Chapter 8: The Pulse of Jordan
The city of Jordan unfolded before them as they stepped through its towering gates, a vibrant blend of grandeur and grit. Immense stone walls, polished smooth by centuries of weathering, loomed high above, bearing the marks of countless repairs and reinforcements. The gates themselves were imposing—dark iron reinforced with carvings of beasts and ancient sigils that glinted faintly in the moonlight.
Inside, the streets pulsed with life—a sharp contrast to the stillness of the cave and wilderness they'd just left behind. Uneven cobblestones paved the ground, worn smooth by generations of feet and grinding cart wheels. Narrow alleys branched off the main roads like veins, twisting into the city's maze-like depths where secrets thrived in silence.
The buildings near the entrance were modest, made from timber and stone. Age clung to their walls—cracks, peeling paint, and wooden shutters that creaked in the evening breeze. Lanterns dangled from iron brackets, their flames flickering in the wind, casting jittery shadows that danced across worn facades.
The air buzzed with scents and sounds—an intricate tapestry of city life. The aroma of spiced meats roasted over open flames mixed with the tang of fresh bread and the sharp bite of burning coal from distant forges.
Above, the hum of magical streetlights mingled with the earthy smoke drifting on the breeze. Vendors shouted over one another, their offers and bargains colliding.
Further in, the streets widened and straightened, giving way to the district of wealth and refinement. Here, buildings rose taller, their stonework smoother, etched with carvings of mythical beasts and curling vines. Iron-grilled windows flickered with golden light, hinting at opulence within. Magical lampposts lined the roads at perfect intervals, their flames steady and pale, casting a calm, even glow on the pristine streets.
The marketplace spread before them like the city's heart, vibrant even under moonlight. Stalls were draped in deep fabrics—royal purples and ocean blues. Trinkets glittered beneath lantern light. Carts brimmed with spices, dried fruits, and jewels, their owners haggling with cloaked figures and noble patrons alike. The low murmur of deals, the clink of coins, and occasional bursts of laughter filled the air.
Above it all, the palace of Jordan towered over the city—a gleaming monument to ambition. Its white marble walls, lined with gold, shimmered beneath the stars. Sharp-edged towers pierced the sky, the symmetry of its design stark against the city's tangled chaos. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the palace gardens, where hedges and flowers bloomed in impossible colors, meticulously arranged and jealously maintained.
But beyond the polish, the shadows waited.
In the alleys and lesser-known streets, the light of the enchanted lanterns waned, replaced by the dim glow of rusted sconces and dying flames. Cobblestones cracked and cluttered with scraps, bottles, and forgotten remnants of survival. Figures moved in silence, slipping between buildings, their steps quick and careful. These were the lungs of the city, breathing secrets and silence.
Jordan was a contradiction—brilliant and brutal. A monument to humanity's reach, yet riddled with the rot of what it chose to ignore.
As they walked into the darkening city, Noir broke the silence, his voice lilting with mischief.
"What has many mouths but cannot bite?"
"A comb," Zuka answered flatly, not missing a step.
"What casts no light but is seen most clearly?" Noir asked next, unfazed.
"A shadow."
Noir's grin widened. "What is a nation without a leader?"
Zuka sighed. "Why do you choose to annoy me?"
"Because change is coming, dear brother," Noir replied with a cryptic smile. "These riddles are warnings, echoes of the past. The nations we now tread were once strong… until they ignored such signs. Now they're nothing but ruins we pass through."
Zuka fell silent, chewing on the words. After a pause, Noir's voice came again, softer now, but firm.
"From here on… let me do the talking."
Zuka gave a slight nod.