Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Guests

The towering spires of the royal capital pierced the horizon as Axl and John passed through the heavy outer gates. The white stone walls, once blackened by war, now gleamed under the afternoon sun—an image of peace carefully curated for the world to see.

Beneath their boots, cobbled streets echoed with the rhythm of midday life. Laughter spilled from a nearby tavern. Children darted between market stalls, their shouts mixing with the clatter of wooden toys. Merchants barked over each other, advertising polished jewelry, still-steaming bread, and skewers of roasted meat.

Coal smoke and iron lingered in the air, softened by the faint sweetness of almonds roasting in a copper pan at a street vendor’s stall. The contrast was strange—industrial grit wrapped in a thin layer of warmth.

Axl slowed, his gaze drifting upward toward the flags flapping atop the highest tower of the castle.

Peace… It always feels too quiet after a storm.

The memory of Damien’s battered body flickered in his mind—the lifeless eyes, the trembling voice, the way rage had swallowed him whole. John seemed to feel the shift in his mood.

“Hard to believe this place is only a few hours from that hellhole,” John said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.” Axl’s voice was low. “Feels like a different world.”

They approached the outer courtyard of the castle, where two armored guards stood flanking a bronze gate. One stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“State your business,” the man barked, his eyes narrowing.

Axl stepped ahead and lifted his arm. The faint glow of his Divine birthmark shimmered under the sunlight—an ancestral crest, curling across his palm like a rune carved from light and fire.

“We need to speak to the King,” he said simply. “Now.”

The guard raised a skeptical brow. “That’s quite the demand. Who exactly are you supposed to be?”

Axl’s tone didn’t change. “Mention this mark to your Royal Advisor. He’ll know who I am.”

The man scoffed. “Divines don’t usually come knocking unless the world is burning.”

Still, he motioned to a younger soldier, who saluted and jogged toward the castle.

John leaned in with a whisper. “Think that’ll go smoothly?”

“Not likely,” Axl muttered. “The Advisor and I don’t exactly… align.”

“What’d you do?”

“I didn’t bow to the King the first time we met.”

John blinked. “That’s it?”

Axl shrugged. “He’s the type who expects people to grovel just to breathe the same air. I don’t do groveling.”

A faint smirk tugged at John’s lips. “And the King’s fine with that?”

“More than fine,” Axl said, his voice softening slightly. “He says I treat him like a man, not a throne.”

They waited.
And waited.

Ten minutes turned to thirty. The sun crept further across the sky, casting sharper shadows across the courtyard.

John shifted his weight, pacing. “Maybe they forgot about us.”

“Or they’re stalling,” Axl said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He rolled his shoulders, stretching the stiffness from his neck. “Screw it. Come on. I’ve got a better idea.”

John gave him a look. “Define ‘better.’”

“You’ll see.”

They circled around the courtyard, weaving between stacks of hay and weathered stone outbuildings until Axl led them into a narrow alley between the armory and the east tower. The air here smelled faintly of oil and old timber.

Axl shoved aside a set of old crates, revealing a rusted iron grate embedded in the wall. The edges of the stone around it were worn smooth with age.

John tilted his head. “A secret tunnel?”

Axl nodded. “The King showed me this years ago. Said if things ever went sideways, I could use it.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small bronze key, the metal worn smooth from years of sitting in his pocket. “Only opens from this side if you’ve got one of these.”

John peered into the darkness. “You sure he didn’t mean, like… a siege sideways?”

“This qualifies,” Axl said with a grin. “Sort of.”

He slid the key into a nearly invisible lock beside the grate. With a soft click, the iron swung inward.

The tunnel beyond was narrow, carved deep into the earth. Worn stone and moss-covered walls pressed close, the ceiling just high enough for them to walk without stooping. The air was cold, damp, and heavy with mildew. Every step echoed in a hollow rhythm that seemed louder than it should have been.

They moved in silence at first.

Then, a faint sound drifted from somewhere deep in the tunnel—a slow drip… drip… drip.

“You’ve used this before?” John asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Axl said, his voice low. “During the war.”

His hand trailed along the wall, fingertips brushing damp moss.

The last time I came through here… I was drenched in blood. The castle was burning. I remember fire in the halls. Screams echoing behind me. I didn’t even know if the King had survived.

A sudden gust of cold air pushed through the tunnel, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke. John glanced over his shoulder. “Is there… another way in here?”

“Not unless you’ve got the key,” Axl said. But his pace quickened.

The tunnel twisted, dipped, then began to slope upward. Eventually, a faint sliver of light appeared ahead. Axl pushed open a hinged stone panel, stepping into a room lined with shelves and the faint scent of rosemary.

John blinked. “The pantry?”

“Not just any pantry.” Axl strode to a particular cabinet and opened a wooden box with familiar ease. “This is where the King keeps his favorite tea.”

The moment the lid lifted, a warm, fragrant aroma drifted out—rich black leaves laced with citrus peel and honeyed spice. It was the kind of blend that wrapped around the senses and lingered in the air like a promise. The scent alone carried a weight of memory: polished silver trays, sunlight spilling through castle windows, the quiet hum of safety after chaos.

Axl inhaled deeply. “Still smells the same.”

John crossed his arms. “You’re unbelievable. We just broke into a royal pantry and you’re sniffing tea leaves.”

“The royals call this ‘afternoon tea,’” Axl replied, already setting a kettle on the stove. “And technically, we weren’t uninvited.”

“Technically,” John muttered. “One day, someone’s going to skewer us before asking questions.”

“They’ll have to catch us first.”

Axl worked with practiced familiarity, filling the kettle, steeping the leaves just right, pouring the tea into two porcelain cups, and setting them on saucers with precision.

John watched him for a long moment before asking, “Why tea?”

Axl’s hands didn’t stop moving, but his voice dipped.

“The King gave me this exact tea… the day after the siege ended.”

He stared into the steam rising from his cup.

“I was shaking. Couldn’t speak. Could barely stand. I thought he’d toss me back into the fire like everyone else. But instead… he handed me a cup, sat beside me, put an arm around my shoulder, and said, ‘You’ve done enough. Rest now, son.’”

John blinked. “…Huh. I didn’t know that.”

“Well… I’d never told anyone until now.” Axl’s voice lowered. “It was the first time someone called me ‘son’ since my father died. That moment… it changed everything for me.”

John’s usual sarcasm faded. “Guess that explains why you like the guy so much.”

“Guess it does.”

They stepped out into the courtyard just beyond the kitchen, sunlight warming the flagstones. The shadows had grown longer, stretching beneath the hedges. A breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby garden. Birds chirped from the edge of the castle tower.

Axl walked to the center of the courtyard, raised his teacup, and gave his saucer a sharp, deliberate clink.

The clear, high-pitched sound rang through the air like a bell.

Several guards turned their heads instantly.

Axl took a slow sip. “What does it take to get some service around here?”

Within seconds, armored soldiers poured into the courtyard from all sides—blades drawn, shields up, moving with precision. Their formation was tight, but their expressions were more wary than hostile.

John raised his cup with a dry smile. “Well. They definitely know we’re here now.”

Axl lifted his hand again, letting the Divine mark shimmer softly in the golden light.

“Tell the King his guests have arrived,” he said smoothly.

He tilted his cup toward them. “And thank him for the tea.”

A faint smirk crossed his face.

“It’s excellent, as always.”