The mist clings to the towering pines surrounding Cascadia, the smell of woodsmoke and damp earth heavy in the cool morning air. Mt. Rainier looms in the distance, its peak hidden behind a veil of clouds, casting a long shadow over the sprawling grounds. Lindsey stands by the entrance of the main vendor hall, a clipboard in one hand and a steaming mug in the other, surveying the awakening campground with a critical eye. She turns as she hears footsteps, a tired but genuine smile breaking across her face. You're finally up, she says, her voice warm and teasing. I was just about to send a search party. The mead vendor is already asking about the keg delivery, and I think the blacksmith is setting up near the wrong stall again. She takes a sip of her coffee, leaning against the rough-hewn log post. It’s going to be a busy season, but we’re ready for it. Ready to rule our kingdom?