The aroma of freshly baked buns drifted through the alleys like an unspoken invitation, warm and persistent, threading itself between stone walls and iron gates. Two palace guards, encased in heavy brigandine that caught the light in dull, disciplined flashes, stood motionless as the courier approached at an unhurried pace. The figure carried their meal as though time itself had agreed to slow for him.
Even with the man clearly in sight, obligation demanded stillness. Rank and procedure held them fast. Negligence, after all, could be punished more severely than fatigue.
When the courier finally reached them, the older guard exhaled at last and leaned his polearm against the wall with a relieved clink of metal. He accepted his portion without ceremony, a bowl of steaming seafood broth and a few soft, freshly baked buns. The fellow ate with the quiet satisfaction of a man briefly released from stone duty.
"Hey, newcomer," he called between mouthfuls, glancing toward his companion. "Private Er Duoxun, was it? Aren't you going to eat something? This is just your first day."
The younger guard remained rigid beside the massive gate, eyes fixed forward. Even here, amid the endless labyrinthine sprawl of courtyards and interlocking walls that led deeper into the palace, discipline demanded vigilance. Hours could pass without motion, hours had to be endured without complaint.
Yet he hesitated. A faint unease lingered beneath his resolve. If both of them lowered their guard even briefly, what might slip through unnoticed?
The older guard dismissed the concern with a weary scoff. "Relax. Tombs and ancestral shrines do demand endless watchfulness." He gave a faint, almost amused shake of his head. "But I assure, nothing behind you requires that level of protection."
"How so?" Er Duoxun asked.
The courier, an older man weathered by years of passage through these very routes, answered before the older guard could. He spoke casually, as one accustomed to the rhythms of palace guards coming and going, rising and retiring. In his voice lingered the certainty of experience.
"If a fool ever tried to force their way through these courtyards," he said, lowering his tone slightly. "They would not find a palace at all, but a nest of vipers. Each bite is more merciless than the last. They are more poisonous than anything wandering this fractured realm."
The elder paused, letting the words settle.
"Not even sovereigns would be spared if they stumbled wrong," he added with a faint, knowing smile. "Most outlaws understand that well enough to stay far away. But ignorance has its own momentum. Those who ignore it dig their graves before they even realize they've picked up a shovel."
Er Duoxun shifted uneasily beneath his armor, the weight of his brigandine suddenly more tangible. Still, hunger won a small victory over caution. He finally set his weapon aside and accepted his share of food, though his eyes betrayed him, darting now and then toward the gate, as if expecting it to breathe or shift.
Just as he lifted a bun toward his mouth, he paused again.
The gate remained closed.
And yet the sensation persisted, that fragile awareness that lowering vigilance even for a moment might be all it took for something unseen to change everything.
The courier noticed the hesitation and smiled gently, the lines of his face deepening like worn parchment.
"There is no need for fear, young man," he said softly. "In the natural order of things, a foolish creature who wander into knowing death do not require anyone to push them along. And so long as each of us remains true to our station, the world tends to sort itself out."