There are rare turns when you are finally allowed to stop holding the line — to be, for once, entirely behind the wall instead of being it.

A blue gone almost to black, dense as a sealed wall, lead at every edge. It carries the deep cold of stone and the complete quiet of a heavy door closed for the night.

A lifetime of being the wall makes resting feel unsafe, even unearned. The sigil shields nothing and promises nothing — it holds the deepest, stillest boundary, the kind you can stand fully behind, so just this once the guarding can be set down whole.