Andrellia

12. Felicia

Early the next morning, sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting stripes across Arthur's armored form. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Felicia chirped, her voice far too cheerful for this early hour.

Arthur groaned, a sound that rattled the precarious tower of books on the bedside table.
"What hour is it?" he mumbled, blinking against the harsh light.

"Later than you'd like, considering we need to be at the university," she tossed a brown tunic with a belt out of the closet.

Arthur shot upright, nearly knocking over the aforementioned tower. "University? What university?"
"My university, of course," Felicia said, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. "I have things to collect from my professor. Besides, you'd look like a walking museum exhibit walking around town in that getup."

Arthur cast a disgruntled look down at his armor. "This is perfectly good attire! Protects against demonic makeup and rogue disco balls," he muttered, his voice heavy with sleep and a touch of defensiveness.

Felicia snorted. "Trust me, Arthur, a sparkly murder weapon might raise a few eyebrows. Here," she said, thrusting the tunic towards him. "Put this on. It belonged to my father, and it should be loose enough to fit over your... impressive skull. Hopefully, it will be flattering."

Arthur's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure he liked the implications of his "impressive skull" next to his knightly bearing. Yet, the logic of not attracting undue attention was undeniable. He sighed. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, accepting the tunic. "But if this tunic belonged to your father," he began, his voice low, "then it must have been a good man to wear such... unassuming clothing."

Felicia's smile softened. "The best," she confirmed, her voice filled with a quiet pride that resonated with a strange familiarity within Arthur.

Moments later Arthur emerged from the bathroom dressed for the general public. With a muttered incantation, his hand hovered over Excalibur, and it pulsed with a soft light before transforming into an unassuming plain sword that wouldn't draw stares. It was common for men to carry them for protection, though Arthur couldn't imagine needing protection from anything less than a rouge eyeshadow pallet.

Felicia led Arthur out of her apartment and down into the bustling heart of the harbor city. Sunlight glinted off the water, a vibrant turquoise that stretched towards the horizon where it met a hazy blue sky. The salty tang of the sea mingled with the metallic aroma of freshly cut steel, a constant reminder of the city's dual identity - a haven for merchants and a vigilant guardian against potential threats.

The architecture was a fascinating blend of old and new. Narrow cobbled streets, their surfaces worn smooth by generations of footsteps, snaked between buildings that told stories of the city's evolution. Grand, weathered structures of grey stone, their arched windows and gargoyles hinting at a bygone medieval era, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with sleek, modern glass high-rises that reflected the ever-changing skyline.

Everywhere Arthur looked, the city thrummed with a vibrant energy. Carts laden with fresh fruit and exotic spices jostled for space with horse-drawn carriages, their polished wood and gleaming brass a testament to the city's skilled craftsmanship. Merchants in colorful sashes hawked their wares, their voices a melodic counterpoint to the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith's hammer and the distant cries of gulls wheeling overhead.

But woven into this vibrant tapestry was the undeniable presence of the military. Every corner seemed patrolled by a pair of soldiers, their polished armor glinting in the sun. Watchtowers, manned by vigilant archers, dotted the city walls, their watchful eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. The air crackled with a sense of discipline and preparedness, a stark reminder that despite the city's prosperity, the world beyond the harbor walls remained a place of potential conflict.

Arthur, his senses overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, couldn't help but compare this bustling metropolis to the quiet villages and rolling fields of his own time. Here, progress and tradition danced an intricate waltz, creating a world both familiar and strange to his weary eyes. He stole a glance at Felicia, whose face held a mixture of amusement and understanding. In the chaos, she seemed perfectly at home, a part of this dynamic city's heartbeat.

Felicia stood in her tracks, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. They had just rounded a corner, the clamor of the harbor market momentarily muted. Before them, the scene that unfolded was one of utter devastation. A large ship, easily identifiable by the tattered remains of a flag emblazoned with the crest of the Merchant's Guild, a golden starburst upon a field of azure, lay crumbling at the dock. Soot stained its shattered hull, casting an ominous shadow over the bustling crowd that had gathered, their faces etched with a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. City guards, their armor dented and bearing fresh scorch marks, struggled to maintain order as whispers and panicked shouts rippled through the throng.

"Is that..." Felicia's voice trembled, her eyes wide with a horrifying recognition. "Is that the 'Star of Andrellia'?"
Arthur, who had initially been overwhelmed by the sensory overload of the city, felt a jolt course through him as Felicia spoke.

He turned his gaze towards the wrecked ship, a potent wave of magic washing over him. It was faint, tinged with irritation and a smoldering curiosity, a magical signature he'd encountered before.

Arthur straightened, a subtle movement that spoke volumes of his inner turmoil. The tunic felt foreign on his broad frame, a constant reminder of his displacement, but beneath it, his muscles tensed with a familiar determination. This wasn't a fight he was eager for, but the Macedonian had a way of drawing him into the vortex of his schemes.

He stole a glance at Felicia, her concern etched on her face. He couldn't shield her from everything, but he could at least try to keep her at arm's length from this particular brand of trouble.

"It appears the Macedonian is also here..." he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. A flicker of his old battle-hardened instincts flared, warring with the confusion of this strange new world.

"Macedonian?" Felicia echoed, her voice barely a whisper. "What... what does that mean?"

"Trouble," Arthur finally rumbled, his voice heavy with a newfound determination. "Let's go before we've been noticed..."

The words hung heavy in the air, laced with a mix of apprehension and a steely resolve. The harbor city, with its vibrant chaos, suddenly felt suffocating. Arthur longed for the open fields and crisp air of his precious Camelot, a world he now knew was forever lost to him. But even here, in this strange land, he wouldn't back down from a fight, especially one that threatened to engulf the one person who had shown him a sliver of kindness in this bewildering new reality.