Thirty knights secured the retreat dome's frame while drivers checked four wagons and their horses beneath its shelter.
Sweat pooled under Hajin's collar before the quartermasters finished burying the beacon's baseplates, so he yanked it loose.
"Damn, it's an oven out here," he grumbled, flapping the collar uselessly, "who the hell stuffs a Gate inside a desert?"
A teamster crouched beside the third keg and cursed as water seeped from its lower seam.
"This one's shrinking," he called, slapping a palm over the leak while another man ran for a wrapping, "the hoops can't hold it tight if the staves keep drying like this."
The quartermaster rolled a second keg alongside and checked both stoppers while several thirsty knights licked grit from their lips. Hajin squinted at ridges warping in the heat beyond the shelter, judging how far horses could last on rationed water.
"Half a cup apiece," the quartermaster barked, lifting a measure over the waiting canteens.
