The inn’s door slams behind us and the city’s air hits my face, brisk and sharp, clearing some of the noise in my head but sharpening every sense until I feel half wild, the world prickling across my skin. Master’s hand finds my shoulder for a heartbeat, steadying me, then we’re moving.
I pick up the scent of the Sapphire Guild recruiter instantly. His cologne is all expensive spice, but under it is sweat, ink, city dust, the residue of people used to making deals, not fighting for their lives. My ears pivot, tracking every echo, every set of footsteps through the square. I catch the memory of his voice, the cadence, the way he carried himself, and it’s child’s play to follow, especially now, hyper focused, nerves sparking.
We cut through the central square again, lamps flickering off the admin hub’s stone pillars. City scribes and guild officials linger at the steps, some glancing our way, most minding their business. Master doesn’t slow, doesn’t let anyone’s gaze stick, he’s the one with somewhere to be, and anyone in our path just steps aside. The whole city feels awake, alive, but subdued beneath the surface.
North of the hub, the main road runs straight, but we veer east at the first break, the scent of the market still lingering from earlier. Stalls are shuttered now, their awnings pulled tight against the night. Behind the market, the buildings change, larger, spaced out, each one a testament to someone’s wealth or ambition, stone and glass set apart by patches of lawn and careful hedges.
The Sapphire Guild’s banner hangs high. Their guildhall stands a little apart from the others, a curious, angular structure, less fortress than statement. The walls are a mix of stone blocks, clean lines broken by gold edged windows and trim. Skylights of heavy blue glass crown the roof, letting moonlight spill into the upper floor, and wide steps lead up to double doors of polished oak reinforced with iron.
Two lanterns burn at the entrance, casting harsh shadows along the gold painted trim. The outer walls are set with geometric patterns, almost like a puzzle or lock, and every corner is just a bit too sharp, as if built to intimidate as much as welcome. A pair of guards stand just inside the doors, each with a blue sash over practical armour.
The front steps creak a little under our weight. The air is cooler here, quieter. My heart races, caffeine surging, making my claws itch and my ears twitch, every instinct alive with the possibilities in this den of merchants and cutthroats.
Master pauses, takes it all in, his eyes flick over the design, the guards, the strange, open feel of the place. He’s reading it the way he reads every battlefield, exits, choke points, the likely location of the power behind the doors. I wait half a step behind him, tail coiling, my posture half feral, half composed.
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He nods once at the guards, who open the doors with a silent efficiency, letting us step inside. I slip in at Master’s heel, eyes wide.
The doors swing open and we step inside. The first room is a statement in itself, a wide, high ceilinged lobby paved with pale stone tiles polished to a near mirror finish. Gold trimmed archways line the walls, leading off to side chambers, each guarded by a heavy wooden door with brass hardware. The ceiling is criss crossed with exposed beams, and soft blue glass lamps hang down in even rows, washing the whole space in a cool, expensive glow. On the far side, a wide staircase spirals up, lined with wrought iron railings, and between the stair and the entryway stands a broad reception desk of dark wood.
Behind the desk, a clerk sits, an older woman with sharp eyes, her hair in a tidy braid, wearing a blue sash with the Sapphire sigil. She looks up as we enter, her expression a careful mask of politeness, eyes scanning us both, the collar, the blood, the posture, the undeniable presence of Master striding through the doors as if he owns the place. She starts to open her mouth with some bland greeting, but I’m already moving..
Caffeine, pride, and the memory of violence drive me. I stalk forward, claws clicking on the stone, tail lashing behind me, every muscle tight with adrenaline and the thrill of putting every eye in the room on us. My voice rings out, loud and unashamed, echoing up into the rafters: “My Master is here, your Sapphire man requested his presence. Someone of importance had better hurry, because not every day do you get the honour of the Master and his cat in your precious hall.” I sneer the last words, letting everyone know I mean it. There is no humility, no apology, just a raw, demanding pride.
A few heads turn from side rooms, curious or wary, but the clerk doesn’t blink. She barely reacts to my display, though I catch a twitch of respect in the lines of her mouth, and maybe a hint of fear. She gives a slight bow to Master, then to me, all ceremony. “Yes, I’ve been informed of your arrival. You’re expected.” She pulls open a drawer, retrieves two small badges, enamel, sapphire blue, etched with the guild’s mark and the symbols for “guest” and “honour.” She hands them over, her hand steady as stone.
“Wear these while inside. They’ll ensure you aren’t disturbed or challenged.” She glances at the guards stationed at the main hall, then signals two forward, both tall, both armed, eyes sharp but not unfriendly. “You’ll be escorted upstairs. The hall’s leaders are waiting for you in the upper council chambers.”
I take the badge, pinning it to my tunic with a flair, making sure everyone sees the new mark of access. Master takes his in silence, nodding once, his approval radiates through the bond, a surge of satisfaction and anticipation. The guards fall into step around us, not quite close enough to crowd, but close enough to make it clear we’re important, at least for tonight.
