"This was an entrance," Rhaen said quietly.
"Not a fort."
"No. Something people approached on purpose."
They slipped inside through the broken flank rather than the main threshold.
The interior had just enough roof left to cut the wind. Old furs lay in a collapsed chest near the wall, stiff with cold but still usable. Broken braziers lined one side. A stone table sat under a frost-coated record board where wooden slats had once been inserted in rows.
Mikhailis brushed snow from one wall and found shallow carvings running in sequence.
Processional marks.
Records of passage.
Maybe names. Maybe days. Maybe offerings.
People had moved through this place in order once.
Not random travelers.
Ceremony.
He held up one fur and sniffed it. "Still better than freezing to death with taste."
Rhaen took it from him without dignity and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Your standards remain inspiring."
"I try to maintain them even during subdomain siege."
