The thin, cold air of the civic plaza was left behind, a vacuum of silence that seemed to be swallowed by the walls of the fortress before them. The Headquarters of the Sentinels of the Order rose like a blade of obsidian driven into the golden heart of the upper city, a monolith of raw, efficient power that disdained beauty in favor of authority. Its sharp angles seemed to cut the very sky, and its smooth, dark walls, which appeared to absorb light and sound, cast an oppressive shadow over the slabs polished like a black mirror.
As Gunder walked with his confident and unperturbed stride, Tom followed, her eyes fixed on the two guards flanking the colossal steel gate. They were like statues of matte-gray metal, motionless and impersonal beneath their closed helms that revealed not a glimpse of humanity. Yet, something about them was dissonant, wrong. The aura of cold discipline emanating from them was sharper, more ancient than that of any soldier she had ever encountered. It was not the vigilant readiness of a guard, but the charged stillness of a predator in waiting.
"They don't look like the others," Tom murmured, her voice a breath in the crushing silence, audible only to Gunder. "The armor… the crest. It doesn't have the Chisanatora gear. Those aren't this city's Sentinels."
Gunder didn't even glance at the guards. His feline eyes swept the top of the fort ress, his perception extending like an invisible net. "That's because they aren't," he replied with a calm certainty that was somehow more unsettling than the sight of the soldiers themselves. "Their energy is dense. They came from distant lands."
"Distant?" Tom frowned, curiosity overriding caution. "Do you know from where?"
"From the far west," Gunder said, and the name of the direction hung in the cold air with the unexpected weight of a sentence.
Tom's expression froze. The curiosity shattered, instantly replaced by a mask of icy seriousness. Her shoulders tensed, and her fists clenched at her sides hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. The far west. It meant only one place. A fortress of absolute power from which all orders flowed, the heart of the Kingdom.
"So…" she whispered, the words escaping through gritted teeth, laden with a bitter and helpless frustration. "They're from the Capital…"
As if summoned by her realization, the massive doors of the fortress swung open for them, not with an invitation, but like the maw of a beast revealing the chaos within. The air inside the barracks was a sensory shockwave: thick with the smell of sweat, panic, and the metallic odor of overloaded equipment. The sound was a cacophony of boots slamming on the floor, shouted orders, and the desperate rustle of papers and reports.
Dozens of soldiers in the blue uniforms of Chisanatora ran in every direction. They were the true Sentinels of the Order, but their faces were pale, their movements hurried and bordering on desperation. They carried stacks of documents, gestured at communication terminals flashing with alerts, and the tension in their bodies was a taut rope about to snap.
And moving through this tide of panic were more of them. The knights from the gate. Inside the barracks, they marched in slow, methodical patrols, their heavy steps echoing with an authority that crushed the surrounding noise. They completely ignored the scurrying of the local Sentinels, their helms turned forward as if the men and women around them were mere ghosts. They were rocks of discipline in a river of disorder; their calm was a silent accusation of the incompetence of others.
Standing just inside the entrance, Tom and Gunder observed the scene, an island of calm amidst the storm. The presence of the knights from the Capital and the panic of the local soldiers painted a clear and alarming picture. Something terrible had happened.
Amidst the pandemonium, Tom spotted a Chisanatora sentinel who nearly ran her over, a pile of scrolls and reports balanced precariously in his arms. With a swift movement, she placed herself in his path, her agile body forcing him to an abrupt stop that made the papers tremble.
"Excuse me!" she said, her voice firm to be heard over the noise.
The soldier, a young man with a pale face and sweat trickling down his temple, stared at her with wide, wild eyes, his body vibrating with nervous energy. "What do you want? Can't you see we're on the verge of collapse?"
"What's happening?" Tom insisted, her gaze sweeping the chaos around them. "Why all this alarm?"
"It's because of the duct implosion! Now, if you'll excuse me…!" he gasped, his voice tight and shrill.
"Duct implosion" The phrase made no sense, sounding more like an industrial accident than a security crisis that would justify the presence of the Capital's guard. "What is that?"
But the sentinel was already dodging past her with the agility of a frightened rat. "I'm late!" he shouted over his shoulder, immediately swallowed by the frantic crowd. Tom reached out a hand, the word "Wait!" dying on her lips as the soldier disappeared. She was left behind, an island of frustration in the middle of the chaos.
It was then that a shout cut through the tumult, clear and distinct. "Tom!"
She turned towards the sound. In the background, near a side wall, she saw Gunder waving before starting up a polished metal staircase. Without hesitation, Tom pushed her way through the hurried soldiers, ignoring the shoves and muttered apologies, and followed him.
The second floor was a world apart. The feverish chaos gave way to a tense, focused calm. The sound of running boots was replaced by the low murmur of serious conversations and the methodical clicking of data terminals. "It's much calmer up here…" Tom commented, more to herself, feeling her heartbeat begin to return to normal.
Gunder didn't answer. His objective was clear. He walked with determined steps down a wide corridor until he stopped before a pair of tall, dark wooden doors, adorned with a subtle carving of the city's crest. Without ceremony, he pushed them open and entered.
"Gunder, wait!" Tom protested, hurrying to catch up.
The interior was a vast and imposing office. Two long, parallel tables occupied the center of the room, filled with sentinels working with a silent urgency, analyzing reports and compiling documents. The room was bathed in the soft light filtering through a colossal window at the back, which framed the stunning view of the upper city's golden towers. And there, with his back to the landscape, as if commanding it, was a man.
Seated behind a massive desk, he wore the same blue uniform, but his was adorned with golden cords that ran from his chest to his shoulder, a clear sign of high rank. He was reading a document with absolute concentration, his face marked by a serious and distant expression, as if the chaos on the floor below were a trivial problem of an inferior world.
Ignoring the curious and suspicious glances of the other sentinels, Gunder and Tom walked directly toward him. The shadow of the two covered the document, and only then did the man slowly raise his gaze, his gray, penetrating eyes analyzing them with a glacial calm.
Gunder said nothing. He simply extended his hand and, with a precise gesture, placed a metal pin on the desk. The crest of the Sentinels of the Order shone under the light—the sword and the spears, unmistakable. But the Chisanatora gear was absent, a subtle detail that spoke louder than any words.