The sky broke grey over the hills as the caravan left the ruined fortress behind.

  The players were laughing. The rain had stopped. Their breath misted in the morning chill, and they kept throwing guesses at the “next part of the quest.”

  “I bet we’re gonna meet a real boss next.”

  “Sidequest city, here we come.”

  “Can I flirt with an NPC yet?”

  Karl didn’t laugh.

  He rode on a battered cart next to a bundle of crates, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. His cloak was pulled tight. The Star Key hovered just beneath his skin, pulsing softly.

  Beside them, Tanir's men rode in loose formation, muskets slung, blades tucked beneath coats. Not exactly military. Not exactly bandits.

  But they knew the land. Knew how to move. And more importantly, they knew when to stay quiet.

  Karl didn’t like how close the border was. He liked even less what might wait at it.

  ---

  By midmorning, they saw the first sign.

  A crooked wooden pole with faded paint. A small outpost just beyond it—two towers, a low gate, a fire burning in an iron barrel.

  Imperial border post.

  Tanir slowed his mule and raised a hand. “Let me do the talking.”

  The players said nothing.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Of course, they never said anything.

  That was part of the problem.

  ---

  The patrol came out to meet them.

  Eight men, dressed in deep grey jackets and reinforced leathers. Their breastplates were lacquered black, marked with the golden talon of the Alrestan Empire. Their boots were polished. Their rifles were long and cold.

  They didn’t look like bandits. They looked like the kind of men who only ever asked questions when they already knew the answer.

  The one in front was an older man with a clipped beard and a look that never softened.

  He looked at Tanir. Then at the cart.

  “Back again?”

  Tanir grinned. “I missed you.”

  “You missed our coin.”

  “You missed my personality.”

  The captain didn’t smile.

  Still, he waved his men off. No one raised a weapon. The gate stayed open.

  Karl exhaled quietly.

  ---

  The captain’s eyes swept the caravan. He stopped on Karl. Then the players.

  All silent. All standing too still.

  “New crew?” he asked.

  “Northmen,” Tanir said. “Picked them up cheap.”

  “They look trained.”

  “They’re not.”

  “Don’t look like they talk much.”

  “They don’t.”

  “They deaf?”

  “No.”

  The captain narrowed his eyes.

  ---

  Then it happened.

  One of the players—of course it was the pervert—stepped forward and gave a two-finger salute.

  “Yo, nice armor, bro. Very imperial chic.”

  Everyone froze.

  The words hung in the air like a dropped blade.

  The captain turned his head slowly. “What was that?”

  Tanir blinked. “He doesn’t speak right. Got hit on the head as a kid.”

  The pervert smiled awkwardly.

  Karl felt ice creep into his spine.

  The captain walked toward him. Toward Karl.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “Kurr,” Karl said. “Short for… something.”

  “What language was that?”

  Karl hesitated. “Northern dialect. Rare. Mostly nonsense.”

  The captain looked at the player again. Then at Karl.

  He didn’t say anything for a long time.

  Then he nodded. “Right. Nonsense.”

  He turned and walked back to his men.

  ---

  They were waved through.

  No one breathed until the gate was behind them.

  ---

  But as they rode away, the captain turned to one of his sergeants.

  “Keep an eye out,” he said. “That group wasn’t right.”

  “You want me to report them?”

  “Yes. Don’t know what they are. But they’re not just smugglers.”

  ---

  Later, the Star Key chimed softly in Karl’s hand.

  > [Notice: Imperial Flag Raised – Subject Watchlisted]

  > [Region Status: Hostile Surveillance – Low Priority]

  Karl closed the screen with a hiss.

  And stared ahead.

  The walls of Ravenn rose in the distance.

  High. Black. Silent.

  Waiting.