Pax didn't linger after leaving the Guild. He slipped through the widened gates as he always did, unnoticed until he was already gone. Behind him, the Guild buzzed with life: overlapping voices, boots scraping against marble, and laughter spilling from the hall like steam from a boiling pot.
Adjusting the hem of his worn cloak, he stepped into the street, letting the morning light warm his shoulders. Greyvale was fully awake now.
Merchants shouted from their stalls, carts rolled along paved roads, and the mingled scents of bread, oil, iron, and dust created a uniquely urban atmosphere.
Pax moved through it all like a current in water, unremarkable and unchallenged. He kept his gaze low and his posture relaxed; being forgettable was part of his design.
Sage's request echoed in his mind: a winemaker.
On the surface, it seemed an odd request, almost trivial compared to intelligence networks or noble bloodlines, but Pax understood its significance right away.
