(Almera POV)
The desert was quieter on our second night.
Not silent. The sands never truly slept. Wind whispered constantly across the dunes, shifting grains of gold like an endless breath moving through the world. But the camp itself carried a strange stillness that had not been present before.
Everyone knew.
Tomorrow we would leave Alessandria.
Tomorrow we would enter Constantine.
I sat beside one of the smaller fires near the edge of the encampment, the warmth brushing gently against the chill that crept across the desert once the sun disappeared. The Golden Army had formed a careful perimeter, their silhouettes moving occasionally against the low flames.
They were still vigilant.
But even soldiers understood borders.
Something changed when you crossed them.
