The two veteran sentry guards stood beside the fortified timber checkpoint barricade, watching the dimensional rift rotate with slow, hypnotic azure distortions.
A rusted iron brazier crackled merrily between them, sending thin ribbons of fragrant pine smoke drifting up into the crisp afternoon air.
Their iron-tipped spears rested upright against the palisade post while a battered leather canteen of spiced wine passed between their calloused hands.
Dry autumn leaves skittered across the packed gravel path, driven by a biting northern wind howling down from the jagged mountain ridges.
"You think those two kids are dead yet?" the younger guard asked, squinting anxiously toward the shimmering blue vortex.
"Almost certainly," the grizzled veteran answered with a grim grimace, wiping a drop of wine from his grey beard with the back of his thumb.
