The border gates of Kharzad rose like twin sentinels carved from black basalt and veined with molten gold. Banners of crimson and amber snapped in the dry wind, emblazoned with the roaring dragon emblem of the Emberhold. Guards in scale-mail—human, beastkin, elf, dwarf—stood at attention, spears gleaming.

  Alex and Veyra approached on foot, cloaks dusty from two weeks of travel.

  The moment they stepped into view, every guard on the wall froze.

  One—a lion-maned beastkin with a captain’s plume—dropped his spear with a clatter. Another whispered, voice cracking, “Lady Veyra…”

  A third turned and bolted toward the inner city, shouting over his shoulder. “The princess lives! Inform the king—Lord Veyra has returned!”

  Veyra exhaled slowly, shoulders squaring.

  Alex glanced at her. “They really thought you were gone.”

  “They mourned me,” she said quietly. “ To them I was lost or even just a mindless beast. Both, perhaps.”

  The captain stepped forward, bowing low—deep enough that his mane brushed the ground.

  “Lady Veyra… we did not expect… forgive us. The king will be informed at once. Please, enter. The city awaits you.”

  Veyra inclined her head. “Thank you. We will walk the streets first. I wish to see my home again before the throne.”

  The captain hesitated only a second, then stepped aside.

  Alex followed Veyra through the gates. Kharzad opened before them like a living flame.

  Streets wide and paved with polished red stone wound between buildings of white marble and dark granite, roofs tiled in shimmering copper that caught the sun like fire. Market stalls overflowed with spices, silks, forged weapons, glowing crystals, and roasted meats. Beastkin hawkers called out prices alongside human merchants; elves bartered herbs with dwarven smiths. Laughter, music from bone flutes, the clang of hammers on anvils—it was alive, chaotic, warm.

  Alex stopped walking for a second, just breathing it in. The diversity hit him like a memory.

  Wolf-eared vendors haggling with pointed-eared traders, a human child chasing a fox-tailed girl through the crowd, a dwarf and an orc laughing over mugs at a street-side stall. Languages blending, accents overlapping, skin tones and fur patterns and scales all mixed together without anyone batting an eye. It felt oddly… familiar.

  Chicago on a good day—Michigan Avenue at rush hour, the Loop packed with every kind of person speaking every kind of language, food trucks selling tacos next to halal carts next to deep-dish stands, nobody caring who you were as long as you kept moving.

  He felt a sudden pang of homesickness, sharp and unexpected.

  Veyra noticed him pause. She touched his arm lightly. “You are quiet.”

  Alex gave a small, crooked smile. “It’s just… this place reminds me of home. Chicago. Same energy. Same mix of people who don’t care what you look like as long as you’re not in their way. I didn’t expect to feel that here.”

  Veyra’s eyes softened. “Then Kharzad may feel like a second home to you.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe it already does.”

  *Hey… I did that on purpose,* the author’s voice cut in, softer than usual. *Knew you missed the chaos of a real city. Figured if I couldn’t give you Chicago, I could at least give you something that felt close. You’re welcome, by the way.*

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Alex blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. *You’re from Chicago too?*

  *Born and raised. South Side, actually. Used to grab Polish sausages on 63rd after night shifts. Same smell hits me every time I write a street-food scene.*

  Alex shook his head, still smiling. *You’re a sentimental bastard.*

  *Guilty. Don’t tell the readers. They think I’m just here to torment you.*

  *Your secret’s safe. But… thanks. Really.*

  *Don’t get mushy on me now. You’ve got a dragon princess and her royalty of a family to impress. Make me proud son.*

  Alex glanced at Veyra, who was watching him with quiet curiosity. “The voice?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Turns out he’s from Chicago too. He… made this place feel familiar on purpose.”

  Veyra’s smile warmed. “Then your home is closer than you thought.”

  They kept walking—past a fountain shaped like a coiled dragon breathing water, through an open-air forge where a dwarf and a tiger-beastkin hammered a blade together, into a square where musicians played drums and strings in a circle of dancers.

  Near the square’s edge, a small street vendor had set up a cart selling skewers of spiced meat and flatbread. The smell hit Alex hard—smoky, garlicky, a little like the Polish sausage stands back home during summer festivals.

