Blocks of buildings extended in orderly grids, intersected by broad avenues that carried steady traffic in both directions. Even the side streets showed the same careful planning, with pedestrian lanes, lighting systems, and public terminals spaced at regular intervals. It did not feel like the small settlements he had imagined when he first heard the word town.
The thought settled slowly as the scale continued to unfold around him. If this place was considered a town within the duchy, then the cities must be something far larger. Capitals even more so. Whatever waited in those places would operate on a level he had not yet begun to picture. The idea lingered in his mind as he crossed another intersection and continued east toward the market square the clerk had described.
The avenue widened as Evan approached the next district, and the steady flow of office workers began to blend with smaller clusters of shoppers and pedestrians lingering near storefront displays. The buildings here stood a little taller, their ground levels set back beneath shaded arcades that sheltered rows of polished shop windows. Inside those windows rested carefully arranged displays rather than bulk goods: precision instruments laid out on velvet trays, sleek communication devices mounted on angled stands, and tailored clothing displayed on articulated mannequins that shifted posture every few minutes to show different cuts of fabric.
Food vendors occupied the corners where the arcades opened toward the street. Instead of shouting over the traffic, they worked behind compact counters fitted with glowing preparation surfaces and neat ingredient stations. Steam rose in soft curls from shallow cooking pans while customers waited in orderly lines, selecting meals displayed on small illuminated menus. The air carried a mix of aromas that changed as he passed each stand, roasted meats giving way to citrus spices and then to the warm scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery that had arranged loaves in a geometric tower behind its glass front.
Beyond the food stalls the avenue opened into a broad plaza that formed the center of the district. The paving stones shifted here into lighter patterns arranged in sweeping arcs that guided foot traffic toward different corners of the square. At the far side stood a multi-level structure whose curved façade carried large projection panels mounted along its exterior wall. One of the panels was active now, its surface displaying the interior of a circular arena where two figures faced each other.
Clusters of people had gathered around the screen to watch. Office workers stood beside street vendors, a few cyclists had stopped near the edge of the crowd, and several teenagers leaned against the railings that bordered the plaza. The group simply watched with quiet attention as the fighters inside the arena began to circle each other, their movements sharp and deliberate even through the filtered projection. Evan slowed as he approached, drawn in despite himself by the precision of the motion unfolding on the screen
The screen flickered once as the broadcast shifted to a closer angle. A narrow banner along the lower edge of the display listed two names and a small set of details that changed too quickly for Evan to read fully. The camera stabilized, revealing the interior of the arena more clearly now. It was not an ornate battlefield. The space looked simple and functional, a wide circular platform of worn stone surrounded by low walls and rising stands packed with spectators.
The crowd around Evan adjusted slightly as the image sharpened. A few people leaned forward while others lifted drinks or food containers, settling in as if they had seen many matches like this before. One man beside him murmured something to his companion about the fighters' previous record, the words casual and unexcited. For most of them this was a routine entertainment. For Evan, it would be the first time he saw combat in this world.
The screen showed two figures stopping several paces apart on a worn stone floor.
For a moment nothing happened. There was no signal to begin. Yet even from a distance the tension was obvious. Something about the way they stood made it clear that stepping back meant losing something neither of them could afford.
The taller man, identified on the lower corner of the display as Kade, shifted his weight first. The movement looked small, almost casual, but the change drew Evan's attention immediately. His shoulders loosened, his left hand lowering slightly while the right drifted higher as if the position had happened by accident. Even without understanding the finer details of combat, Evan could tell the motion was deliberate. Kade was waiting for the woman to react.
She didn't.
Lysa held her stance with quiet control, her heels barely brushing the stone beneath her. Her breathing appeared slow and measured, her eyes fixed on him with a focus that made the stillness feel heavier. The camera angle allowed just enough detail for Evan to notice how carefully she watched him. It looked almost like she had already studied every piece of him before the fight had even begun. His long reach. The strength in his shoulders. The old scar along his forearm that hinted at past injuries and habits. Kade's gaze stayed low, tracking her feet.
