Nyxara's watch-post balanced on a black stone rise overlooking the boundary terraces. Half-fortress, half-den. Lanterns burned with steady pale fire. Walls of Threshold plate and old bone-law sealed the ash wind. Inside, accommodation for the nine to stand without stacking and a low table for maps were provided, with weapon racks and a side chamber of clean water and binding cloth. It was the first place since Continuum custody to feel designed for surviving the night rather than surviving politics.
"Sit," Nyxara ordered. "Wounded first. Talk second."
She worked without show. Poseidon's split shoulder got packed and bound. Hermes' cut arm sealed with a bitter salve that smelled like burned mint. Zeus' cold burn from the wraith was cleaned hard enough to sting then wrapped. Athena noted each movement Nyxara made around him. Hades refused full treatment and took a cloth only. Kratos permitted her to bind one scraped knuckle and nothing more.
