Heavy footsteps crunched across the snow-dusted stone beside her, and Thalia turned to see Instructor Marr approaching.The former admiral's cloak of glass threads caught the morning light, scattering it in prism patterns across the ground.His scarred face was set in stern lines, his posture rigid as he surveyed the assembled soldiers.
"Attention," he called, his voice carrying easily over the whistling mountain wind.The soldiers, already standing straight, somehow found a way to become even more rigid."A large group of refugees from the Southern Kingdoms will arrive within the hour.Your duties are straightforward: escort them to the mess hall, where they will be evaluated and assigned temporary quarters."
He paced before them, his glass-thread cloak whispering against the stones."Understand this: Isle Warden infiltrators may be among them.Every arrival must be vetted thoroughly.No exceptions."
The words settled like ice in Thalia's stomach.She glanced again at the approaching caravan, at all those people who had so recently lost everything—their homes, their livelihoods, perhaps even loved ones.And now they would be met with suspicion, with drawn weapons, with interrogation.The necessity of such precautions was clear; the Isle Wardens were cunning, and infiltration was among their known tactics.But the order to treat them with suspicion twisted uneasily in her gut nonetheless.
Marr's gaze swept over the assembled soldiers, lingering briefly on Thalia."You will conduct yourselves with discipline and vigilance," he continued."Drake will command this operation."He nodded toward Senna, who straightened with unmistakable pride."Report any suspicious individuals directly to her."
"Sir," Senna acknowledged, stepping forward."We'll ensure a thorough vetting."
Marr nodded once, then turned to leave."See that you do."
As Marr departed, Senna took his place before the soldiers, her pale features set in lines of stern authority."Weapons at the ready," she ordered."Form a perimeter around the refugees as they approach.No one enters the keep without being checked.Is that understood?"
"Yes, Commander," the soldiers replied in unison.Thalia's voice joined theirs, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.
They took their positions near the gate, forming two lines on either side of the approach.Thalia found herself stationed at the outer edge, where she would be one of the first to intercept the arriving refugees.She watched as the caravan drew closer, details emerging from what had been only a distant blur of movement.
The group was predominantly families—mothers clutching children's hands, fathers carrying infants or supporting elderly relatives.Some pulled sleds laden with meager belongings; others carried nothing but the clothes on their backs.As they drew nearer, Thalia could make out their faces, etched with exhaustion and fear.Many bore the marks of their desperate journey: frost-nipped cheeks, bloodshot eyes, lips cracked from wind and cold.
Her chest tightened as she recognized the distinctive clothing styles of the Southern Kingdoms—vibrant colors dulled by dirt and exposure, patterns she'd grown up seeing in Verdant Port's markets.These were her people, broken and desperate in a way she had never imagined possible.
The first of the refugees reached the outer gate, where Senna stood with her spine straight as a blade, her expression coolly assessing."Halt," she commanded, holding up a gloved hand."State your origins and purpose."
A man at the front of the group stepped forward, his once-fine cloak now tattered and stained."We come from Saltmarsh and the surrounding villages," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion."Fleeing the Isle Warden invasion.We seek shelter in the name of the United Kingdom."
Senna regarded him with narrow-eyed suspicion."How many in your group?"
"Just over two hundred," the man replied."Mostly families.We've been traveling for weeks."
"Any weapons?"Senna demanded.
The man shook his head."Only tools.Hunting knives.Nothing more."
Senna considered him for a long moment, then nodded curtly."You will be escorted to the mess hall for processing.Anyone found concealing weapons or information will be detained.Is that understood?"
The man nodded wearily."We understand.We only want safety."
Senna turned to the soldiers."Form up.Weapons drawn.Escort them inside."
The soldiers moved to flank the refugees, swords and spears at the ready.Thalia hesitated, her hand on the hilt of her blade, but reluctant to draw it.These were not enemies—they were survivors, beaten down by circumstance and clinging to hope.Beside her, a Northern soldier snorted at her hesitation and drew his sword with deliberate emphasis, the blade singing as it left its sheath.
Senna's gaze found Thalia."Is there a problem, Greenspire?"
Thalia straightened."No, Commander," she replied, though she left her weapon sheathed.Instead, she turned to the nearest refugee—a woman with a child of perhaps five clinging to her skirts—and gestured toward the portcullis."This way," she said, keeping her voice gentle."You'll be safe here."
The woman nodded, eyes wary but grateful for the kindness.As the group began to move through the gates, Thalia noticed more details: bandaged hands, limping gaits, hollowed cheeks, and eyes that had seen too much.Children who should have been boisterous were silent, their gazes fixed on the ground as they shuffled forward.The elderly moved with painful slowness, supported by younger family members who themselves looked ready to collapse.
The procession wound through Frostforge's outer courtyard and into the main keep, their path lit by cryomantic lamps that cast a blue glow over the ancient stone walls.Thalia walked beside them rather than behind, offering a steady hand to those who stumbled on the uneven floors or struggled with the steep inclines of Frostforge's interior passages.The Northern soldiers maintained their rigid formation, weapons still drawn, eyes scanning constantly for any sign of threat.
They reached the mess hall, a cavernous space carved from the mountain itself and normally filled with the clatter of students taking their meals.Today, the long tables had been pushed to the sides, creating an open area in the center where the refugees could gather.At the far end, several tables had been arranged for processing, with parchment, quills, and ledgers laid out in neat rows.
Senna strode to the front of the hall, her boots striking the stone floor with sharp precision."Form orderly lines," she commanded, her voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling."You will each state your name, place of origin, occupation, and reason for fleeing.Any suspicious behavior will result in immediate detention."
The refugees shuffled into rough lines, too exhausted to protest the military efficiency being imposed upon them.Senna turned to the soldiers."You will check names against the ledgers, verify places of origin, and watch for unusual behavior.Be thorough."
Thalia took her position at one of the tables, a ledger open before her.She forced herself into the role of suspicious inspector, though her voice softened when speaking to the frightened Southerners who approached her station.One by one, they gave their names and stories—merchants from Saltmarsh, farmers from the surrounding villages, craftspeople, laborers, and teachers.All with the same haunted look in their eyes, all with the same tale of sudden attack and narrow escape.
