The groan of the massive doors was a sound from the dawn of time, a noise of immense, geological weight. It was the sound of a promise being kept and a terrible new reality beginning. Leo stood frozen in the center of the vast lobby, his earlier questions about rent and Value seeming laughably trivial in the face of this moment. The sealed, silent world he had just begun to accept was being breached.
The doors didn't just open onto a street or a field. Through the growing gap, there was no city, no forest, no sky. There was only a swirling, pearlescent mist, a twilight that seemed to hold all colors and none at all. It was like looking into the space between thoughts, a formless, beautiful, and deeply unsettling void. It was the 'outside,' and it was nothing like he could have ever imagined.
A figure stumbled out of the roiling mist, its form silhouetted against the strange light. It took two faltering steps across the threshold before its shape became clear. It was a woman, tall and clad in armor that seemed to be forged from moonlight itself. It was plate armor, but it moved with the grace of silk, each piece exquisitely engraved with patterns like stylized wings. Or, it would have been exquisite, if not for the state it was in.
The silver plate was dented, scorched, and marred by deep, ugly gashes. The left pauldron was missing entirely, revealing a torn and blood-soaked tunic beneath. She clutched her side with a gauntleted hand, and a dark, crimson stain was rapidly spreading between her fingers, dripping onto the pristine, dusty floorboards of Leo's inn. Each drop landed with a soft, wet patter that was shockingly loud in the silence.
This was no noble knight on a quest. This was a soldier on the losing end of a brutal war.
Her helmet was gone, and a cascade of sweat-plastered, platinum-blonde hair fell around her shoulders. She raised her head, her face pale and smudged with dirt, but her features were sharp and noble, carved with an aristocrat's grace. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sky, scanned the room with a desperate, hunted energy. They were the eyes of someone who had been running for a very, very long time.
She took another step, then another, her armored boots clanking heavily. Her gaze finally landed on Leo, the sole occupant of the hall. For a moment, her expression was one of pure, animalistic caution. Then, seeing no immediate threat, her posture sagged, the last of her strength seeming to abandon her at the sight of potential refuge.
Leo's mind was a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts. Tenant? Value? She looks like she's about to bleed to death on my floor. That's a liability, not an asset. Do I even have cleaning supplies? What's the policy on dying guests? His professional instincts were at war with the basic human decency screaming at him to do something, anything.
He took a half-step forward, his hands raised in a useless, placating gesture. "Are you... alright?" The question was stupid, a conversational tic from a world of polite society that clearly had no place here.
The woman didn't answer. Her legs gave out from under her with a final, weary sigh of metal and bone. She crumpled to the floor, her armor clattering loudly, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. She landed on one knee, using a long, elegant sword still strapped to her hip to prop herself up, her head bowed in exhaustion. The effort cost her, and a pained gasp escaped her lips.
With what looked like the last ounce of her will, she looked up at Leo again. Her storm-grey eyes were losing focus, but they held a sliver of fierce, desperate hope. Her lips, pale and cracked, parted.
"Sanctuary…"
The word was barely a whisper, a ghost of a sound, yet it seemed to fill the entire inn. It wasn't a request. It was a plea, the final prayer of a soul at the end of its rope.
Before Leo could respond, before he could even decide what a sane response would be, the great doors, which had begun to slowly swing shut, were violently thrown open with a deafening bang that made him jump.
Three new figures stood silhouetted against the swirling, cosmic mist. They were built like giants, clad head-to-toe in immaculate, shining golden armor that seemed to hum with an inner light. Unlike the woman's battered silver, their armor was pristine, arrogant, and utterly intimidating. Ornate sunbursts decorated their chests, and the helms that covered their faces were sculpted into stern, unforgiving visages. They carried no swords; instead, massive, golden-hilted warhammers rested on their shoulders.
Their presence was an immediate and overwhelming wave of oppressive power and self-righteous authority. It was the palpable feeling of law enforcement arriving at a scene, but a law that was absolute, merciless, and divine.
The central figure took a step forward, his armored boot coming down with a heavy, final thud. His hidden eyes scanned the room, dismissing Leo as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture, before locking onto the crumpled, silver-clad woman on the floor.
Even without seeing his face, Leo could feel the cold, triumphant sneer in the soldier's posture. The hunt was over. Their quarry was cornered. And he, Leo, the newly appointed Master of this strange establishment, was standing right in the middle of it.