At the fountain in the center of the square, water cascades from the mouth of a carved stone dragon. Children chase each other between the legs of merchants, their laughter bright against the murmur of haggling voices.

A woman with flour-dusted hands arranges golden loaves on a wooden counter. A dwarf in chainmail inspects a blade at the smithy's stall, turning it this way and that to catch the light.

It's the kind of morning that feels ordinary. Safe. The kind of morning that makes you forget the world has claws.