The wall stood half-finished when the attack came.
Now it grew one plank, one stone, one heartbeat at a time under a blood-orange sky streaked with wind and ash.
They had come this far after three weeks of hard work. Ultimately, it was down to seven days.
The only thing separating them from a nightmare is seven days to complete.
All hands, young and old, were put to work.
While carpenters stacked beams and braces higher, masons laid stone along the base. Timber wagons were pulled by farmers. Kids carried buckets and nails.
Nobody kept an eye on it. Nobody got lost. If they were able to walk, even the sick passed tools or held boards.
Reinforced with bracing logs that were driven deep and sharpened into cruel spikes, the wall curved around the town like a broken crown. Barbed branches and jagged rocks lined the trenches that yawned in front of it.
In their despair, they had discovered iron teeth, and they weren't scared to use them.
Ethan stood at the western edge, driving a beam into place. Sweat streaked down his back. His hands blistered and bled, but he refused to stop.
The wall was no longer a project. It was a promise.
The final countdown was given by Lina.
One evening, as they were marking the perimeter, she halted in the middle of her stride and touched the ground.
She squinted. "They're on the move."
"How far?" Ethan inquired.
"Two days," she muttered. "Perhaps less. They're not in a hurry, though. They are awaiting. observing.
Garren gripped the spear tighter. "Like wolves before a pounce."
Lina muttered, "They're not wolves." "They're worse. They recall the damage we caused to the planet. For that, they despise us.
A day later, the last gate was raised.
Locking bars from the old city armory reinforce the heavy wood banded in salvaged iron. With a thunderous groan, it settled into position.
The townspeople gathered to watch it close.
No ceremony. No cheers.
Only the sound of the wind howling faintly from the forest, and silence.
Garren moved past the volunteers and guards in line. "Spears ready. Bows nocked. You see something moves in the dark, don't wait for it to introduce itself. They chuckled, but not very much.
That night, Ethan stood atop the highest point of the wall, a crude tower made from piled stone and salvaged scaffolding. He stared out at the trees beyond.
Nothing moved. No birds. No wind.
Only a silence so sharp, it felt like it might cut through the wall itself.
But inside those walls, hope held.
Not the naive hope of comfort.
The fierce, unyielding kind.
The kind that bleeds and builds and burns because it refuses to go quietly.
The wall was finished.
But so was time.
The tide was coming.