So she gave him nothing to read.
The silence stretched while a gust of wind moved through a broken arch behind them, pushing a thin ribbon of dust across the floor. Kade's mouth curved into a faint smile.
Then he moved.
Even through the screen the lunge looked sudden. Fast and direct, a straight punch thrown with the confidence of someone who expected the fight to end quickly.
Lysa stepped forward instead of retreating. The punch passed so close to her head that Evan felt his shoulders tense instinctively. Her elbow drove upward into Kade's ribs with sharp precision. The hit landed solidly, though Kade twisted just enough to absorb some of the force. Even so, the reaction showed the strike had hurt.
Kade grunted and pivoted, bringing his knee upward in the same motion.
To Evan's untrained eyes the movement seemed fast. Lysa reacted faster.
She caught the rising knee with both hands and shoved sideways, forcing Kade off balance. His boots scraped loudly against the stone as he stumbled a half step before recovering. The recovery came quickly, almost impressively so, and his forearm swung down toward her collarbone in a heavy strike.
Lysa rolled with the blow.
The impact still forced her down to one knee, stone biting into her skin as the momentum carried through. Before Kade could press the advantage she swept her leg across his ankle.
This time he fell.
The camera angle shifted slightly as both of them hit the ground almost together. Kade landed on his back while Lysa moved immediately, reaching for his throat with ruthless speed. Kade blocked with his forearm and their arms locked together in a tight struggle.
For a heartbeat they remained frozen in that position, their faces inches apart while breath and effort mixed with dust rising from the floor.
Kade laughed.
Even through the screen it sounded breathless.
"Thought you'd be faster," he said.
Then he drove his head forward.
The headbutt snapped Lysa backward. Her body recoiled as if the impact had detonated behind her eyes, and a streak of blood appeared along her brow. Kade rolled over her instantly, his weight pinning her down while his forearm pressed across her throat. The stone beneath her back looked unforgiving.
Lysa twisted and bucked beneath him, trying to break the hold. Kade adjusted his balance smoothly, shifting his weight to hold her in place. The pressure against her throat increased until even Evan could see the strain in the way she struggled to breathe.
Kade leaned closer.
"You hesitate," he said.
Lysa's hand moved.
For a second Evan couldn't tell what she had reached for. Then the knife appeared.
She had hidden it until that moment.
The blade flashed upward in a short, brutal motion that sliced across Kade's side beneath the ribs. The wound was shallow but clearly painful. Kade hissed and instinctively pulled back.
The pressure on her throat loosened for half a second.
That was enough.
Lysa twisted free, rolling out from beneath him and kicking hard enough to send him sprawling away across the stone. Both fighters scrambled back to their feet at nearly the same moment. Their breathing had grown heavier now, and both carried fresh blood across their skin.
Kade's smile was gone.
"Again?" he asked.
Lysa wiped the blood from her eyes and settled back into her stance. Even through the screen Evan could see the strain in the way she moved. Her arms trembled slightly and her ribs tightened with every breath.
Yet she stayed upright.
"So long as you keep getting up," she answered.
This time the distance between them closed quickly.
Whatever discipline had guided the earlier exchange vanished as the fight turned rough and desperate. Elbows, knees, and sudden grapples replaced the careful testing from before. Hands reached for joints and balance. Fingers clawed for leverage and advantage. Every movement looked chosen for survival rather than technique.
To Evan the struggle felt chaotic and mesmerizing at the same time. There were no graceful movements to it. Only two exhausted fighters pushing themselves past their limits in an effort to remain standing longer than the other.
When the fight finally ended there was no dramatic moment announcing it.
Kade lay on his side with shallow breaths rising and falling through his chest. His eyes stared forward without focus.
Lysa stood nearby, her knife hanging loosely in her hand while she watched him for any sign of movement.
None came.
After a long moment she turned and walked away without looking back.