News of Carnford's army closing in swept over Prye City's towering walls like an icy tide, seeping into every street and alley, every residence, and every heart.
This capital, once prosperous and bustling, seemed to have worn an entirely different face in just a few days. The bone-deep terror was more biting than the late-autumn wind, leaving everyone with the suffocating feeling that there was nowhere to flee.
The Royal Capital had fallen into unprecedented panic.
The streets that had once thronged with carriages and people were now bleak and deserted. The taverns, teahouses, and silk shops that had once been packed with customers had all shut their doors, notices reading "Temporarily Closed" pasted outside. Some could not even be bothered with a notice, simply barring their doors and falling silent. Now and then, a few pedestrians hurried past with their heads lowered, collars pulled tight and steps brisk, as though afraid someone might set their sights on them. The autumn wind swept dead leaves from the ground, sending them whirling across the empty streets with a rustling whisper that added to the desolation and gloom.
Only outside the few grain shops and apothecaries still open stood long lines of worried people. Some were smartly dressed, clearly butlers or servants from wealthy households; others wore tattered clothes and were plainly the city's impoverished commoners. But at this moment, regardless of wealth or status, the same anxiety and unease were written across every face. Food and medicine—things once readily within reach—had now become scarce supplies more precious than gold.
Prices soared, and grain prices multiplied several times over in only a few days. Even so, there was money to name a price, but no goods to buy. Those unscrupulous merchants who hoarded supplies to profiteer from the crisis were making fortunes