The shelter slowly emptied after Asarmose's final explanation. One by one, the leaders drifted back out into the freezing mountain night, their shoulders hunched against the wind, carrying the weight of the meeting like a physical burden. Each time the heavy canvas entrance was shoved aside, a sharp, violent gust of snow-filled air invaded the cramped space, making the single iron lantern above the strategy table flicker and swing on its chain before the flap fell shut again.
Nobody spoke as they left. What was there left to say? For months, the rebellion had been preparing itself for a local conflict. They had trained to fight provincial guards, corrupt tax collectors, and the bureaucratic rot of Hubriś itself. They had measured their strength against a governor who used numbers and fences to keep his populace compliant.
