Land Without Hope

Chapter 21 - Melstein

The crowd surged forward, a living tide of weary bodies pressing toward the city gates. Daglan kept his head low, his hood casting his face in shadow. The clink of tools and the shuffle of boots on packed dirt filled the air, masking his careful footsteps.

He moved with the crowd, his heart hammering in his chest as the guards loomed ahead. Their eyes scanned the sea of hunched shoulders and dirt-smeared faces. Daglan flinched as one of them barked an order, the voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of exhaustion clinging to the crowd.

Stay small. Stay invisible.

The crowd thickened as workers funneled into the entrance. Daglan kept his hood drawn low, the murmur of voices around him a steady tide that ebbed and flowed with unease.

Ahead, the guards stood like statues. Their steel-plated figures stark against the dim glow of the gate's lights.

"Move along!" one shouted, shoving an older man whose steps were too slow. The man stumbled, muttering something under his breath, and the guard's hand went to the hilt of his sword.

Daglan clenched his fists, every instinct screaming at him to intervene, but he held himself back. He couldn't risk drawing attention—not now, not so close to the gate. Beside him, the worker's jaw tightened, his voice a low mutter. "One day," the man growled, "one day, we'll see who's shoving who."

Ahead, the guards were becoming more aggressive, their inspections turning random and increasingly harsh. Each step closer to the gate tightened the knot in Daglan's chest further. His gaze darted between the armored figures, and the gate that loomed like a promise just beyond them.

A commotion broke the rhythm of the line. A woman's pouch slipped from her hands, spilling coins across the dirt. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the scattered pieces. The line stalled behind her, impatience rippling through the gaurds.

"Move it!" one of them barked, shoving her with enough force to send her sprawling. The woman's hands trembled as she scrambled to collect the last of her coins, clutching them to her chest like a lifeline. Her fear radiated in sharp, brittle waves, and for a moment, Daglan's breath hitched.

His heartbeat quickened, a drumbeat of urgency pounding in his ears. He couldn't afford to hesitate. As the guard's shouts grew louder, Daglan slipped into motion. His steps quickened, fluid and deliberate. Threading through the huddle of workers like water through a jagged stream. The guards' attention remained fixed on the woman, their voices rising with irritation. The soft crunch of his boots against the dirt was lost beneath the commotion.

The gate loomed closer, and Daglan's chest nearly tightened to collapse. With a silent breath of relief, he slid through the gate and into the shadows beyond. The chaos behind him masking his escape. His pulse roared in his ears, but he didn't dare look back.

Almost there... You can do this. Daglan told himself, keeping his stride measured. Forcing down the primal urge to run. Each step felt like an eternity as he melted into the flow of workers now spilling into Melstien's dimly lit streets.

The city rose before him, the cramp and dilapidated living conditions a mirror image of Bolgue's. The factories squatted along the gulf like hungry beasts, their smokestacks belching endless plumes into the sky. Between them, buildings leaned against each other like drunken revelers, their walls stained with decades of grime and neglect. Windows stared out like hollow eyes, cracked or boarded over with rotting planks.

Daglan breathed a sigh of relief as he was finally inside, but his entrance hadn't gone completely unnoticed. Murmurs from the workers came like a gust of wind, their sideways glances sharp and searching. One man, his face marked by soot and exhaustion, leaned in just enough for his breath to tickle Daglan's ear.