Chapter 293: The Capital The capital hit Finn like a wave.
Not the kind you see coming. The kind that crashes over you before you even know you’re in the water.
One moment he was walking through a gate, squinting at guards who didn’t look twice at a scruffy kid and a tired stranger. The next, he was standing at the mouth of a canyon made of stone and glass and towers that scraped the sky.
His feet stopped moving.
His mouth fell open.
"Lucian," he whispered.
"I see it."
"How do people live here?"
"They just do." Lucian stood beside him, hands in his pockets, watching the city with the same tired eyes he used for everything. But there was something else there too. Something that might have been... amusement.
Finn didn’t notice. He was too busy staring.
The main avenue stretched before them, wide enough for ten carriages to ride side by side. Cobblestones so smooth they looked polished. Streetlamps made of wrought iron and enchanted crystals that glowed soft blue even in daylight. Buildings four, five, six stories tall, their windows sparkling, their doors painted in colors Finn didn’t have names for.
People flowed around them like water around stones. Nobles in silk robes. Merchants in embroidered vests. Mages in the distinctive grey and silver of the Academy, their badges glinting on their chests.
No one looked hungry.
No one looked scared.
No one looked like they’d ever slept in an alley with rats for company.
"It’s like a different world," Finn said.
"It is a different world." Lucian nudged him forward. "Keep walking. You’ll get run over."
Finn walked. But his head kept turning. Left at a fountain shaped like a dragon breathing water. Right at a shop window full of wands and staffs and crystals in every color. Straight ahead at a statue of some old king on a horse, the metal so polished Finn could see his own reflection in the horse’s flank.
"There’s so many people," he said.
"About two million, last I checked."
"How do you know that?"
"I asked."
"When?"
"While you were gawking at the dragon fountain."
Finn tore his gaze away from a passing carriage—a real carriage, with actual horses, not the rickety carts he was used to—and looked at Lucian. "You can just... ask things? And the city answers?"
"The city doesn’t answer. People do. You just have to know who to ask."
"That’s not fair."
Lucian almost smiled. "Nothing is."
They crossed a bridge over a canal. Below, boats drifted lazily, carrying tourists and lovers and merchants too wealthy to walk. The water was so clear Finn could see fish swimming. Real fish. Not the grey, half-dead things that survived in the canals back home.
"I could live here," Finn said.
"You haven’t even seen where you’re sleeping."
"I could sleep on the street here. It’s cleaner than my old room."
Lucian snorted. It was almost a laugh. "Your standards are concerning."
"My standards kept me alive."
They walked in silence for a bit. The crowd thinned as they moved away from the main avenue, into a district of smaller streets and older buildings. Still nice. Still clean. But less... overwhelming.
Finn spotted a bakery. The smell hit him like a second wave. Fresh bread. Pastries. Something with cinnamon.
"Can we—" he started.
"No."
"But I have money now—"
"Later." Lucian pointed at a building ahead. Grey stone, iron gates, a plaque with words Finn couldn’t read. "That’s an inn. We’re staying there."
"It looks expensive."
"It’s not."
"How do you know?"
Lucian pulled another coin from his pocket—gold this time, not silver. "Because I’m paying."
Finn stared at the coin. Then at Lucian. "You’re going to ruin me."
"Probably."
They reached the inn. A woman behind the counter took one look at Lucian’s coin and found them a room without asking questions. Two beds. A window that opened. A washbasin with actual soap.
Finn sat on the edge of his bed and didn’t move for a full minute.
"This is real?" he asked.
"The bed is real."