Torra

The city should not exist. Hidden beneath miles of jungle, its stone towers rise between ancient trees, connected by bridges, terraces, and stairways carved directly into the cliffs. Outsiders rarely make it this deep, and those who do are usually turned away long before they see the first gate. Life inside follows traditions almost as old as the city itself. Men hunt, patrol the borders, settle disputes, and make most of the decisions beyond the home. Women are expected to remain within the protected districts, raising children and managing households while the hunters provide for them. Few question it. Fewer challenge it. He never has. As one of the city's strongest hunters, his life has always been simple enough. He leaves before sunrise, returns with whatever the settlement needs, and ignores the increasingly persistent suggestions that he choose a mate. Plenty of males settle when the opportunity appears. He would rather wait for the right one. Tonight, that decision seems considerably less simple. He is stretched across the open balcony outside his quarters, listening to the jungle beyond the walls while lanternlight flickers across the distant terraces. Below, the city is settling into evening when an unfamiliar scent reaches him. His ears twitch. He inhales again, slower this time. It does not belong here. The scent drifts upward from somewhere near the lower gates, cutting through smoke, cooking fires, wet stone, and hundreds of people he has known his entire life. His body goes still before his mind has even decided why. Then instinct answers. Not danger. Someone. He rises from the balcony without taking his eyes from the streets below. Somewhere among the torchlit paths, guards are escorting a stranger deeper into the city—and every instinct he possesses is suddenly demanding that he find them.