Chapter 35: More Guards

The wall loomed ahead, a slab of stone and iron that dwarfed the cliffs they'd crossed to get here. Arwyn's boots crunched on the gravel as he slowed, eyes tracing the jagged spikes crowning its top. He'd seen this barrier before, back when they'd slipped into Runar through the South Coast. That had been a scrappy dodge past a handful of grunts and soldiers who've probably never fought in their lives before. But this? This was different. 

The West Coast exit bristled with Royal Guards, and their Dream-forged armor gleamed like molten silver under the noon sun. Sommetal plating hugged their shoulders, and they were lightweight but tough as hell, and their spears caught the light, tips sharp enough to slice through gold coins midair. 

Marcelo, the Royal Guard captain they'd tangled with just around a day ago, had nearly skewered Arwyn with less. So with these guys? They'd finish the job, and Arwyn didn't want that.

Nathaniel stopped beside him, hands shoved in his coat pockets, hat tipped low. "Well," he muttered, voice dry, "this is a problem."

Santina, still cloaked in green, edged closer, her scarred eye glinting as she sized up the guards. "More than a problem," she whispered. "That's a death sentence if we try to fight. Those other Royal Guards we fought had little to no equipment. These guys have a different presence." 

Her fingers twitched near her blade, but she kept them still. She'd seen Marcelo's speed too, back when he'd chased her out of a coastal tavern with a spear that moved like lightning, along with other Royal Guards who could compete with him.

Arwyn swallowed, the Ring of Chronos humming faintly on his finger. His sketchbook sat heavy in his satchel, tempting him to draw something quick: a smokescreen, a ladder, anything. His hand brushed the handle of his katana, also urging him to use it, even if he had no experience at all. 

But violence wouldn't work here. Marcelo had been a monster, shrugging off Arwyn's traps like they were paper. These guards, ten strong and posted at the gate, would crush them before he could slam a page. 

"No fighting," he said, half to himself. "We talk our way out."

Nathaniel snorted, glancing at him. "You? Talk? Last time you opened your mouth, we ended up running from a bar tab just two days ago."

"Shut up, you don't have a say." Arwyn shot back, though a grin tugged at his lips. "I've got this." He straightened his cloak, brushing off the dust, and stepped forward. Santina raised an eyebrow but followed. Nathaniel trailed with a shrug and a smirk of amusement.

The lead guard, a broad man with a jaw like a brick, leveled his spear as they approached. "State your business," he barked, voice echoing off the wall. His helmet shadowed his eyes, but the other nine fanned out, spears ready, a wall of metal and muscle.

Arwyn raised his hands, palms open, keeping his tone light. "Just travelers, boss. Heading out to greener pastures. You know how it is, Runar's charm wears thin after a while."

The guard didn't budge, spear tip hovering near Arwyn's chest. "Papers. Now."

"Papers?" Arwyn chuckled, scratching his neck. "Funny story about that. We're more the spontaneous type. No time for bureaucracy when you're chasing dreams, right?"

"Wrong answer," the guard growled. "No papers, no passage. Turn around or get skewered."

Nathaniel leaned in, voice low enough for only Arwyn to hear. "Nice start, kid. Really winning him over."

Arwyn ignored him, locking eyes with the guard. "Look, I get it. You've got a job, rules to follow. But hear me out. We're not troublemakers. We're just three nobodies trying to leave this mess behind. You ever think about that? Leaving, I mean. Fresh air, no more standing in the sun sweating your ass off for some king who doesn't know your name?"

The guard blinked, spear dipping slightly. "I serve the Crown. That's my duty."

"Sure, sure," Arwyn said, nodding like they were old pals. "And you're damn good at it. That armor? Top-notch. Bet it cost more than my whole life. But us? We're not worth the hassle. We're broke, tired, and honestly, a little lost. You let us through, and we're gone. No fuss, no paperwork to file later. You can tell your buddies you scared off some vagrants and call it a day."

A second guard, shorter with a scar across his nose, stepped up, frowning. "You look familiar. I've seen you somewhere. Wanted, maybe?"

Arwyn's stomach flipped, but he kept his grin. "Me? No no, but I've got one of those faces. Blend into every crowd. Ask my friend here." He jerked a thumb at Nathaniel. "He forgets who I am half the time."

Nathaniel played along, tipping his hat that covered his blue hair. "True. Kid's about as memorable as a wet sock. I only keep him around because he's good at carrying stuff."

Santina stifled a laugh, stepping forward with a shrug. "And I'm just here for the ride. Lost my gig back in town, so I tagged along with these two. We're harmless, promise."

The lead guard squinted, spear still poised. "Harmless doesn't cut it. Orders are tight. No one leaves without clearance since the Sketcher crackdown."

"Doesn't have to," Arwyn said, leaning in just a bit. "Look around. No one's watching. Your shift's probably half-dead already. You let three nobodies walk, and it's like we were never here. No report, no headache. Hell, you might even get a quiet afternoon out of it. When's the last time you had one of those?"

The scarred guard glanced at the leader, muttering, "He's got a point, Torin. They're not armed. Just rags and attitude."

Torin, the leader, studied them, jaw working like he was chewing the idea. The other guards shifted, spears relaxing slightly. Arwyn held his breath, the feather scar tingling faintly under his sleeve. He could feel Nathaniel's smirk behind him, Santina's tension at his side.

Finally, Torin sighed, stepping back. "Fine. Get out. But if I see you back in Runar, I'll pin you to this wall myself."

"Deal," Arwyn said, flashing a grin. "You won't see us again. Promise."

Torin waved a hand, and the guards parted, spears clanking as they cleared the gate. Arwyn walked forward, Nathaniel and Santina close behind, the massive iron doors groaning open. Beyond lay the bridge, then the new continent—a detour to Sketcher's Rest, to the Phoenix Quill, to Arlene.

As they crossed the threshold, Nathaniel muttered, "Not bad, kid. Didn't think you had it in you."

"Learned from the best," Arwyn shot back, glancing at him. "You owe me ramen for that."

Santina smirked in confusion, adjusting her hood. "What's ramen?"

"Nothing," Arwyn replied. "Just some nice, hot soup."

Santina nudged him from behind. "Then make it two bowls. I earned it for not laughing in their faces."

They stepped onto the bridge, Runar's weight lifting with every stride. The river roared below, mist curling up, and the horizon stretched wide, unfamiliar but alive with possibility. Arwyn's hand brushed his satchel, the diary and sketchbook inside a quiet promise. 

Cedric was out there, closer to the Quill every day, but so were they. He'd talked his way past Royal Guards. He could do this.