Queue

By the time the sun had fully risen, the group reached the gates of Alta, the bustling port city and capital of Philippos, a colony of the Kingdom of Leon. Towering stone walls encircled the city, extending into the sea like an unyielding barrier. Guards flanked the tall wooden gates, their chainmail glinting under the morning light. A line of carriages and merchants stretched before them, each waiting for their turn to pass.

The scent of salt and fish mingled with the musty odor of unwashed bodies, a reminder that this city was alive with trade and toil. Vendors muttered amongst themselves, bartering prices and exchanging coin. A horse whinnied as a handler struggled to calm it, the beast growing restless from the long wait. Children weaved through the crowd, their bare feet slapping against the stone road, while beggars sat against the walls, hands outstretched in silent plea.

As Laya's group stepped forward, the low murmur of voices shifted. Whispers floated through the air, hushed but cutting. A few merchants turned their heads to watch, their expressions unreadable but tinged with curiosity and something darker. A woman clutching a bundle of textiles subtly pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, and a burly man selling dried fish narrowed his eyes as they passed. The line parted, but the space they left was filled with an invisible wall of silent judgment.

A young guard, his helmet tucked under his arm, approached. His uneven haircut and tired expression betrayed a long shift. His gaze swept over them, lingering just a second too long on Laya's ears and Rin's wings. "Business?" he asked, voice flat and disinterested.

"Drachenstein Mansion," Laya answered confidently.

Lyndis stepped forward, producing a set of papers from her briefcase and handing them over. The guard took them, but instead of a brief glance, his eyes moved slowly over the documents. His brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder as if looking for confirmation from another guard. A second, older soldier approached, his face hard and unreadable.

"Been working there long?" the older guard asked, voice gruff.

Laya's posture remained poised, her grip on Archus tightening ever so slightly. "Four years," she replied evenly.

"Hmph," the older guard grunted, looking between them and the papers again. "And the kid?"

"My son," Laya responded, her tone unwavering.

The younger guard hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the documents before finally handing them back. "Alright," he muttered, stepping back. "Make way, people!" he called out, pushing aside the merchants and townsfolk ahead of them.

The shift in the crowd was almost imperceptible, but it was there—a subtle ripple of resentment. The whispers resumed, now sharper. A merchant scoffed, shaking his head, and a nobleman in fine robes turned away, as if their presence had tainted the air itself. The line quickly reformed, but the hostility remained, a lingering tension that clung to the air like humidity before a storm