  He stopped again, staring.

  Veyra followed his gaze. “You recognize that scent?”

  Alex laughed—short, surprised. “Yeah. Back in Chicago, there were food trucks and street vendors everywhere. One guy near my precinct used to sell something almost exactly like this—sausage, onions, peppers, on bread. Called it ‘Chicago-style.’ I’d grab one after a long shift. Tasted like home.”

  Veyra stepped up to the cart, bought two skewers, and handed one to him. “Try it,” she said simply.

  He took a bite. The spices were different—earthier, with a hint of something floral—but the warmth, the char, the comfort of street food in a busy crowd… it was close enough.

  He closed his eyes for a second. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  Veyra took a bite of her own, then leaned against him shoulder-to-shoulder. “We have many such carts in Kharzad,” she said. “And many stories behind them. Perhaps one day you will tell me more of Chicago’s.”

  Alex smiled—real, unguarded. “I only know so much with where and how I grew up, but it’s definitely a deal.”

  A shadow detached from the crowd behind them—tall, hooded, moving too deliberately.

  Alex felt it immediately—the old cop instinct kicking in. Years of walking beats, sensing eyes on his back. He leaned close to Veyra. “We’ve got a tail. Black cloak, left side of the square. Been with us since the gates.”

  Veyra’s eyes flicked sideways—casual, predatory. “Beastkin. Wolf scent. And he’s not alone. Two more, rooftops.”

  Alex cracked his knuckles. “Want to say hello?”

  Her smile was all fangs. “Very much.”

  They turned down a quieter side street—narrow, shadowed, perfect for an ambush.

  The moment they rounded the corner, the tail stepped out—hood down now, revealing a scarred wolf-man with yellow eyes. Behind him, two more beastkin: a bear-kin with a maul, a panther-kin with twin daggers.

  The wolf-man grinned. “Butcher of Valthar. And the Crimson Terror herself. Quite the bounty pair. The bounty says it pays double if we bring both heads.”

  Alex sighed. “Really? Just when I was enjoying the food and wanted to see the kingdom more.”

  Veyra cracked her neck. “They chose the wrong time to come and face us. Tch.”

  The bear-kin charged first—maul raised high. Alex sidestepped, grabbed the haft mid-swing, twisted. Bone snapped. The bear howled as his arm bent backward. Alex drove a knee into his gut—air exploded from lungs—and finished with an elbow to the temple. The beastkin dropped like a felled tree.

  The panther-kin lunged from the side—daggers flashing. Veyra caught one wrist, twisted until it cracked, then slammed the hunter face-first into the wall. Plaster cracked. The second dagger fell.

  The wolf-man snarled, claws extended. “You’ll pay for—”

  Alex stepped inside his reach, palm to chest—once. The wolf flew backward, crashing through a wooden crate. He groaned, trying to rise.

  Veyra walked over, placed a boot on his chest.

  “Tell the bondsmen of Valthar,” she said softly, “the Crimson Terror and the Butcher are no longer for sale. Tread carefully.”

  Flame licked her fingers—brief, warning. The wolf-man went limp, unconscious.

  Alex dusted his hands. “Efficient.”

  *Nice teamwork,* the author quipped. *You two are disgustingly cute even when beating people up.*

  *It’s our charm, what can I say?* Alex chuckled.

  *Yeah, yeah, showoff. But also—heads-up. Word’s spreading fast. That runner from the gate? The king knows you’re here. And now he knows you just dropped three bounty hunters in his streets.*

  Alex glanced at Veyra. “Think your dad will be impressed?”

  She smiled—sharp, proud. “He will be… intrigued.”

  “And what about these losers?” Alex looked at the trail of the unconscious men.

  “Well, knowing my father, he’ll probably throw them in a dungeon or two to punish them for starting an incident,” Veyra explained. “Usually after a day or two, he’ll let them go considering most of the time bounty hunters aren’t tied to any one kingdom.”

  “Noted.”

  They left the unconscious hunters where they lay, letting the city guards deal with them.

  The city continued around them—unaware, alive, welcoming. But the throne waited. And with it, the king. And answers.