“Hey you, are you a contestant?” A rough voice calls from behind you.

You shake your head at a burly whisker wielding an axe and a round shield.

“Off the stage then; we’re about to start.”

“...'scuse me.” You and Burt rush through the dusty streets of Amalhasu, looking for the same alley where Zul’grasi previously held his pop-up shop.

“Excuse me,” Burt says, more as an impatient warning than a polite apology. But the other whiskers don't seem to hear him anyway, making it difficult to navigate. “How can the streets be so busy this early in the morning?”