Utopia

[Imperatus Rex]

UTOPIA
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

The streets are paved with smooth stone brick, buildings of masonry and carpentry stand mighty over passerby citizens. Sweet spice aroma can be smelled from all over, as well as smells of fresh bread and roasted meats. A clockwork society works routine lives fulfilling the most specific details of supply and demand, of which they are briefed by the passive overseer every other week. Water runs in a small canal through the city, cold and crystal clear. A young man is briskly travelling the road to the house of his master.

Recognizing the unique masonry engravings of the house, he pushes the stout oak door open and is greeted by an even more potent smell of cinnamon and orange zest.

"Sorry, I was delayed by a caravan trying to enter. Here are the tea leaves..." The young man sets a cloth bag on the table and digs through his rucksack, setting down a jar of golden syrup. "And honey."

An old man sits behind the table, tipping a silver kettle and filling a small cup with bitter beverage.

"White leaves?" He asks, and opens the sack to reveal gently dried and pale leaves filling the bag. "Thank you, I will pay you for your trouble this evening."

The young man sits in a wooden chair, "That isn't necessary. It was a couple hours only due to the caravan, no problem at all."

"Hm. If you insist." The old man mumbles, and pours a second cup of tea for his servant before looking over some papers on his desk.

The young man looks out a window in the room, toward the east, the gates were merely a five minute walk away. "Is it true there is a war in the neighbor lands?"

"Yes, but that is very far away. Don't concern yourself with it." The old man responds, still absorbed in his papers.

Black smoke begins to rise from past the gate, and the young man looks in confusion. Perhaps they were simply camping outside the gate and started a bonfire, he thought briefly, but the sun was still out. After a minute of silence, the old man looks out the window curiously, and his face turns solemn.

Citizens started peaking out their doors, and a small crowd gathered outside out of curiosity as well. The guards shut the gates and ordered the crowd to return to their homes.

"That caravan... it must have been a scout." The old man concluded, standing up and putting the papers away into a drawer.

"A scout?" The young man repeated, still unsure what the smoke was from. Did the caravan burn? Did they start a fire? The grass and trees were not dry, it recently stormed. His question seemed to be answered when the guards on the wall began to draw arrows dipped in tree sap, and they were lit with torches before being shot at a low trajectory into the smoke, the approximate location of the caravan.

"A scout caravan is what they use to scope a possible target, but that one was apparently already suspicious, so they got rid of it before it could get in or report back. Hopefully that will discourage an attack..." The old man says, staring out the window at the smoke cloud rising from over the gate.

"That means trade will clearly be blocked for a while..." The young man says, glad he bought the tea and honey before prices spiked.

The old man nods, and a look of bewilderment starts to appear on his face, "Do you hear that?"

The young man listens carefully, and hears faint sounds like that of distant horses. The guards draw again and shoot at a high trajectory, the sounds of horses stops by the third volley.

"Looks like our golden age is about to be put to true use. The war is catching up with us." The old man states, looking at the smoke slowly thin as the smoldering caravan is likely being cleaned aside.