The first night's camp was a lesson in northern efficiency. Within an hour of halting, tents had been raised, fires lit, and a perimeter established with the precision of long practice. The knights moved like parts of a single organism, each knowing their role without needing to be told. I watched from a folding stool near the largest fire, wrapped in my fur-lined cloak, and tried to absorb the rhythm of this new world.
They were a small contingent—perhaps fifty souls in total, as I had counted at dawn. But they operated with the confidence of a much larger force, their discipline born of years fighting on a frontier where hesitation meant death. I understood, watching them, why the North had survived centuries of monster waves and isolation. These were people who had learned to rely on each other absolutely, and that reliance had forged them into something unbreakable.
