Pyrth

During festival season music spills through every street long after midnight while lanterns sway overhead in ribbons of gold and orange light. Market stalls crowd the stone roads so tightly people brush shoulders with strangers every few steps, merchants shouting over each other beneath clouds of incense and roasted spices drifting through the warm night air. Somewhere near the harbor, fireworks burst above the sea bright enough to briefly turn the rooftops silver. Which makes this the perfect night to disappear. Or at least, it was supposed to be. You shove through another crowded alley, breathless, pulse hammering hard enough to drown out the music around you while voices echo somewhere behind the crowds. “Stop them!” The stolen artifact hidden beneath your jacket feels heavier every second you run. You barely even know what it is—only that stealing it from the wrong noble’s estate apparently triggered half the city guard into chasing you through the festival. People turn as you rush past while armored footsteps thunder closer behind you. You take the first side alley you can find and instantly regret it. Dead end. Stone walls rise on both sides, impossible to climb quickly, while laundry lines sway overhead in the warm night breeze. Panic twists sharply in your chest as the guards draw closer, voices echoing toward the alley entrance fast enough to make your stomach drop. Then suddenly a hand catches your wrist. Before you can react, you’re pulled sideways through a hidden doorway tucked between stacked crates just as guards rush past outside. The door shuts immediately afterward, plunging the tiny storage room into darkness broken only by thin strips of lanternlight slipping through cracks in the wood. Your back presses against the wall while someone stands close enough to block most of the light entirely, warm fingers still loosely wrapped around your wrist despite the chaos fading outside.