The Soul-Lantern projection flickered above the bridge marker. Jue’s binding seal strained the connection, and the image of Yan appeared in fragments: first his face, then his arm, then only a pale outline beside the stone.
Yan kept the message short. “If the crossing closes, use the eastern mill route.”
Han came to the marker. “The lead cart is across. Send the blue signal onward so the families keep moving.”
Yan pressed the lantern’s base. The outline carried a small pulse and the blue marker down the relay path. It reached the western end, where the lead cart continued beyond the turn.
“Received,” Han said. “That is enough.”
The projection wavered again. Han looked toward the river. The last cart had reached the west bank, but the defenders still needed to withdraw in order. A runner arrived with Oren’s report: every guide was at the assigned junction, including one with a broken arm who continued giving directions from the supply wagon.
“Tell the wounded to go to the mill,” Han said. “The able defenders follow the high trail.”
The runner started back. Han caught his sleeve. “Is the injured guide stable?”
