The city center was packed with people, even though twilight had reached its peak. What would soon follow would be passing of judgment for anyone who lingered out of doors.
Lyra hurried along the street, passing others who were also racing to their homes. She expertly wove between the crowd, like the rats below that dived in between their feet.
She passed a man who had a broken nose. And a large pulsating black eye.
A woman comforted him as he cried in pain.
"What were you thinking, Leos?" she demanded. "You can't insult these soldiers. They work for the king, you nitwit. They could have killed you on the spot."
Lyra watched as the man attempted to stop the bleeding. It did not help, as it seeped from his nostrils. Blood was not an uncommon sight in Pricus.
The man's cries of pain followed Lyra as she hastened down the twisted cobblestone streets of the city center. The city center was the heart of the city, and despite the masses that fled many years before, those who stayed proved that the city still had a pulse. However faint.
Lyra finally turned down a quiet street and slowed her pace. A lone shop stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by abandoned, rotting homes. Above it was a large, beaten-down sign: "The Smithery."
She approached the shop. It was dark, and not a peep of a sound came from within its walls.
Lyra's breath quickened as her fingers twisted around the doorknob. She pulled the door open—
THWACKK!
A sword now stood rooted in the door frame, just inches from Lyra's face.
A voice called out from the shadows:
"Sorry about that, love."
A handsome young man appeared, carrying a candle. The light illuminated his face. He had the face and build of someone who had just left his teenage years behind him but was still not quite a man.
He gave Lyra a huge boyish grin.
Lyra glared at him before pulling the sword out of the wood.
"You nearly killed me, Alex," she said, shutting the door and bolting it.
"No, I didn't. Six inches to the left, and I would have killed you. Lucky for you, I have the perfect aim."
Lyra gave a small, sarcastic snort, pushing past him, with the sword still in hand.
She went down a small passageway, heading into a moderately large room. The room had a large, roaring fire and the many tools of a blacksmith. Shiny new weapons that had been commissioned hung on the walls in wait for their new owners.
Alex followed her into the room. He placed the candle on a nearby table.
"So, can I have my sword back?"
Lyra turned around, holding the sword up in a fighting stance.
"I don't know. Can you get it back?" Lyra asked, sarcastically.
He let out another huge grin.
"Oh, Lyra. You sweet fool."