The camp rose out of the badlands like a wound that had learned to organize itself.
Ringed with ward-poles set at measured intervals, each pole was engraved with law-runes that pulsed faintly.
Between them hung chains of sensing-thread, invisible unless you stared with intent. They're meant to feel for sudden manifestations and unauthorized breaches.
The disguised five approached at the pace of victors returning from a successful hunt.
They did not hurry.
They let the camp see them coming.
They let the camp accept them before it questioned them.
At the outer gate, three Eternals stepped forward to meet them.
The first had skin like petrified resin and eyes that never fully blinked. The second carried a mantle of cracked bone plates that clicked when it breathed. The third was slender, pale, and too clean for a place like this.
Their gazes moved in a practiced sweep.
First the "twins."
Then the Chainmane.
Then the Gravewing.
Then the Riftglass.
