The orders flew, brief and precise, in the organized murmur that had replaced the camp's noises. Everyone knew what they had to do; every gesture was a stone added to their fragile rampart.
Zirel, that squad leader with sharpened senses, set to work with unusual concentration. He didn't trace visible lines in the dust. Instead, he moved silently around the expanded camp's perimeter, his fingers brushing certain rocks, drawing ephemeral symbols in the air that only those sensitive to these currents could perceive. He placed tiny shards of anima gems at precise locations, creating a faint energetic hum. It was a decoy, a scrambling of essence flows meant to make their position blurry, indistinct, for anyone or anything trying to locate them by unconventional means. A camouflage that didn't fool the eye, but could fool the mind.
