The village gates towered above the two brothers—easily thirty meters of cold, unyielding steel. They loomed like a challenge carved into the sky itself, a stark contrast to the crude wooden barricades back home. Where their village whispered survival, this one screamed power.
At the center of it all stood a soldier.
Or… at least, something trying very hard to look like one.
His armour hung loosely off his frame, as if it had given up on him long ago. Greasy strands of dark hair clung to his face, and his thin arms struggled to hold up a sword that looked just a little too heavy for him.
"WHO ARE YOU!" he bellowed, voice cracking halfway through. "I have not seen you before!"
Damien didn't flinch. "We're travellers. We mean no harm. Just looking for work—earn a few coins and move on to the capital."
The soldier squinted at them, scratching his cheek with the tip of his blade like that was a perfectly normal thing to do
"I see… however," he said slowly, puffing his chest out, "we are not allowing any travellers in at the moment. Orders from the chief."
Silence.
Then—
"What?" Damien blinked once. Twice. Then his voice climbed rapidly. "WHAT? The chief said no one is allowed? WHY?!"
"The chief said ten silver coins per person to enter."
A vein pulsed to life on Damien's forehead.
Before he could explode, Luke stepped in, voice cutting through the tension. "We just said we need work. Can we give seven coins?"
The guard paused… thinking far harder than the situation deserved.
"Yeah! That'll do," he said brightly.
And then—without warning—he leapt.
Thirty feet.
Straight down.
He landed with a thud in the grass like a sack of potatoes that had briefly believed it could fly.
Luke blinked. "…Right."
After collecting the coins with far too much enthusiasm, the man turned and shouted, "OPEN THE GATES!"