19th Summer, 512
Cairo rushed down the main street, rain pounding the cobblestones and lightning crackling in the distance. He had been forced to leave his horse, Dalka in a stable in the Southern Trading Post, back on the Lakeshore, with his tent and all the other things that he didn’t need whilst in the city. His fathers sword swung at his hip and his bag was slung over his shoulder as he ran deeper into the floating city, eyes scanning for a place to stay.
He was cold, chilled to the bone and his clothes completely soaked through, coat trailing across the filthy ground as he slipped and slide down the street. His boots where full of water, which sloshed around every time he took a step and his bag, which thumped against his back, and everything inside it was most likely ruined.
To say he was annoyed would be an understatement. The sailors that he had come here with had assured him that the weather would be warm and dry for the remainder of the week and that there would be many inns willing to accept him. So far each one he had stopped at had taken one look at him and ordered that he left. Was he really that intimidating!?
His eyes fixed on a sign at a store front. ‘Fortune teller’ it read simply...