The camps of the Liberation Cult buzzed with a low, constant rhythm. Armor was repaired, weapons were reforged, and healers moved between tents with a quiet, practiced efficiency.
The army that had once looked like a gathering of desperate survivors had evolved into a living city that never truly slept, like a steel-and-stone monument to a single man's will.
Aegis walked through the camp alone. He took no escort and carried no banners, yet his presence was a physical weight that made conversations soften and spines straighten as he passed by. Veterans nodded with a deep, silent respect. New recruits stared with wide eyes, their breaths hitching. Children of the liberated settlements stopped their playing to watch him, memorizing his shape as if he were a living myth walking among mortals.
