Antoril didn't look like a city at first glance. It looked like a display. An urban theater meant to impress — maybe even deceive.
The wall was tall, yes, but elegant. Adorned with carved columns and symmetrical patterns that looked more like decorative runes than defenses.
The entrance gate opened in a double curve, like the wings of a stone eagle, constantly watched by men in armor that was way too clean for anyone who actually patrolled dusty roads.
And the moment we passed through the arch, the contrast hit like a wet slap.
It was... beautiful. Too beautiful. The houses had bright roofs, the streets were wide, paved with smooth, carefully placed stones.
Sculptures stood on every corner — some of heroes, others of mythological figures with breasts and theological expressions — all staring down with a touch of disdain. There were trees pruned with surgical precision, crystal-clear fountains with coins resting at the bottom, and even street musicians who were actually in tune.
