The marketplace should have been alive by now.

There should have been shouting—merchants arguing over who lost what, sellers dragging broken carts back into place, voices rising in desperation and resolve. Hammers should’ve been pounding. Coins should’ve been clinking. The chaos of rebuilding should’ve filled the streets by first light.

But it didn’t.

The storm had left the market in pieces—splintered wood, soaked fabrics, crushed goods strewn across the street like the aftermath of a siege. The air hung thick with the stench of rain-rotted produce, wet parchment, and dye bleeding from torn banners into muddy water.

Yet no one spoke.

No one moved.

Merchants stood among the wreckage, frozen in place, fingers brushing over ruined wares like they were trying to remember how to work.

A few had started early. Quietly. Shuffling through debris, setting aside what could be salvaged.

Now they stood still.

All eyes turned—not to their stalls, not to the storm’s destruction.

But to the cathedral.

A scurry of movement broke the stillness.

A rat darted across the street, fur slick, eyes wide. Then another. Then a dozen more. In moments, the alleys and gutters were alive with them, swarming, racing, fleeing. Not scavenging. Not hiding.

Running.

Crows, usually perched like black-cloaked judges on rooftops and gutters, shrieked once and took to the sky, their wings slicing through the morning light in chaotic bursts. Not circling. Not watching.

Leaving.

And then… nothing.

No flies. No beetles. No buzzing around the rot.

The pests were gone.

A man gripped the edge of a broken stall, knuckles white. His voice cracked like old wood.

“The rats… the birds… even the insects…”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

The silence carried the rest for him.

Heads turned. Travelers, merchants, guards—they all looked toward the towering spires of Vayrith-Kaelos.

And then, the wind stopped.

Completely.

What little breeze had stirred the torn flags and swaying cloth vanished. The air collapsed around them—thick, oppressive, watching.

Even the puddles fell still.

No footsteps.

No breath.

No sound.

The marketplace, once a place of trade, of life, of noise, now felt like the pause before something broke.

No one knew why.

But they all felt it.

Something was coming.