They crossed the bridge in the order they had chosen.
Atlas walked at the center. Lara stayed at his right shoulder. Eli took the left. Clara followed close enough that the four of them moved as one shape. The imperial soldier rode a few paces ahead and raised one hand in the formal signal the moment the first imperial guard stepped forward.
The exchange was short. Crests were shown. Names were given in the old style. The soldier spoke the words that opened the gate without raising his voice. The polished steel on the imperial side parted. The older stone of the Berkimhum side watched them go and did not follow.
The air changed the moment their boots left the bridge.
It was drier, sharper, carrying the faint metallic taste of a land that kept its roads and its records in better order. The soil underfoot lightened. The trees that remained stood in straighter lines. Stone markers continued at regular intervals, now bearing only the empire's crest.
