A shadow briefly covered the walls, making the flames of the torches lining the long corridor flicker. There were no guards that night, and the stranger took full advantage of it. He moved in near-total silence, leaving the inhabitants of the building in deep slumber. With a precise, noiseless gesture, he opened a door and slipped to the edge of a bed. A man lay there, deeply asleep.

  A dwindling candle illuminated the scene, its flame trembling and on the verge of extinction. The man was lying on his back, hands folded over his stomach, looking peaceful. His deep breathing broke the silence reigning in the room. He lay in the position of the dead.

  The intruder suddenly drew a blade, sharpened to perfection. It reflected the halo of the flickering flame.

  With a flawless motion, the stranger slashed the sleeping man's throat deeply. His final breath was no more than a faint spasm, leaving him in his initial position—the position of the dead. At that precise moment, the small candle went out, plunging the room into stillness and coolness. The assassin had disappeared.

  ...

  He woke up. The heat was pounding at the back of his skull. He rubbed his temples to gather his senses. He was home. It was his day off, and he had asked his wife not to wake him. While massaging his head, he got up and walked to the kitchen. His wife was waiting for him, seated at the table, cutting vegetables for soup.

  - Good morning, wife.

  - Good morning. Did you sleep well?

  - Yes.

  Sighing, he sat down across from her, gazing into her blue eyes. He spoke then.

  - Times are getting worse.

  His wife, raising her head with a concerned expression, asked:

  - Oh? Shaka had the same impression yesterday. He shared his concerns with me.

  - I can imagine. Shaka is part of the royal guard too. He must feel the tension in the air.

  - How do you explain it?

  - I'm not sure. For years now, we've been seeing an increase in religious power, as if...

  He lowered his voice.

  - As if the King had gradually forgotten our efforts in recent years, as if he wanted to go back in time, as if...

  He whispered even more softly.

  - As if old age had made him lose his memory and pushed him to listen to the first slightly pious person who came along

  His wife turned around, looking down the hallway as though checking to make sure no one had overheard her husband. She replied,

  - You should be careful.

  - Yes, you're right.

  With those words, he got up.

  - I'll have dinner later. I'm not hungry. I need to step outside to have my armor inspected.

  His wife nodded. He left, walked down the hallway, and found himself in the central courtyard. He lived in the royal barracks, a dormitory provided free of charge by the crown in exchange for pledging allegiance to the kingdom. Many of the guards lived there with their wives and children. The barracks were about an hour's walk from the city center and the King's Palace—a relatively short distance within the city's scale.

  This was Fort-Dragor, the largest city-state in the world, home to nearly a million inhabitants. The city was so vast it was divided into districts called Dragorites, governed by officials known as Tsev. There were ten in total. The city sprawled for miles, its size owed to the Dvou River and the desert stretching far on either side. The sea opened it to the world, while the surrounding land isolated it. This combination made it an impregnable fortress. On the water, Fort-Dragor was untouchable, with a naval fleet numbering hundreds of ships. It had demonstrated its superiority for decades before settling into a period of peaceful prosperity. Though rumored to be weaker now, no one in the world dared to challenge it.

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  He snapped out of his thoughts as the street's ambient noise brought him back to reality. He smiled. This city was his to defend. Even though he had only drawn his sword once during his career, he remained proud. As he walked, he greeted the fishmonger, returned a smile, and continued on his way.

  The cobbler, a bit farther down the road, greeted him:

  - You look well today! Still wearing that armband, I see. I hope your wife is doing well.

  -Still here. And thank you for its sturdiness and...

  He glanced at his arm. The armband, a gift from his wife months—maybe even a year—ago, was something he cherished deeply.

  - ...and its beauty,

  he finished.

  - Always a pleasure, brother.

  He winked and continued on his way. Though he rarely visited this area due to his demanding work, seeing these familiar faces, smiles and the smells always warmed his heart.

  Each district of the city had its unique ambiance and story. That was the beauty and strength of Fort-Dragor. He lived in the First Tsev, adjacent to the palace district, along with the third, fourth, sixth, and seventh Tsev. The remaining districts were organized around them.

  Despite the King's authority, each Tsev had its own leader and could establish its own rules. The King had oversight but rarely intervened, historically avoiding revolts or conflicts by leaving the Tsev relatively autonomous.

  Without meaning to, before reaching the blacksmith, he accidentally bumped into a passerby. The royal guard was a broad-shouldered man, standing nearly six feet one, towering over most of the population. Sometimes he forgot his size, frequently bumping into furniture, doorways, or people. Raising a hand, he apologized to the elderly man before noticing his pendant—a circle of iron with a complex geometric design at its center, the symbol of devotion to the religion that, to him, was slowly corrupting the city.

  Sighing, he turned his back on the man, apologized once more with a wave, and arrived at Froyden's shop. Froyden was the most renowned blacksmith in the First Tsev, trusted by the royal guard for his craftsmanship and offering discounts to the city's guards.

  Standing before the shop, Bodes waited patiently for Froyden to finish hammering a bar of glowing-hot metal before interrupting him.

  - Good day, Froyden. I'm Bodes from the royal guard.

  The blacksmith looked up.

  - Yes, your face looks familiar.

  Lifting the bar to plunge it into a bucket of water, he asked,

  - What can I do for you?

  - I came to have my armor inspected. I've had it for five years now, and our captain ordered us to have it checked to ensure our training hasn't compromised its integrity.

  - All right, leave it here. I'll take care of it by tomorrow.

  - I need to be back at the royal guard by tomorrow.

  Froyden raised his hand to take the royal guard's breastplate.

  - I'll look at it right away, if that's all right with you.

  Bodes removed his armor and handed it over. With a firm grip, the blacksmith took it and began examining it with a magnifying glass. After just a few minutes, Froyden announced that everything was in excellent condition. There were a few minor scratches here and there, but nothing that would compromise the armor's robustness.

  - If you're picky, you could replace the belt connecting the two breastplates, but even that's optional.

  - All right, thank you. How much do I owe you?

  - Nothing.

  - Thank you, Froyden. Have a good day.

  The blacksmith returned the courtesy and went back to work.

  Bodes had suspected as much—his captain was overly cautious, and five years of use wasn't enough to damage a royal guard's armor, especially without seeing battle. But orders were orders, and he never disobeyed them.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since last night's supper. He looked forward to the meal his wife had likely prepared during his absence. Rarely home, he had completed his task quickly to spend more time with her.

  The sun was at its zenith, beating down relentlessly. The narrow streets of the First Tsev were far less airy and spacious than those of the royal district. Though accustomed to wearing his armor in all weather, the heat, noise, and dense crowds made this an especially grueling walk.

  In the First Tsev, they didn't have the cooling proximity of the Dvou River, unlike the Eighth Tsev. And the Ninth Tsev, closest to the desert, must have been unbearably hot. Wiping his forehead, Bodes decided to stop by Durnoret's shop, the cobbler, to ask for some water. While there, Durnoret offered to inspect the armor's leather straps as well.

  The water was refreshing. After a quick inspection, Durnoret reassured him that everything was in perfect condition. As Bodes prepared to leave, Durnoret placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered,

  - Good luck in the coming days.

  Bodes frowned and asked warily,

  - What's that supposed to mean?

  Caught off guard, the cobbler stammered before leaning closer and whispering again,

  - The counselor of the Second Tsev was found murdered in his home.