Eleonora was utterly fascinated as she looked around the guard post. The space was alien to her with its utilitarian function. While the voices around her echoed off of the stone walls while boots struck the floor with practiced rhythm, and every movement purposeful. It was all so prosa how the common people were, and she enjoyed every moment of it.

  Until now, she had never set foot inside a guard station.

  She had been born and raised at her family’s manor in the countryside, where the nearest town of any consequence lay more than twenty miles away. Even had she grown up in the ducal provincial capital instead, it would have made little difference. A lady of good standing had no reason to pass through doors like these. But now she was an adventurer and knight.

  That thought settled in her chest with a small, electric thrill. She drew herself straighter without quite realizing it, lifting her chin, arranging her features into something calm and composed. Her fingers curled faintly at her sides, the urge to fidget held in check by habit. She imagined, for a moment, that she looked the part of an experienced knight or seasoned adventurer, accustomed to places like this.

  Though it was completely belied from the getgo by her outlandish armor. She in fact looked very cutesy and pretty rather than tough and scary.

  Isadora walked just half a step behind her, as she always did just close enough to intervene if her lady needed it, but far enough away to grant her lady the illusion of independence. Her gaze moved more slowly, more deliberately, taking in place as she scanned for threats. Noting the Reinforced doorframes and the sightlines between the desks behind the reception counter. Among many other details.

  She had grown up in a small village where there was no guard station at all. In the countryside, law was not something that lived behind stone walls or written ledgers. It arrived on the road, carried by traveling judges known as justicars, who passed through a few times a year to hear disputes, review lingering grievances, and pronounce judgment on serious cases.

  More personal matters such as petty theft, boundary disputes, or broken agreements were handled locally. The village headman settled most of them, and in larger settlements the elders would gather to hear both sides before deciding on a remedy. It was an imperfect system that worked well enough. Everyone knew everyone else, and shame often proved as effective as punishment.

  For serious crimes, like murder, the limits of the system became very clear. The accused would be restrained as best as the villagers could manage. Being watched day and night while a runner was sent to the nearest town to beg for assistance. Justice, in those cases, was slow and uncertain, dependent on weather, distance, and whether help could arrive in time.

  As a teenager, Isadora had moved to Willowvale Manor, where order took on a different shape. There, authority was concentrated and unmistakable. The duke, whether or not he was currently overseeing the wider province, served as chief magistrate within his own household. Any crime among the staff was dealt with swiftly and quietly.

  The city was very different from the countryside.

  Here, law was a constant necessary pillar of society. Regular guard patrols moved through the streets and authority did not depend on personal reputation or memory. And because the city held more people, which meant more desperation and more opportunity for criminals, it held far more crime.

  Such volume demanded a more systematic approach. Justice thus was not improvised or negotiated ad hoc. It was instead managed by a professional class of lawyers, judges, and guardsmen. Compared to the countryside’s ad hoc arrangements, it felt cold and impersonal but was undeniably effective for the city.

  Inside, the guard post’s first-floor hall was austere by design. The ceiling rose higher than strictly necessary and was supported by square columns supporting a polished stone facade, while bare walls climbed towards a coffered ceiling. Gilded trim and carefully maintained fixtures softened the severity just enough to speak of the majesty of imperial authority and civic pride. However, nothing was meant to invite comfort. Instead, everything invited obedience and was meant to impress order into the minds of citizens and criminals alike.

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  A long reception counter made of a dark, well-worn wood divided the room in two, its surface polished smooth by decades of paperwork and restless hands. Behind it stood a single signal guard, posture straight and uniform immaculate, the very picture of official patience. His role was not to dispense justice, but to begin its slow, grinding process towards completion. He took reports, committing the various grievances to paper, and transforming that into orderly lines of script.

  If someone had an item stolen, for example, the guard would carefully write up the complaint with names, dates, and descriptions before filing it. A patrol would then be assigned to investigate, interviewing witnesses, retracing steps, and gathering what little evidence could be found.

  From there, the matter would be forwarded up the chain to the inquisitor’s office, where an overworked clerk or magistrate would decide whether the case merited further action.

  It was not swift, and it was not personal. But it was orderly. And in a city as large and crowded as this one, that alone was worth its weight in gold.

  They spotted Kavisha and Lucien near the main counter.

  Kavisha was leaning against the dark wood counter with casual ease, as if this were any other job in any other post. Lucien stood at her side, his size seeming to loom even in the large space. The two of them looked up almost in unison as Eleonora and Isadora approached.

  Kavisha's expression brightened into a sharp, easy grin. “There you are,” she said gregariously. “We were starting to think yesterday scared you off.” she said checkily.

  Eleonora blinked her face turning red as she blushed, then smiled back a quick and bright smile that seemed a little too eager for this time of the morning. “Good morning! I’m sorry, I… I got distracted admiring this place. It's totally awesome to see inside a real guard post”.

  Lucien’s mouth twitched. “ An unusual first impression of guard post, assuming it is your first time in one?”

  “Yes,” Eleonora admitted. “It’s… louder than I imagined one would be.”

  “That’s intentional,” Kavisha said cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Lucien inclined his head politely toward Isadora. “Good morning.”

  “ Good morning sir mage,” Isadora replied automatically, then caught herself and softened the formality. “Lucien.”

  Kavisha pushed herself upright. “Right. Let’s get this moving.”

  The clerk behind the counter was a tired-looking man with ink-stained fingers and the hollow-eyed expression of someone who hadn’t slept properly in days that contrasted with his polished uniform. His gaze flicked briefly over the group mostly lingering on Eleonora’s outlandish armor before smoothing into practiced neutrality.

  “ Were here for the sewer job,” Kavisha said as they approached the guard. He grunted before consulting a thick ledger, running a finger down the page, and nodded once.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sewer contract. Stand over there.” He jerked his thumb toward a marked waiting area along the wall where several benches had been bolted to the floor.

  “Sergeant Dofey will come get you. We’re waking the next shift early to assist.”

  “Appreciated,” Kavisha replied.

  They moved aside as directed to a bench fixed along one of the walls for those waiting to be called.

  Eleonora perched on the edge of it, hands folded neatly in her lap, trying very hard not to stare. The noise made her a little shy with the constant murmur of voices, the scrape of boots, the sharp bark of orders being so different from the controlled quiet of the manor where she had grown up.

  Everything here felt busy and in motion all at once. She found it almost overstimulating, and in her effort to take everything in, she only succeeded in tiring herself out.

  Isadora noticed at once. She said nothing, but shifted subtly closer, her presence a steady, familiar anchor at Eleonora’s side.

  To give herself something to do and to feel useful to the party, Eleonora offered Lucien and Kavisha coffee while they waited. She slipped a hand into her storage ring and withdrew the supplies with careful precision: a small kettle, a pair of cups, and a neatly wrapped packet of grounds.

  Then, for herself, she produced a teapot, a cup and saucer, and poured a serving of tea that was still pleasantly hot from when Isadora had brewed it for her the night before.

  The familiar ritual helped settle her nerves as they waited.

  Lucien leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly through his nose as he accepted the cup, his posture loosening just a fraction. Kavisha, meanwhile, scanned the room once more alert but unbothered, already slipping into the familiar rhythm of a job about to begin.

  As the minutes stretched on and the initial tension faded into boredom, the guard post carried on around them, indifferent to their waiting.