The towering stone gates of Narier City didn't just represent safety; they represented the end of the wild and the beginning of a different kind of trap. As June and Blop approached, the massive granite walls seemed to block out the very sky, casting a cold, elongated shadow over the dusty road. June stopped in a patch of deep, jagged shadow, her eyes darting to the two guards stationed at the entrance.
They were draped in heavy, interlocking chainmail that rattled with every mechanical breath they took, clutching long-axes that looked sharp enough to split a tree trunk in a single swing.
"Wait," June hissed, her voice barely a breath as she pulled Blop behind a jagged rock. She grabbed his wrists, looking at his hands—the translucent, shifting green skin was pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light that seemed to beat in time with his heart.
"If they see those, we aren't getting in as refugees. We're getting in as specimens for some mage's laboratory. Do you understand? Hide them."
Acting with desperate speed, June gripped the leather bracers on her own forearms. With a sharp grunt and a spray of dust, she ripped the straps loose and shoved them toward Blop.
"Cover them. Every inch. Don't take these off until I say so, even if your skin itches like a thousand ants are crawling on it."
Blop clumsily strapped the leather over his alien skin, hiding the glow just as they stepped into the guards' line of sight. June took a moment to smudge some dirt on her collar and muss her hair. She needed to look like someone who had lost everything.
"Halt!" Guard One barked, his voice echoing inside his helmet as he lowered his axe.
"State your names and origins. Narier is a fortress, not a soup kitchen. We need to know who is walking through these gates."
June dropped her shoulders, letting her voice tremble with a layer of calculated grief that would have fooled even a king. "I am June. I come from the Elven lands to the far south."
The guard's eyes narrowed behind his visor, scanning her from her salt-stained boots to her tired, red-rimmed eyes.
"And what brings an Elf to a human stronghold like Narier? Your people usually prefer to rot in your forests."
"Our kingdom... the Monian Kingdom... it's a graveyard now," June said, her voice dropping to a whisper that forced the guards to lean in. "The scavenger monsters came in the night. They didn't just kill; they tore through the southern forest like a plague, leaving nothing but ash and bone. We fled through the Arorikund Valley, hearing the rumors that Narier offers five days of sanctuary for those with nowhere left to go. We only ask for a roof while we search for the rest of our kin."
The second guard leaned forward, the smell of cheap ale and metal wafting from him.
"Monian? That's deep in the Arorien forest. If you're truly from there, name the ruling house. Deduce the lineage for us, little bird. Prove you aren't just another drifter looking to pickpocket our citizens."
June didn't blink. Her mind flashed back to the maps she had studied years ago. "House Kaich. Located in the Southern Glades, under the shadow of the Great Oak. Their crest is a silver leaf on emerald silk."
The guards exchanged a long, silent glance. The detail was accurate. "Fine," the first guard grunted, hoisting his axe back to his shoulder.
"But refugees don't just walk the streets. You'll have to be vetted by the Baron first. He likes to see the faces of the people eating his bread. Follow us, and don't touch anything."
The Baron's mansion was a suffocating display of wealth that felt offensive after the starvation of the valley. Maids in stiff white aprons scrubbed marble floors that already shone like mirrors, and the air smelled of expensive sandalwood incense and ancient, dusty paper. The guards led them through a hallway lined with portraits of stern-looking men, finally stopping at a set of double doors.
"Come in," a calm, weary voice drifted out after the guard knocked.
Inside, Baron Vane sat behind a desk of dark, polished mahogany. He was a man of soft edges and sharp, predatory eyes.
He dismissed the guards with a lazy flick of his wrist, leaving him alone with the two travelers. He looked at June, then at the hooded, silent figure of Blop, who was standing as still as a statue.
"Monian survivors," the Baron mused, leaning back in his velvet chair. "I am truly sorry for your loss. It has been a dark, bloody season for the forest folk.
The reports of the scavenger monsters have been... disturbing." He opened a heavy drawer and pulled out a thick, leather-bound file. "But I must be sure. Which family do you claim? In Narier, blood carries weight."
"Kaich," June repeated firmly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The Baron flipped through several vellum pages, his finger tracing a lineage. "It seems you speak the truth. However," he paused, his eyes turning cold and transactional, "there is a complication. Five days ago, the Arorien Crown and the Monian Kingdom had a... disagreement over border taxes. Orders were sent to restrict Elven entry into all major cities. Technically, I should have you thrown in the dungeon for even standing here."
He let the sentence hang in the air, a silent invitation. June understood the game immediately.
This wasn't about politics; it was about the price of a blind eye. She reached into her sack and pulled out a heavy pouch she had looted from the Silver Hawks. She placed it on the desk. Fifty gold coins hit the wood with a loud, metallic thud that seemed to echo in the quiet room.
The Baron's eyes flared with sudden greed. He pulled the pouch closer, weighing it in his soft palm. "On second thought," he smiled, his teeth yellow and sharp, "exceptions can be made for those of high character and obvious breeding. Sign the registry. It's a formality, but a necessary one."
