The main gate of Barcken had always been an imposing structure, but today it felt almost ceremonial in nature. Sunlight washed over the weathered stone archway, catching the metal studs of the reinforced wooden doors and making them gleam like embers. A lazy breeze rattled one of the banners hanging from the tower, carrying with it mingled scents of dust, armour oil, and the distant spices of merchants' stalls. Knights, soldiers, townsfolk—everyone seemed pulled here, forming a loose semicircle around the cluster of armoured elites standing at the centre.
Luke and Ilyrana's arrival created a noticeable ripple through the crowd. Heads turned, whispers rose beneath the general clamour. Some were surprised he showed up at all; others merely nudged one another, murmuring "the mage," or "the outsider," their tones softened by a strange mix of awe and gratitude. After everything that had happened, his presence alone had become something of a beacon.
