Zephyra walked through the bustling marketplace of Elyrion, her presence almost unnoticed amidst the human crowd. Draped in a flowing robe that concealed her lush, divine attire, she moved with the grace of the wind itself. Her black braided arm cuffs and matching top and skirt were subtle yet elegant, the dark fabric hinting at her otherworldly origins. Her laced sandals and the circle jewelry she wore were hidden beneath her robe, tucked out of sight from prying eyes.
She couldn’t help but admire the creations around her—handcrafted trinkets, delicate jewelry, and intricate wood carvings. The human ability to shape imagination into form never ceased to fascinate her. Gods like herself were born to fulfill their duties, tethered to their elemental roles, never truly creating. Humans, in their imperfection, could fashion entire worlds from their hands.
Her fingers brushed over a small wooden figurine displayed by an old merchant. The figure depicted an ancient tribal symbol, one that Zephyra recognized from her previous life on the human realm. It was a piece of her past, a reminder of a time when she had walked among mortals more freely. A quiet smile touched her lips as she marveled at the irony—these symbols, once lost to time, had endured.
Suddenly, the sound of gasps rippled through the crowd. A commotion erupted in the plaza ahead, followed by the frantic clattering of boots against cobblestones. Zephyra’s eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze toward the disturbance. Guards were chasing someone, their armor clanking loudly as they sprinted past. Whatever was unfolding, it had captured the attention of the entire market.