On Fishmonger Street in the northwest corner of Red Tide City, a sprawling cluster of low buildings steamed in the bitter wind.
That was the Red Tide Smoked Fish Workshop, now one of the city's three main industries.
The smoked fish produced there each day supplied the entire Red Tide Fief and traveled south along the Calvin Trading Company's trade routes. Southern nobles even hailed it as "a rare northern delicacy," and sales were excellent.
In the last few days before the winter holiday, the workshop bustled with activity.
Washing, gutting, curing, hanging, smoking-each stage proceeded in turn. Steam and charcoal smoke mingled into a warm haze, carrying a rich, roasted aroma outside.
On the western side of the workshop grounds, a middle-aged woman crouched beside a smoking oven, checking the temperature of its racks.
She wore a coarse cloth scarf and moved with practiced efficiency. A sheepskin coat issued by the Red Tide Workshop hung over her shoulders, her sleeves were rolled high, and her hands were covered in salt stains and fish oil.
Her name was Haili. She was a team leader at the Smoked Fish Workshop and one of Red Tide's earliest residents.
Four years earlier, when the barbarians swept south to plunder the Northern Frontier, her village had been destroyed overnight.
She had fled alone into the woods with her ten-year-old son, Vale. They hid for three days, only to be caught by slave traders when hunger and cold left them helpless.
They were taken to the Frostspear market as merchandise. By then, she had already braced herself for the worst.
But that day, a black-haired young man in a cloak arrived. He was Lord Louis.
Without saying a word, he bought the entire group, including her and Vale.
And he did more than buy them.