Northfort’s walls speared the clouds, stone blades hundreds of meters high, running left and right until they merged with the horizon—an awe made solid, a city wearing mountains for armor.

Yet the side facing the Empire felt restrained, a cut-down ridge. Beyond the endless borderwall on the mountains, it couldn’t match the bulk that faced the northern wastes.

Broad ramparts cradled haul roads to the mines, veins of stone at sky-height, a fortress’s own scenic ridgewalk where the wind sang like arrows.

Unlike the walls that hit like thunder, Northfort’s gate looked old-school, even crude, a weathered arch like a stump beside a giant cedar.

A tunnel mouth, just wide enough for three carriages abreast, yawned like a quarry cut. Signed soldiers stood watch, sifting merchants and travelers like grain through a sieve.

Above the arch, even Northfort’s emblem was faint, a faded watermark on rock. Without the glimmer of daylight at the far end, that dim passage felt like going down a mine.

A dozen such mouths dotted the Empire-facing side, everyday in-and-outs, like fox burrows in a cliff.

Paperwork here cut like frost. Stricter than other cities. First-timers had to report at the City Lord’s manor, like birds checking in before nesting.

Unknown identities drew special care, a net of rules cast tight. Not criminals, yet until verified, gathered and kept like driftwood after a flood.

The Holy Maiden’s convoy slipped through like moonlight over ice, then linked up smoothly with the Sanctuary’s people inside Northfort.

This wasn’t a special case, so Silver Luan, an outsider to the Sanctuary, didn’t follow Spring Tide in to hear their inner reports. She was a white plume at the door, not part of the flock.

They moved into the quarters the Sanctuary arranged. Silver Luan pounced on Cerqin, who was trying to sneak out to play, and the room warmed like spring sun after snow.

Aileaf skipped the reunion. Her new potion had reached its last simmer. She borrowed a lab in the Sanctuary and dove in like a fish into deep water.

“Can’t you be gentler next time? You can shape your tail so easily. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you!”

“Mmm…”

Cerqin protested first, heat before motion. Silver Luan looked blissed-out, frank as a clear sky after rain.

Cerqin fumed, cheeks still rosy. She glanced at the window light—three, maybe four hours had flowed past like a long tide.

“I’m heading out. I promised Anran we’d browse the Commerce Union. You coming?”

“Anran? The leader of that little caravan? I doubt that lady’s into you.”

“I’m not into her either!”

Cerqin rolled her eyes, a wave flicking pebbles. What on earth did this white-haired girl think she was!

“I heard the Commerce Union shops sell fun magitech goods. I’m going to pick up stock.”

“Then I’ll pass…”

Silver Luan held Cerqin’s gaze a beat, then turned away, her bare white shoulder like polished jade. She waved lazily, a cat flicking its tail.

“…Suit yourself. I’m off.”

Cerqin, exhausted for four hours yet springy as a willow shoot, bounced off the bed. She twisted aside, dodging Silver Luan’s teasing tail with a dancer’s slip.

She dressed fast, clothes rippling on like water over stone, and left the Sanctuary.

Northfort’s streets, in their way, were livelier than Eastwind City, a wind-chime chorus louder than a market drum.

It was a border stronghold and a mining town. Many convicts were sent here to serve, a river of chains flowing toward rock.

So you didn’t just see all kinds of folk. You also saw many in rough clothes and iron, shackles glinting like cold dew.

Even prisoners split like strata.

Light offenders wore iron collars at the throat, but their clothes were better. Their freedom was partial, like a kite on a long string. They worked at set hours and places, then moved about the city within bounds.

Heavy criminals clustered under guards, freedom cropped short like winter grass. More shackles, stricter eyes. They appeared in squads, led and watched like cattle to yokes.

And then, the special kind.

Singles or pairs, men or women. Freedom cut down to the root, owned by another, branded by silence. Fewer in number, yet stranger in status—not entirely criminals, yet not free, like birds in gilded cages.

In a sense, it was a prison city, a fortress with iron flowing under its stone skin.

Cerqin’s gaze slid off a few handsome prisoners, like a dragonfly skimming water. She checked the city’s pocket map, then dropped the idea of a lazy stroll.

The Sanctuary sat near Northfort’s heart. The Commerce Union’s street was a ways off, another ridge beyond the river. Riding made sense.

She also wanted to try Northfort’s newly hot magitech carriage.

They still called it a carriage, but no horse, no beast pulled it. A long box driven by magestones, a moving little house humming like a beehive.

The novelty made her bouncey, like seeing fireworks at noon.

The flaw? It ran on fixed tracks, stopped only at set stations, and carried many at once—no door-to-door, no quick turn like a hawk.

If they could shrink it and let it roam the streets, it might replace horse carriages fully, like steel shaving wood.

She thought that as she stepped off the magitech carriage, boots tapping like rain on slate.

“The speed isn’t worse than a unicorn carriage,” she murmured, a smile curving like a crescent moon.

She cut through an alley. The view burst open into a plaza, and noise rolled over her like surf.

On the big building ahead, the sign hung bright: Commerce Union, letters like banners in sun.

Back at the gate, she and Anran had split to settle in. They’d agreed to meet here, to browse and buy magitech goods like beachcombers after a storm.

Anran said Northfort’s magitech selection beat the imperial capital, wide as a delta. The lord was reforming mine work, pushing openness and front-line applications like a spring flood breaking ice.

They’d even loosened the flow of foreign technical books. That came from Northfort’s lord and several other border fortresses working the ropes together, a tug-of-war that moved mountains a finger-width.

Cerqin replayed the shop numbers Anran gave her. She eyed the plaza’s wares as she walked for the ring of storefronts, a gull skimming the tide-line.

This plaza spread wider than common markets, a field after harvest. Specialty goods from everywhere. Magical tools up high, daily goods down low. Almost everything under the sun.

Yet the sharpest sight was still the figures stripped of freedom.

Marked heavy offenders. Condemned whose punishments stopped short of death. Others bound by reasons that took their names. They stood displayed, traded like items, bodies treated as tags on a rack.

“Miss Cerqin?”

A call came from the side, a voice like a pebble plinking into a pond. It pulled Cerqin from her dazzled stare.

“Mm?”

She tilted her head. The speaker wore the Sanctuary’s uniform cut, lines clean as a drawn blade. Cerqin placed her—one of Northfort’s Divine Officers who met the Holy Maiden’s convoy at the gate.

“Ah, Divine Officer—”

Cerqin gave a simple courtesy, then blinked, curious as a fox.

“What brings you here?”

“Handling a few things. Buying a few as well. And you, Miss Cerqin?”

“Meeting a friend, and picking up some goods.”

Silence hung a beat, thin as ice. The young Divine Officer looked awkward, and Cerqin felt the same, a shared cough stuck in the throat.

If you don’t know what to say, why come over!

Still, Cerqin was quick to warm. She tossed a new topic like a ball of yarn.

“By the way, how do you know my name? I don’t think I introduced myself. Was it Spring Tide?”

“Ah, no!”

A spark flared across the Divine Officer’s face, a sudden brightness that made Cerqin blink.

“Miss Cerqin is famous in our Law Enforcement Hall… I’d bet many Halls in the eastern cities know you…”

“Huh?”

The Law Enforcement Hall has me on a list?