Upcott consisted of a large, central marketplace, with town hall dominating the centre, and a confusing tangle of streets and alleys outside it. The town hall was a conversion from the first building of the old outpost, expanded and improved to become a pseudo-museum for the town’s history.

In the central marketplace, buildings were artfully placed around that central hall, with smaller vendor stalls forming grids inside for one to explore. They sold trinkets, knick-knacks, and various forms of bizarrely-prepared food, as well as some foreign products and luxuries.

Beyond the central marketplace, the layout of the town became haphazard and random - streets converged, split, had bizarre tributaries and winding back-routes. The architecture was eclectic, with buildings of radically different styles sandwiched alongside each other.

This Iyojin learned over the course of half an hour with her guide, as they wove through the marketplace, Butcher’s Street, entered the town hall and made their way through the various districts.

Upcott had begun as a trading outpost, Iyojin’s guide had explained, so the very core of the city was built according to the Queen’s vision. But the remainder had simply sprung up from travelling merchants and shanty towns that realized this would soon become something of an economic hub, at least for each of the nearby satellite towns.

As such there were a significant number of minority districts built from common visitors, from nomadic groups that had chosen to settle, or from Swarm Cradle citizens who had taken an interest in topside.

The people themselves, in Iyojin’s opinion, were loud and confrontational. The smell wasn’t as bad as it sometimes got flying over the industrial quadrant in Swarm Cradle, but the noise more than made up for it. People clamoured and yelled and loitered in the streets, having loud conversations while you simply tried to walk by.

It was chaos compared to the quiet, orderly corridors of the Paperhall, and certainly far worse than the purposeful, busy airspace of Swarm Cradle - there, people were actually on their way to do things. There were travellers, certainly, people hurrying from place to place, but so many were sitting on their steps, or playing loud music into the open air- heavens, she had even walked past one man stood atop an overturned food crate, declaring his disgust at Swarm Cradle to the very populace!

Had it not been clear that he was being totally ignored, Iyojin thought she might have stepped in to say something to him.

Now, more than ever, she was glad she had been chosen all those years ago. It had given her a chance to rise above the chaotic and lazy society these people seemed to have developed, become worthy contributor to society.

At least, so I thought, she acknowledged bitterly. Now I’m just like them again - abandoning my work for hedonism.

Was she doomed to the ways of her progenitors? Was nature truly stronger than nurture?

The guide had kept up a fairly steady stream of information over the course of their travel, providing history and information on the arts and anecdotes that sprung up in this sprawling, makeshift city.

Now, though, Iyojin stopped, in the middle of the street, and watched across the road as a pub brawl spilled out onto the road.

These were a rowdy, passionate people, and though they had no Chitin to do battle with, Iyojin found a part of herself that became transfixed by the swapping of blows by the pile of individuals. They weren’t holding back, that was for certain, and with each blow they seemed to pour every ounce of emotion into their attacks - bellowing, swinging with their whole body, taking retaliatory hits with merely a challenging roar.

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This had been what was missing from the fighting pits at Kagino’s, she realised. These people were taking the fight as an expression of their pent-up emotion, using it cathartically to expel that passion in the best way they knew how.

For an absurd, improper moment Iyojin felt an overpowering urge to wade into the melee and join them, lay about with her fists and expel everything that was pent-up inside of her.

But her guide had noticed her pause and trotted back towards her, displeased frown on her face.

“My apologies, madam,” she said, coming to a stop next to Iyojin. “This is an unsightly display for visitors to Upcott- I assure you, the city is far more cultured than this.”

How could Iyojin explain that this- this battle, this passion- this was far more the heart of the city, of the culture, than any amount of poetry or illustration deemed acceptable by Swarm Cradle’s moderating influence? These people were expressing themselves and creating something beautiful in their brawl - that felt more truly artistic than the dusty, bland exhibitions in the town hall museum.

The guide wandered away, calling out for guards as she did so. Iyojin wanted to stop her, tell her to let it continue so that she could watch - but then what if that information somehow found its way back to her Orb Mother?

Heavens, what if her Orb Mother asked her what she had done? Would she simply say that she had explored the city and then become transfixed by a common tavern brawl? It sounded ridiculous even in her head, and she already struggled to lie to that woman.

And yet she remained rooted to the spot, torn between following the guide and moving on to the next location, and staying to watch the melee play out.

Soon, however, guards descended - Executors clad in standardised Chitin, built with the bare minimum of required modules and their customary Stinger blade. They pulled individuals from the seething tide that still hung partially from the entrance to the building, pressed them to floors and walls and wrapped their hands in cords of Titan Silk.

Again, Iyojin wanted to protest, step in and tell them to desist, tell them that this wasn’t unruly, wasn’t disturbing the peace - this was just as much freedom of expression as the pamphlets that declared the Second Schism’s - the True Schism’s - imminent arrival.

Once the enforcers had arrived, the mess quickly died down. A general hum and chatter, now somewhat muted, emanated from the front door, and musicians moved into fill the space created by the display.

They were unfazed by the abrupt violence, and its equally abrupt ending - that was part of the rhythm of life to them.

Bizarrely, Iyojin found some small part of herself wishing to join them, to be a part of this place. If she was connected more to her heritage, would she have discovered this secret thrill sooner? Would she be any more able to act on it?

She didn’t know, but the promise of the Tournament - mere weeks away now - loomed ever more tantalising in her mind’s eye.

Idly, she found herself work-shopping potential Chitin weapons internally. These battles, where honest emotion was behind their fists, were good for inspiration, it seemed.

She turned her thoughts tentatively to her project, hoping for genius to strike. Instead, her subconscious seemed focused on the ways in which the Executors had used silk ties to stop their opponents from re-entering the fight.

There they had simply been restraints, but was there not avenue for the Titan Silk as another tool for the grappler? The concept turned over in Iyojin’s mind, of the Weave modifications she would have to make to her Spinneret to achieve just such an effect.

Her guide finally returned to her, somewhat flushed, and bowed deeply to her.

“My sincere apologies for that interruption, madam,” she said, maintaining that respectful monotony. “If it pleases you, I can continue the tour for the rest of the city?”

Iyojin shook her head. Her eyes were still locked onto the building the battle had spilled from, and she committed its name to memory.

The Spider’s Parlour.

“Take me back,” Iyojin said, turning to face the guide fully now. “I’ve seen enough.”