The south bastion of Meridian had once been a hotel. Now it was a barracks, its walls stripped of paint and lined with rune-etched plates that hummed a low, ceaseless vibration. Soren walked the main corridor, the soles of his boots sticking slightly to the resin-polished floors, every fourth step punctuated by the sound of the security wards recalibrating for his presence.
The squad had been posted up in what used to be a ballroom, minus chandeliers or any sign that people had once danced there. Instead, swords, practice blades, and a scattering of broken armor pieces littered the room. Kale, as always, was running the new batch of recruits through a set of drills that looked like a parody of military discipline: more shouting, less actual form.
"Attention!" Kale bellowed, catching sight of Soren. The group snapped to in a way that implied real pain if they didn't.