June signed her name with a graceful flourish. The Baron then pushed the paper and a quill toward Blop. "And you, sir. Sign your name so we can finalize your stay."
Blop stared at the paper. To him, the letters were just strange, black insects crawling on the page, meaningless and terrifying. He didn't move. He didn't even breathe.
"He can't write," June said quickly, stepping between them.
The Baron raised a suspicious eyebrow. "An illiterate Elf? I thought your kind spent every waking hour singing to trees and reading scrolls."
June leaned in, her Social IQ working at full speed. "He was a front-line conscript, sir. He was raised in the mud of the border wars, not the ivory towers. He knows the weight of a sword and the smell of blood, not the feel of a pen. The trauma of the swamp took his speech, and the army took his education. He is a tool of war, nothing more."
The Baron looked at Blop's bulky frame and the suspicious leather covering his arms.
He knew something was deeply wrong, but the fifty gold coins in his drawer were more important than his curiosity. "Fine. Take this emblem. It bears my seal. Go to the hotel at the edge of the market district. Show this to the receptionist. You have five days. Don't make me regret this, or you'll find out that my dungeons are far less comfortable than my office."
As they exited the mansion, the afternoon sun was turning a deep, bloody red, casting long, distorted shadows across the cobblestones.
June let out a long, ragged breath she had been holding since they crossed the threshold. "That was too close. We need to disappear before he changes his mind."
They entered the market district, and the sensory overload nearly knocked Blop off his feet. It was a chaotic sea of people—
thousands of them, all moving in different directions. Vendors were screaming about fresh fish and salted beef, the smell of roasting nuts and open sewers filled the air, and the clatter of horse hooves on stone was deafening. Blop felt his "glitch" instinct flare; his pupils dilated, his muscles tensing as he looked for a threat in every face. The noise of civilization felt like a physical attack on his soul.
June grabbed his hand, her grip firm and grounding. "Don't panic. Look at the ground if you have to. Just keep walking."
They stopped at a fruit vendor, a man with a crooked nose and a stained apron who looked like he hadn't slept in years. "The hotel? Just down that alley, turn left at the fountain with the broken statue. It's the last of the three buildings. The Gilded Rest. You can't miss it."
Following his directions, they wound through a narrow stone alley where the light barely reached the ground. They finally reached the hotel, a tall building with peeling gold paint.
The receptionist, a woman with a practiced, sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes, took the Baron's emblem and handed June a heavy brass key.
Their room was spacious, featuring two soft beds, a massive wardrobe, and a desk overlooking the street.
June dropped her sack and headed straight for the changing room, scrubing the grime of the Death Swamps from her skin. She emerged minutes later in a clean, soft cotton dress.
Blop, seeing the clean clothes, decided to copy her. He pulled out a white linen shirt and belted trousers, but he struggled with the buttons, ending up with the shirt half-open and the pants sitting awkwardly on his hips.
June laughed as she sat at the desk, opening a book of local maps. "You look like a mess, Blop. But at least you're a clean mess. We look like humans... almost."
As night fell and the city lanterns were lit, casting a warm glow over the room, Blop walked over to June and tapped her shoulder with a heavy finger. "You... ba... requ..."
June blinked, then smiled, her heart softening for the first time in days. "The barbeque. I didn't forget. A promise is a promise."
She rang the service bell, and a man in a black suit appeared. "Full plate of barbeque steaks," June ordered, her voice firm. "Extra seasoning. A fruit salad, and two mugs of cold beer. And make it quick."
When the food arrived, the scent was intoxicating, filling the room with the smell of woodfire and fat. The steaks were charred to perfection, dripping with savory, spiced juices.
Blop took his plate and began to eat with a ferocity June had never seen, his eyes wide. The flavors—salty, smoky, and rich—melted on his tongue, a world away from the raw meat of the forest.
He tried a sip of the beer, but his face immediately twisted in a grimace of pure betrayal. "Bitter!"
June laughed, sipping her own drink as she watched him. "It's an acquired taste, Blop. It's for people who have too many thoughts they want to forget."
She finished her salad, watching the flickering shadows on the wall. The luxury felt good, but she knew it was a mask. The gold was gone, and they were in a city filled with eyes.
They finished their dinner, blew out the lanterns, and climbed into their separate beds. June fell asleep instantly, her body finally surrendering to the softness of the mattress.
Blop stayed awake for a moment, watching the moon through the window, feeling the strange, spark-like warmth in his chest before he too drifted into a heavy, silent sleep.
Midnight. The Southern Road of Narier.
The silence of the sleeping streets was broken by a rhythmic, heavy thud that seemed to vibrate through the very stones. Four horses, their coats black as ink and their eyes glowing with a faint, magical light, galloped toward the city gates. The riders were cloaked in silver-lined shadows, their faces hidden behind dark, heavy hoods. They didn't slow down for the guards; they rode with the authority of the Crown itself.
As the sound of their hooves echoed off the stone walls like the ticking of a clock, the peace of the night began to shatter. The hunt had reached the gates, and they weren't looking for refugees. They were looking for a thief and a monster.