The border camp sprawled before them like a small city carved from necessity and pragmatism.
Not temporary. Not makeshift tents and hastily erected shelters. This was a permanent installation that had existed for decades, serving as the threshold between two kingdoms that had learned to coexist through careful diplomacy and strategic distance.
The architecture reflected its position perfectly.
Stone buildings borrowed Solmiran warmth—rounded edges, carved reliefs, spaces designed for gathering and conversation. But ice crept through everything. Frost patterns etched into walls that would never melt. Heating runes glowing faint blue instead of Solmire's warm amber. Windows designed to trap heat while letting in precious northern light.
Mixed influence. Mixed purpose. Mixed loyalties, probably, given how many traders and merchants passed through here daily carrying goods and gossip between empires.
The procession that had been waiting for days noticed them immediately.
