"North Gate," one of the adventurers says. "Always busy this time of day."

  Tara tries to see more, but his vision is limited. He can sense the gate's structure, the flow of people moving through it, the guards checking travelers. The city beyond is a blur of activity—buildings, streets, people moving in all directions.

  They approach the gate, and Tara can hear the guards speaking.

  "—adventurers?" one guard asks.

  "Returning from a dungeon run," Garrick replies. "Got some loot to sell."

  "Standard inspection," the guard says. "Open your bags."

  Tara feels a moment of panic. Are they going to take him out? But the bag is opened, someone looks inside, and then it is closed again.

  "Looks fine," the guard says. "Welcome to Valdris. Watch your step—streets are crowded today."

  They pass through the gate, and Tara can sense the change immediately. The sounds multiply—voices, footsteps, the clatter of carts, the calls of merchants. The air feels different, thicker somehow, full of the smells of a city—food, smoke, people, magic.

  The gate itself is massive, thick stone walls rising high above, with watchtowers that seem to pierce the sky. Through the bag, Tara can sense the guards' eyes scanning the crowds, their weapons glinting in the sunlight. The walls are ancient, weathered stone that has seen centuries of use, but they're well-maintained, reinforced with magical barriers that pulse faintly with protective energy.

  "We are here finally!" Garrick says, his voice muffled by the bag. "Let's find an inn and get wasted! Haha!"

  "Yes, but don't create a ruckus like you did last time," a female voice replies—Tara thinks it might be the healer. "Remember what happened at the Royal Mug? You broke three chairs and almost got us thrown out."

  "That was different," Garrick protests. "That guy was asking for it."

  "The guy was just sitting there, Garrick," Kira says. "You started the fight because you thought he was copying your style just because he had a scar like you."

  "Kira's right," Elena adds. "We're here to sell loot and relax, not start bar fights. Can you manage that for one night?"

  "Fine, fine," Garrick grumbles. "I'll be on my best behavior. But I'm still getting a drink. Or three."

  "Just don't make us carry you back to the inn again," Kira says with a laugh.

  "Or pay for damages," Elena adds. "We need the money from this haul."

  Tara tries to observe the city through the bag. Buildings rise around them—stone structures, some tall, some short. The architecture is a mix of styles: older buildings with thick walls and small windows, newer ones with larger windows and decorative facades.

  The streets branch in multiple directions, some wide enough for carts to pass side by side, others narrow alleys that twist between buildings. The ground beneath them is cobblestone, worn smooth by countless footsteps, and Tara can sense the difference between the main thoroughfares—wide, well-maintained, bustling with activity—and the side streets—narrower, quieter, more intimate.

  A merchant with a booming voice shouts about fresh apples, his cart piled high with red fruit. Two children dart between the legs of adults, their laughter cutting through the noise. A burly man strains under the weight of a wooden crate, his face red, sweat dripping down his temples. A carriage rolls past, its sides painted with a golden crest, and the crowd instinctively shifts to make way—people pressing against walls, stepping into doorways, creating a clear path.

  But it isn't just people. Through the bag, Tara can sense other beings too. There are figures with animal features—beastmen! A wolf-like man carries a heavy crate, his muscles rippling. A bird-person perches on a rooftop, watching the crowds below.

  A woman with a metal collar around her neck follows behind a well-dressed man, her gaze fixed on the ground, her steps careful and measured. Another slave—a young man with a brand on his arm—carries packages for his master, his shoulders hunched, his movements automatic. It makes Tara uncomfortable, seeing people treated like property, but in a way he is also the same.

  He can sense shops, stalls, signs hanging above doorways. Enchanted signs glow softly, magical barriers shimmer around certain buildings, and the very stones underfoot seem to pulse with faint energy. Some shops have animated signs—a hammer that swings itself, a potion bottle that bubbles continuously, a sword that rotates slowly.

  It is overwhelming. So much activity, so much life, so much happening all at once. Humans, beastmen, slaves—all part of this city's ecosystem. A living, breathing organism of stone and magic and people.

  "Valdris," Tara thinks. "So this is a city in a magical world. And I'm here, in a bag, being carried through it like a piece of luggage. At least I can see it, even if it's through canvas."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  They walk through the city streets, and Tara can hear the party discussing their plans.

