The marketplace was alive with energy, overflowing with the scent of spices, grilled food, and the distant murmur of street musicians. People moved in waves, drawn by the dazzling lights of luxury boutiques and the vibrant calls of vendors selling handcrafted jewelry and silk scarves. Somewhere in the midst of this controlled chaos, a sudden commotion broke through the usual hum of the crowd.

A sleek black motorcycle roared to a stop on the curb, turning heads as its rider dismounted with an effortless grace. Golden hair gleamed under the streetlights, slightly tousled by the ride, while sharp, sunlit golden eyes scanned the crowd with the lazy confidence of someone used to being the center of attention.

He moved with the air of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere, his tailored leather jacket unzipped just enough to reveal the defined lines of his collarbone and a silver pendant resting against his tanned skin. As he strode into the crowd, people instinctively made way for him—not out of fear, but because his presence was impossible to ignore. Conversations faltered, eyes lingered, and a few admiring glances were exchanged behind his back. Yet, despite his apparent ease, there was a restless energy about him, like a lion in a gilded cage, pacing but never truly at rest. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, his sharp gaze locked onto something.