The distant hum of voices carried through the camp, faint but constant, blending together like the soft rhythm of life itself.
Rox sat quietly atop a stack of medium-sized crates, the ones the Vakaryanns had hauled and piled together earlier.
The wood beneath her was rough, but it felt strangely grounding compared to the endless steel of ships and fortresses she had been used to.
Around her, faint laughter echoed from one side of the encampment—mercenaries teasing each other over rations—while from another, a few soldiers were arguing about who had seen the larger monster earlier that day.
Somewhere farther off, the faint clang of metal rang out as engineers adjusted something near the Veil Pylon.
It was all so… alive.
So normal.
Rox leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched the small bursts of movement across the camp.
