The bells were still ringing when Ren reached the assembly ground.
Not the hollow rhythm of drills. Not the weighted clang of training.
These bells were harder, sharper. They belonged to the mountain itself.
What they called the east wall was no battlement of stone exposed to the sky.
It was the last barrier inside the mountain, a tunnel veined with steel conduits that pulsed faintly with mana. Beyond it lay the sealed teleportation chamber, a gate that could hurl squads into fractured lands without ever revealing where Arkenhall truly hid.
Lanterns guttered against the dawn wind drawn through vents high in the stone. Soldiers gathered in ranks. They were seasoned, scarred, not like the cadets he had fought beside in chambers.
Ren's palms were slick. Not from weakness. From the simple knowledge that this was no chamber, no test. This was the passage where the world bled through.
