The north of the Free Space had a way of making sound feel distant.
Even wind seemed to travel softer here— as though the land swallowed noise before it could rise.
Roah preferred it that way.
The command post stood on a low ridge of stone and packed earth, built plain and square, nothing ornamental. Timber braces. Watch platforms. Signal poles. A structure meant to endure, not impress. The kind of place soldiers forgot to look at after a week.
Which was exactly how Roah liked all his stations. Nothing that invited attention survived long at borders.
He stood outside rather than inside.
Hands behind his back. Feet planted.
Still as the posts hammered into the ground around him. From afar, he might've been mistaken for part of the fortification itself.
The men gave him space without being told to. Not out of fear. Not quite respect either. Something simpler. Instinct.
