Blood and Burden

The days that followed were marked by a heightened sense of vigilance, the memory of the bandit attack lingering like a shadow over their journey. Nathanael and Amara moved with a newfound caution, their eyes scanning the horizon and their ears attuned to the slightest rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. The road stretched endlessly before them, its winding path cutting through dense forests and rolling hills, the landscape shifting subtly as they ventured further south.

When they finally reached the southern border checkpoint, the scene that greeted them was all too familiar—a long queue of wagons and carriages, their drivers and passengers waiting patiently as guards moved methodically from one to the next, their questions sharp and their inspections thorough. Nathanael glanced at Amara, his expression grim but resolute. "We'll have to use the same method as before," he said, his voice low.

Amara raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "The husband and wife routine? With a merchant twist, of course. How original."

Nathanael shot her a look, though there was no real irritation behind it. "It worked last time," he said simply. "Let's just stick to the plan."

As they inched closer to the front of the line, the tension in the air became palpable. The guards here were more vigilant than those at the central border, their eyes sharp and their movements deliberate. They inspected each wagon with meticulous care, poking through crates and barrels, their questions probing and their skepticism evident.

When it was finally their turn, Nathanael and Amara stepped forward, their demeanor calm and their story rehearsed. The guards approached, their expressions stern as they began their interrogation. "Names?" one of them barked, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

"Nate," Nathanael replied smoothly, his tone steady. "And this is my wife, Amara."

The guard glanced at the identification papers they handed over, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the details. "Nate and Amara," he repeated, his voice flat. "Merchants, huh? What's your business in the south?"

"Trade," Nathanael said, his voice calm but firm. "We're looking to expand our routes."

The guard nodded, though his skepticism remained. He motioned for his companions to inspect the wagon, their hands rifling through the contents with practiced efficiency. Nathanael and Amara exchanged a glance, their expressions carefully neutral as they waited.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard handed back their identification papers, his tone slightly less gruff. "You're clear to go," he said, though his eyes lingered on Nathanael for a moment longer. "But be careful. The south isn't what it used to be. The Klythen Kingdom's been stirring up trouble, and it's only a matter of time before things boil over. Watch your backs."

Nathanael frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Why are you telling us this?" he asked, his voice cautious.

The guard shrugged, his expression grim. "You look like new faces. Merchants, sure, but green ones. The south's a tiger's den right now. Just thought you should know."

With that, they were waved through, the checkpoint fading into the distance behind them. But the relief of passing inspection was short-lived. As they ventured further into the southern territories, the road ahead revealed a scene that was both unsettling and foreboding.

The path was lined with soldiers, their armor gleaming in the sunlight as they marched in disciplined formations. Spears were held aloft, their tips catching the light like a forest of steel. Camps dotted the landscape, their tents arranged in neat rows, the air thick with the sounds of clanging metal and shouted orders. It was a sight that spoke of preparation, of an empire bracing itself for the storm to come.

Amara's eyes widened as she took in the scene, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's like they're preparing for war."

Nathanael nodded, his expression grim. "They are," he said, his voice low. "And if what that guard said is true, it's not just the empire they're preparing for. The Klythen Kingdom's not going to sit idly by."

*****

Roads stretched before them, a ribbon of dirt and gravel winding through the undulating landscape, flanked by fields of golden grass that swayed gently in the breeze. The presence of imperial soldiers had become a constant backdrop—a reminder of the tension simmering beneath the surface of the southern territories. Nathanael and Amara moved steadily, their wagon creaking softly as it rolled over the uneven terrain. Neither spoke much, their thoughts occupied by the weight of what lay ahead.

After hours of travel, the road split into two, a forked path that demanded a choice. Nathanael brought the wagon to a halt, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map spread across his lap. His finger traced the lines and symbols, stopping at a small dot marked Horgzene. Amara leaned over, her shoulder brushing against his as she peered at the map. Her finger pointed to the right fork. "That's the one," she said, her voice quiet but confident. "Horgzene's just a few miles down that road."

Nathanael nodded, his gaze lingering on the map. Horgzene was a peculiar place, a town nestled perilously close to the border between the empire and the Klythen Kingdom. What struck him most was the absence of any notable defenses—no walls, no fortifications, not even a token garrison. It was as if the town existed in a liminal space, caught between two powers yet belonging to neither.

"What do you think it is?" Amara asked, her voice breaking the silence. "Empire or Klythen?"

Nathanael frowned, his fingers tapping lightly against the map. "Hard to say. If it's part of the empire, it's the most neglected part I've ever seen. If it's Klythen… well, it's awfully close to imperial territory. Either way, it's strange."

Amara tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's neither. Maybe it's just… its own thing. A place for people who don't want to pick a side."

Nathanael glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Could be. Either way, we'll find out soon enough."

With a flick of the reins, he guided the wagon onto the right fork, the wheels crunching against the gravel as they continued their journey. The landscape began to change subtly as they drew closer to Horgzene—the fields gave way to sparse woodlands, the trees thin and gnarled, their branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers. The air grew heavier, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and something else, something metallic and sharp.

As they approached the town, the first thing they noticed was its unassuming nature. Horgzene was not a place of grandeur or ambition; it was a collection of modest buildings clustered together, their roofs patched and their walls weathered by time. There were no walls, no gates, no soldiers patrolling the streets. Instead, the town seemed to exist in a state of quiet defiance, its presence a testament to the resilience of its people.

Nathanael brought the wagon to a stop at the edge of the town, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The streets were quiet, the few people who wandered about moving with a sense of purpose, their faces etched with the weariness of those who had learned to live with uncertainty.

"Well," Amara said, breaking the silence, "this is it. Horgzene. Doesn't look like much, does it?"

Nathanael shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "No, it doesn't. But there's something about it. Something… off."

Amara raised an eyebrow. "Off how?"

"I don't know," Nathanael admitted, his gaze lingering on the town. "It's too quiet. Too still. Like it's waiting for something."

Amara followed his gaze, her expression mirroring his unease. "Maybe it is. Either way, we're here now. Let's see what we can find."

With a nod, Nathanael guided the wagon into the town, the wheels rolling over the dirt streets as they ventured deeper into Horgzene.