The tent the banner marked was as massive as it was obnoxious—velvet drapes, gold tassels, the works.
Its entrance was flanked by two armored men with spears.
Their armor was extremely polished, too clean for a place like this.
They weren't just soldiers. They were something above the usual rabble.
One of them stepped forward, blocking Malik's path. No words.
"I'm here to see someone."
"..."
Silence.
Then, a slow, deliberate tilt of the head.
Like the man was sizing him up, deciding if he was worth acknowledging.
"You got a name?"
The guard finally asked.
Malik calmly nodded.
"I do. Malik. You know me?"
The man didn't react. Just cold, empty patience.
Malik sighed in response.
"Tell your bosses I'm here to collect what they so graciously borrowed."
At that, the guards exchanged smirks.
"Get lost."
Crack.
Before either of them could blink, Malik's fist dropped the first guard.
The second swung his spear—snap—Malik yanked it, kneeing him in the gut.
