Seven Stones of the Perimeter

You spoke of chronicles from the crimson domain. A guard does not weave fanciful tales, yet the history of service is written in stone and iron. Following your prompt, I gathered seven smooth gray pebbles from the hearth threshold. Kneeling on the polished boards, I set them down in a strict defensive arc, one by one. Each stone marks a station of duty: the iron gate, the boundary trench, the bastion wall, the night watch beneath cold iron. When all seven were aligned with exact spacing, I rested my gauntlets on my knees and surveyed the line. The record is intact. Order requires no embellished words.