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POV: Border Guards
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The night was quiet, the wind cutting across the desert strip where Darnova's iron border wall stretched endlessly. Searchlights swept lazily over the road when suddenly the distant hum of engines grew—low at first, then thunderous.
One of the guards jolted upright, pressing his rifle tighter.
Guard 1 (nervous): "Do you hear that?"
The others gathered, squinting at the horizon. Soon, a sea of headlights appeared, piercing the darkness. The ground itself trembled.
Armored vehicles. Dozens. No—hundreds.
The convoy stretched like an endless serpent of steel. Sleek black B.A.M. carriers, Blackwood insignia glowing crimson under the night. Towers mounted with weapons, banners flying in the wind.
Guard 2 (whispering): "By the gods… that's not Darnova's army… that's them. That's Blackwood."
The lead vehicles slowed deliberately, not in fear—but in dominance. Every motion screamed, open the gates, or be crushed under them.
The commander of the border guards hurried out, sweat on his brow as the air itself grew heavier.
Convoy loudspeaker boomed:
"CLEAR THE GATES. HIS SUPREME MAJESTY, CHRIS BLACKWOOD, APPROACHES."
The guards froze. Even with weapons in their hands, none dared raise them. The truth was clear—this wasn't an army asking. This was an army that owned.
Guard 3 (shaking): "Should we… should we confirm?"
Commander (swallowing hard): "You don't confirm the King of Blackwood. You open the gates."
And with that, the massive border locks creaked. The steel gates groaned as they rolled open.
The convoy roared forward, engines like thunder, each vehicle polished, armored, unstoppable. The guards saluted automatically, some out of fear, others out of awe.
As the endless line passed, the men whispered among themselves—
Guard 1: "We thought we were Darnova's shield…"
Guard 2: "…but tonight, we are nothing but witnesses to power."
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