Draven’s POV
The market smells like roasted chestnuts, wet cobblestones, and the breath of magic, hits me before the noise does. All around the market, neon signs bleed bruised-purple light across the crowded stalls while the setting sun fades overhead.
I'm carrying three canvas bags. My arms are getting tired, but I'm a dragon, so I just complain louder instead of putting them down.
"If I drop these, I'm billing Titus for emotional distress," I mutter.
Soren doesn't even look back. He's too busy inspecting a row of enchanted lanterns.
Around us, the market feels alive and bubbling. A group of badger-shifters is loudly haggling with a harpy over a bolt of silk. An independent witch sells bottled shadows out of a wooden cart, while a troll craftsman hammers glowing iron into shape t
