The Sentinel's Watch rose from the frontier like a scar left by war, all stone and iron, functional and grim, built not for comfort but for survival.
Guard towers stood at each corner, their watchers scanning the darkening horizon with eyes trained to see death before it arrived.
The walls were thick, weathered by decades of wind and flame, scarred by claws that had tested their strength and found them, for now, unyielding.
It was more fortress than inn, more battlefield than sanctuary.
And yet, it was the last true shelter before the wild claimed everything.
The courtyard buzzed with restrained tension. Soldiers moved with purpose, their armor dull and practical, weapons never far from hand. Merchants huddled near their wagons, eyes darting toward the tree line as though expecting something to emerge from the shadows.