  "Alright," Elena says. "Here's what we're doing. Garrick, you and the others take the bulk of the loot to the inn. Get us rooms, secure the treasure, and try not to cause any trouble."

  "What about the artifact and the other special items?" Garrick asks.

  "Kira and I will take those to get appraised," Elena replies. "There's an artifact appraiser in the merchant quarter—Master Thorne. He's the best in Valdris. We'll get the pyramid and a few of the more interesting pieces evaluated, then meet you back at the inn."

  "Which inn?" someone asks.

  "The Silver Stag," Elena says. "It's near the merchant quarter, good security, and they don't ask too many questions. Garrick, you remember where it is?"

  "Course I do," Garrick grumbles. "I'm not that drunk yet."

  "Yet being the operative word," Kira mutters.

  "Hey, I heard that!"

  "Good. You were supposed to."

  Tara feels the bag shift. Someone is rummaging through it, or through another bag nearby. He can hear the sound of items being moved, sorted.

  "Here," Elena says. "The pyramid, that glowing amulet, and the enchanted dagger. That should be enough for an appraisal."

  The bag moves, and Tara can sense they are separating from the main group. The sounds of the larger party fade, replaced by just two sets of footsteps—Elena and Kira, presumably.

  "Master Thorne's shop is this way," Elena says. "It's not far. Maybe ten minutes' walk."

  "Good," Kira replies. "I want to get this done and get to the inn. I'm tired, and I could use a real bed."

  "Tell me about it. Dungeon floors aren't exactly comfortable."

  Tara listens as they walk, trying to observe what he can through the bag. The streets seem narrower here, more focused. The buildings are taller, pressed closer together, their upper floors leaning slightly over the street, creating a canopy effect. The architecture is more ornate—carved stonework, decorative columns, intricate patterns etched into walls.

  He can sense shops lining the way, their signs hanging overhead. Each shop seems to specialize: one displays glowing crystals in its window, another has floating weapons rotating slowly, a third shows potions in various colors, their contents swirling. The magic in the air is stronger too, more concentrated, as if this part of the city has more magical activity. Tara can feel it pressing against his awareness—layers upon layers of magical energy, some active, some dormant, some pulsing with power.

  A mage in deep blue robes walks past, a staff topped with a glowing crystal tapping against the cobblestones. Another mage—this one in green—gestures animatedly as she talks to a merchant, her hands tracing patterns in the air. A merchant in silk robes points at something in a shop window, his fingers adorned with rings that catch the light. Two guards in polished steel armor stand watch at a corner, their hands resting on sword hilts, their eyes scanning the crowd methodically. This is clearly a wealthier district, a place where magic and commerce intersect.

  "Merchant quarter," Tara thinks. "So this is where they sell magical items. Where artifacts like me get bought and sold. And I'm about to be appraised. Evaluated. Judged. Like a piece of merchandise. At least when I had a body, I could fake confidence. Now I'm just a pyramid sitting here getting my worth calculated. There's no way to look dignified when you're a geometric shape."

  Tara wonders what the appraiser will find. Will he discover that Tara is conscious?

  "Here we are," Elena says. "Master Thorne's Artifacts and Appraisals."

  The bag stops moving. Tara can sense they are standing in front of a building—he can feel the structure through the bag, sense the door, the windows, the magical wards that seem to surround it. The building feels old, solid, well-maintained. The magical barriers are complex, layered—not just simple protection, but something more sophisticated. Detection wards, probably. Security measures. This Master Thorne clearly takes his business seriously.

  Through the bag, Tara can sense the sign above the door—"Master Thorne's Artifacts and Appraisals" in elegant script, the letters glowing faintly with magical energy. The windows are large, but the glass seems to shimmer, suggesting it's enchanted to prevent people from seeing inside. Privacy, security, professionalism—this is clearly a high-end establishment.

  "Ready?" Elena asks.

  "Ready," Kira replies. "Let's see what these things are actually worth."

  Tara feels a surge of anxiety. This is it. He is about to be examined, evaluated, possibly discovered. And he has no idea how they will react.