The sun rose like a weary traveler over Greyrest, its golden rays stretching reluctantly through the mist that clung to the battered settlement. Smoke from breakfast fires curled into the pale morning sky, mingling with the scent of damp earth and ash. The people stirred with purpose now, masonry tools clinked, carts creaked under the weight of salvaged timber, and the whispers of plans to rebuild hummed beneath every breath.
Ethan stood near the edge of the square, the worn map of Greyrest spread across a makeshift table. His eyes traced the lines of crumbled walls and vulnerable edges. He tapped a section with a calloused finger, then another, already redrawing the town's bones in his mind.
Behind him, Elyra approached. The Baroness of Riverhelm. Her boots struck the ground with a measured grace, the steel-lined cloak draped over her shoulder catching the breeze. Her silver-black hair was tied into a loose braid, revealing the small scar near her jawline, a reminder of battles survived, of authority earned.
Ethan turned as she arrived, his expression carefully guarded. They had exchanged few words since their reunion days earlier, each burdened by their own responsibilities, and by the quiet chasm between blood and allegiance.
"Ethan," she said, her voice even, her gaze sharp.
"Baroness."
She raised an eyebrow at the formality. "We're not at court. And you're my cousin. Use my name."
He nodded, still stiff. "Elyra."
She gave a curt nod and stepped closer to the map, arms folded. "I see you're already rebuilding the town in your mind."
"There's no time to waste," he replied. "The next wave might not wait for us to recover."
Her eyes searched his. "You think it will come soon."
"I know it will."
The silence between them deepened. Then, Ethan spoke again, choosing his words with care.
"I've been thinking," he said. "Greyrest can't survive another attack without better defenses. The barricades we've built are temporary. Makeshift. We need something lasting. A wall, strong enough to hold back what's coming."
Elyra studied him. "And you want Riverhelm's help."
"Yes."
She didn't respond immediately. She paced slowly around the table, her gloved fingers trailing the edge of the map. "You know Riverhelm has its own rebuilding to manage. We've already taken in hundreds of displaced families. Craftsmen are scarce. So are masons. Materials are being rationed."
Ethan nodded. "Which is why I'm not asking for charity. I'm proposing a trade."
She tilted her head slightly. "Go on."
"You have skilled labor. We have open land. If you lend us workers, masons, and some supplies, we'll provide food grown from the outer fields. Enough to supply a second wave of your own town if needed. And when Greyrest is fortified, you'll have an ally, a bastion to the north, strong enough to resist. To buy Riverhelm time if the shadow moves your way."
Elyra tapped her chin with a leather-bound finger. "You assume I trust your judgment as a Ruler."
"You shouldn't," Ethan replied, his tone calm. "Trust my results instead. I've already drafted the wall."
He rolled out another parchment beneath the map. Sketched with precise lines and annotations was the vision: a double-layered wall, stone and timber fused, with a core reinforced by salvaged iron. A gatehouse set with lookout towers. Drainage tunnels for rain and defense. Sections where boiling oil could be poured. And angled barricades to funnel intruders into kill zones.
Elyra's expression shifted as she examined it. Her fingers ran lightly across the diagram.
"This… is impressive."
"It's necessary."
She stood in silence, the wind catching her cloak again. Finally, she spoke.
"If I send workers, I'll need an overseer. Someone loyal to Riverhelm to report back to me."
"Agreed."
"And I want quarterly updates. I want to see the wall rise with my own eyes."
"You'll have them."
Elyra turned her gaze to Ethan. "You've changed."
"Life changed me."
For a moment, the roles of soldier and architect fell away, and they were just two cousins trying to outpace a world crumbling at its edges.
"I'll gather a team," she said. "Stonemasons, carpenters, smiths. I can spare thirty men and women to start. Materials will come in phases."
"And in return?" Ethan asked.
"I want trade routes to remain open," Elyra replied. "Your fields, your mills, even your mines,they flow through Riverhelm. That doesn't change. And when the wall is complete, we train our soldiers together. Shared drills. Shared defense."
He considered this. Then he extended his hand. "Deal."
She clasped his wrist firmly. "Deal."
They stood over the map together, united by purpose. The tension between them hadn't vanished, but something had shifted. Something foundational.
As the morning gave way to the crackling of hammers and shouted orders, the town stirred with a different kind of energy. Purposeful. Fierce.
And in the sky above them, the mist parted just enough to let the sun shine directly on the table.
A sign, perhaps.
That this time, the wall would hold.