Even amid such a chaotic period, the joyous effervescence of the grand city remained unstirred. 

Enclosed by its thick impenetrable walls that divided the various districts in tiers, albeit, on the off chance of a siege, a multitude of protocols and procedures were put in place to guarantee the safety of the residents. Furthermore, the people of Igerene were the competitive sort— as faithful devotees of the spirit of war, in the event of this hypothetical invasion, he wagered that they would likely view it as akin to a sport— as if it was no different than those invigorating brawls hosted at the local colosseum. 

Not to mention, every Igerenian was practically born with bloated pride due to their country’s long-standing streak of victories— defeat or relative synonyms simply did not exist in the native dictionary. Losing was simply unthinkable, and so, they could go about their daily routines as normal, indulging themselves in uninhibited gaiety and wartime gossip.  

The name “Alirense” was derived from that of the first king, the offspring of the legendary Drucilla. His temperament heavily clashed with that of his predecessor: he disliked conflict and spent most of his tenure tackling economic and social issues, and treated both his own citizens and their neighbors with due respect and kindness. Though they initially spurned his pacifistic approach to rulership, as time went on, he was eventually worshiped as a martyr— and they ultimately decided to honor his memory by redubbing their glorious capital accordingly.

It was rather suiting, Jevon believed: it was a truly marvelous city (almost as beautiful as he had been.) Constructed around vast intercutting waterways, dappled with droves upon droves of gondolas that acted as common transport or, in some cases— to tour awestruck tourists and mushy couples across the rich topography of the metropolis upon waves of an almost translucent blue. 

The townhouses and churches and interconnecting bridges were of sturdy masonry, great arcades, elegant pilasters, and ornamented columns. This specific architectural design had been adapted from the Kingdom of Asteros— well, “adapted” was too kind of a term— it was more so stolen— alongside various other cultural aspects from their neighbors to the south— Asteros— which was no doubt one of the many reasons their current working relationship was less than amicable.  

The city enjoyed its great monuments and vibrant murals of nude muses and prideful warriors and ornate chariots sculpted by talented and intelligent artisans. As something of an artist himself, he always found himself agog when coming across some of these breathtaking showpieces. That also applied to the various buildings and other architectural achievements as well. Within the Noble District that underscored the fortress-like walls of the ever-looming Castle Montague— a vigilant guardian that sat at the summit of the city. They happened to pass by the Basilica of Drucilla, a famous cathedral of graceful spires, firm buttresses, and polished stained glass. Unlike the greater sum of the populace, he was not an avid worshiper; however, he could identify an inventive triumph when he saw it. 

Ultimately, their journey had led them to the Common District, replete with simple townhouses. commodious thoroughfares, and busy intersections. It was around midafternoon, so the tumultuous hustle and bustle of lunchtime was beginning to dwindle much to his relief. However, within such a populous place, there would always be a crowd— and he would always find himself a bit suffocated one way or another. 

So, he tricked himself into focusing on the smaller, less explosive facets of his surroundings— such as the ongoing street performance a little ahead of them featuring a jazz group with trumpets and drums, though it was regrettably overshadowed by the crazed brouhaha. Giggling children and yipping dogs were chasing each other up and down the walkways, sparking disgruntled reactions as older townsfolk cleared the path. 

There was also an overabundance of strays, namely felines of various colors and shapes— resting upon barrels, sprawled out under makeshift sunshades, or roosting on high balconies. He noticed that there was foliage crawling up the walls of the more ancient structures alongside beauteous wreaths of flowers dangling from arches and overhanging railings accompanied by decorative potteries and other floral displays. Paths of almond cobblestone and striking tessellations and mosaics.  

“Now this provides some ample breathing room, does it not? I cannot imagine how anybody could stand being cooped up in such a tight little space for so long,” said Xolani. “You’ll end up overworking yourself to the point of wrinkles, doll. And nobody wants that— achoo!” Xolani briefly rubbed at their runny nose and hastily righted their posture thereafter, loudly and dramatically clearing their throat. “Okay, well, it is pollen season... but still! Taste that fresh air— it’s marvelous, is it not?”  

“I’ll admit I’ve been wanting to go out and stretch my limbs for a bit, but…” 

“Well, this is all about you, honey,” his friend came to an abrupt pause and twirled around, seizing his hands and giving them a firm squeeze. “Where would you like to go? Perhaps to the theater? According to the reviews, their latest adaptation, something, something, the Woe of a Fair Maiden... has been making literary headlines. Or perhaps a leisurely cruise through the city? Well, actually, we both know how seasick I can get... hm... Are you interested in shopping for some new clothes?” They released one of his hands to pinch the fabric of his sleeve in appraisal. “These ones are getting kind of ratty, aren’t they?”  

“I... It’s all right, Xolani. These clothes are fine. You have already done so much for me already— it would be selfish to ask for more,” he reassured softly. 

“Nonsense! My darling Jevon deserves everything in the world and boatloads more! Come now, there’s no need to be so modest— just say the word, and Auntie Xolani will do everything that is within their power to grant it, yes?” Jevon could not fathom as to why Xolani felt compelled to pamper him as much as they did— he supposed this parent-like overprotectiveness was merely something of a defining trait of theirs— one that has refused to wane as years have passed. He was appreciative, though, at the same time, he could not help but think that he was undeserving of such... well, attentiveness. 

“... Do you have any other suggestions?” He tried— hoping that they could settle on a less costly alternative. Xolani seemed to put on their metaphorical thinking cap, their eye flickering away for a moment. Then, Jevon could practically espy that light bulb of genius pop above their head, and he was tugged eagerly.  

“There’s this new hotspot that’s opened up downtown— Caffè Verona— as a fellow connoisseur of tooth-decaying delicacies, I can safely assure you that the hype is by no means exaggerated! Their tiramisu is just... ugh! It was like a piece of heaven in my mouth, darling. I’ve got to show you. Let’s go!” 

Well, the prospect of gorging on scrumptious desserts was exciting, both he and his rumbling stomach agreed— so he allowed himself to be shepherded away without retaliation.