The town appeared like a mirage first—splashes of color flickering between trees and low hills—then resolved into something vibrant and undeniably alive.
Canopies of fabric stretched over winding streets, layered one above another like petals of a vast flower. Dresses hung from wooden frames, their skirts wide and dramatic, embroidered with gold thread, glass beads, and shimmering dyes that caught the light with every breeze. Umbrellas spun lazily overhead, painted in swirling patterns of suns, moons, and unfamiliar symbols. Laughter rang out, music drifted from somewhere deeper in the market, and the air smelled of flour, sugar, perfume, and warm oil.
Lira's breath caught.
"Oh," she murmured, eyes wide. "This place is—"
"Alive," Rose finished with a grin. "Yes. This is one of my favorites."
