A purple fracture ripped across the northern ravine just as the last command runners reached the gate.
Juna slapped the broken keystone beside their map while Hajin yanked the parchment clear of the pulse scorching her cuff. Twenty foreign riders waited beyond the palisade, weapons covered, sitting outside the guarded ditch like eager spectators at a cockfight.
Cassie tightened her buckler strap while Hans checked the reserve lined up behind her.
"The central keystone's cooked," Juna growled, shaking her smoking sleeve away from the fragment, "the frame's splitting right above it, and those riders haven't twitched since their captain halted them outside our stakes."
Hajin watched the Gate's widening glare spill past the ridge overlooking their farms.
"Let 'em enjoy the view," he snorted, spinning the map toward the gathered squad leaders.
"We've still got people out there, so somebody tell me where the last farm wagons got to."
