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[Dymm Crowley]

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Dymm Crowley woke up.

It had been a long night’s rest. He stumbled out of his bed, stretched his arms out and walked to his closet.

After changing his clothes and strapping his boots, the old assassin threw his cloak over his shoulders, propped his hat atop his head and slipped a pack of playing cards into his back pocket.

He walked downstairs and kneeled at his crates. Unlocking the large one, he slipped a sheathed dagger from it and strapped it to his belt, under the cover of his cloak.

He stepped out of the door and it was bright. He quickly closed his eyes: they were not yet ready for the sun.

He stood there, in the silence for a moment – but, no, it was not silence.

He could hear the birds, the familiar seagulls that flocked at the docks all around Vesper. He could hear bells. A ship was docking in the distance, its sailors yelling ever so faintly to his ears – it sounded like a song.

He could smell too.

He could smell the fried fish, a favorite dish in the city. He could smell the fresh sea breeze. It was part of the reason he loved Vesper. He always thought that if he ever lost his vision, he could find Vesper by the scent alone. It smelled like the most exotic flower.

And then he opened his eyes and it was all laid out in front of him, like a buffet for the eyes. All the glory of Vesper.

As he walked briskly across the first bridge, he could tell that it would be a good day.