The gates of Barcken loomed overhead, close enough now for every dent, every patch of rust, and every crude repaint to stand out in sharp relief. The air felt heavier here, as though the city exhaled something different from the open road.
Two guards stepped forward even before the carriage rolled to a complete stop. Both were clad in dark, sturdy leather reinforced with plates of burnished steel. Each carried a halberd in hand and had a crossbow slung across their back, the kind of loadout that spoke of people accustomed to both close combat and ranged takedowns. Luke could tell—these weren't ceremonial weapons. Every nick and smear on the metal had a story.
"Where from?" The question came blunt and quick from the taller of the two, his tone absent of any greeting.
