The next few hours passed in a blur of orientation.
The Lodge was not a singular organization, but a collection of groups. Hunting parties, solo specialists, lore-seekers, and beast-cullers. Each followed their own code, bound by only one rule.
Never draw the ire of the city's roots. Keir showed them the training hall, a sprawling arena with traps that reshaped themselves and golems designed to mimic beasts of every kind. Miles watched as a young girl no older than fourteen took down a construct shaped like what Keir called a smoke-bear with a bow made from stringed antlers.
"Don't underestimate the young." Keir said, smirking. "Age isn't always an advantage in Tir'Serene."
Next was the lodge's archive, an underground vault of living parchment, where scrolls unfurled like breathing lungs and whispered their knowledge to anyone willing to listen.
Miles swore he saw one scroll wink at him when he passed by.
