A wave of heat blasted Alam as he stepped out of Fort Hope's steel belly. Sweat prickled his scalp instantly, a stark contrast to the cool, stale air conditioning within. Squinting against the unforgiving sun, his brow furrowed in surprise. A ragged mass of humanity clogged the entrance, overflowing into the dusty plains beyond.
Alam’s hand instinctively drifted towards the well-worn hilt of his pistol. The guards, usually stoic and vigilant, were scrambling, their faces etched with a mixture of confusion and concern. Elbowing his way through the throng, a cacophony of voices assaulted him. Fear, desperation, and a smattering of languages he couldn't decipher clawed at his eardrums.
Reaching the front of the crowd, Alam’s gaze settled on a wizened old man, his face creased with worry lines as deep as canyons. "You seem to be in charge," Alam rumbled, his voice cutting through the din.
The old man, eyes red-rimmed and voice hoarse, rasped out a reply. "We are… what's left of us. We come seeking sanctuary, sir. From the East… a horde descends. Like demons from the wastes.钢铁洪流 (gāng tiě hóng liú), they call themselves. The blood khaganate"
A wave of heat blasted Alam as he stepped out of Fort Hope's steel belly. Sweat prickled his scalp instantly, a stark contrast to the cool, stale air conditioning within. But the desert sun wasn't what made his eyebrow arch. It was the chaos at the main gate. A throng of ragged refugees, faces etched with a mixture of terror and desperation, pressed against the iron bars, their ragged clothes whipping in the hot wind.
Guards, overwhelmed, struggled to maintain order. Shouts competed with the refugees' panicked pleas. Alam weaved through the throng, his boots crunching on loose gravel. He didn't need words to understand the urgency.