Dawn on the eastern frontier broke not with the fiery red glare of a royal sunrise, but in a soft, pearl-white glow that filtered through the cloud-skirt of the Floating Mountain.
Where eight hours earlier there had been only an empty, wind-scoured wilderness of frozen scrub and jagged rock. An extraordinary sight now was stretched across the northern basin.
Along the sixteen paved dark rock avenues, a vast armada of white pavilions had risen from the earth with almost stone-built miraculousness.
Carpenters from the safe hall’s artisan guilds and broad-shouldered bear beastfolk had worked through the dark, hoisting thousands of linked ash-wood tent poles. Over these sturdy frames, students unfurled massive sheets of triple-layered, oiled silk-canvas. The fabric was water-repellent, wind-resistant, and woven with spirit-flax threads that locked in warmth while leftover breathable. By the fourth watch of the morning, over four thousand padded shelters stood in flawless, numbered rows, their even lines resembling a grand royal encampment designed for peace rather than war.
Walking down Avenue Seven, Su Ling’er moved with the tireless grace of a sky commander.
Her nine white fox tails were tucked back neatly to keep them from trailing in the dew, and in her hands she held an ink brush and an ivory inventory board. Behind her trailed seventy nimble fox maidens. It carried stacks of freshly woven straw mattresses and fragrant bundles of herbal blankets.
