At the juncture where the western and southern walls of Damu met, the massive stone walls, built from piled boulders, stood beneath the ashen winter sky. Towering living trees rose between the walls, as if guarding Damu.
The bark of the trees was etched with deep furrows, and the early morning air was suffused with the mingled scents of damp earth and wood. The clanging sounds of tools being hammered, the scraping noise of large flat-bottomed sleds dragging across the ground, and the low grunts of the workers hauling stones for the walls blended in a peculiar harmony, resonating like a song.
In the midst of the construction site, a group of Dawi were dragging a massive basalt slab from the Monos quarry south of Damu, loaded onto a wooden sled. Their muscles strained taut under the weight, and their breaths rose white in the cold air, dissipating in the wind.
Commanding them was Damu's master builder, Vargo. A tall and burly Dawi, he had coarse brown fur streaked with gray, and he wore a thick leather apron stained with quarry dust. His deep amber eyes gleamed with irritation beneath a furrowed brow, and his gravelly voice pierced through the clamor.
"Move those boulders to that pile over there! Not there—the left, you fools!"
He waved his clawed hand, driving the workers onward. When a young Dawi pulled the sled in the wrong direction, Vargo strode over and seized his shoulder, twisting him around.
"Where are your eyes, Brone? That way!"
At Vargo's bellow, Brone flushed red, bowed his head, and resumed pulling the sled.
Vargo's gaze shifted far off, toward the human directing workers at the base of the wall. It was the Mason of Laboreus, Keuraber—a Sarun-Ke who stood out conspicuously among the Dawi and Muwa. His gray hair was tied back, and his wide-sleeved, worn leather coat fluttered in the wind.
Vargo twisted his lips. A Sarun-Ke directing Damu's wall construction? He ground his teeth inwardly.
"What does a Mason of Laboreus think he is... Entrusting Damu's walls to the likes of a Sarun-Ke."
He muttered lowly and kicked a pebble with his foot. It rolled and clattered against a mound of dirt at the wall's base. Pride in Damu's traditions and distrust of outsiders boiled in his chest. These walls had endured for centuries, built by Dawi and Muwa hands alongside their trees. Why, of all people, a Sarun-Ke?
Vargo's memory drifted back to the recent gathering in the great hall, where Keuraber had assembled Damu's masons. The hall was packed with Dawi and Muwa artisans. Torches burned along the walls, casting deep shadows, and their fur and feathers swayed in the flickering light.
Keuraber stood in the center, pointing to a model of the wall made from wood and stone. His hand, rough and with stone dust caked under the nails, gestured at the model. His gray hair was neatly bound, though a few strands had escaped to brush his face.
"The walls of Damu are truly awe-inspiring."
Keuraber began, scanning the room. His eyes were weary, but they sparkled, reflecting the torchlight.
"Your core walls are near perfection. The harmony of wood and stone is sturdier than any I've seen. Our task isn't reconstruction—it's reinforcing the outer shell. Against unnamed threats..."
He indicated the layers of the model.
"The walls must breathe. They must adapt. We'll leave 'margins'—spaces for change. A living wall evolves to counter invading foes."
Murmurs spread among the artisans. A Dawi mason with fur braided in beads, Logan, clapped his hands sharply.
"Indeed!"
He growled lowly, nodding. A Muwa mason whose feathers gleamed in the torchlight, Kallia, pressed her wing to her forehead in a gesture of understanding. But not everyone was convinced. The young Dawi, Brone, muttered.
"Changing mid-battle? Preposterous!"
The sharp-eyed Muwa, Serine, tilted her head.
"A living wall? Do the stones move on their own?"
Undeterred by the reactions, Keuraber continued.
"We'll build the shell higher, with arrowslits for crossbows and bows. Whether the enemy is Minotaur, Orc, or something darker, there'll be no weaknesses."
He paused, his gaze resolute as he surveyed the room. His hand trembled slightly on the model.
"A wall that evolves against the enemy—that's the wall a Mason of Laboreus builds."
The room erupted in responses. Logan stroked his chin and nodded, while Kallia fluttered her feathers slightly. But Brone crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.
"A Sarun-Ke's bluster..."
He whispered. Serine cocked her head and asked her companion.
"Margins... What does that mean? Leaving spaces empty?"
Standing at the back with arms folded, Vargo clenched his jaw. An evolving wall? Margins? Just fancy words—the Sarun-Ke doesn't understand our trees. He listened to Keuraber's words, but discomfort grew in a corner of his mind. Damu's walls were forged with their blood and sweat. There was no room for a Sarun-Ke to interfere.
Shaking off the memory from the great hall with a firm nod, Vargo turned his gaze back to the workers hauling stones at the wall's base.
The Dawi loaded the last basalt slab onto the sled and dragged it to the wall's foot. The sled's scraping grated on the ears, and dust rose from the stone pile.
Keuraber stood atop the wooden scaffolding erected around the wall, pointing with a fingertip from within his fluttering sleeve to an empty spot.
"Stack the stones there, beside the second tree! Shape them in advance—tight, no gaps!"
His voice was slightly hoarse from hours of shouting. He rubbed his throat, caught his breath, and urged the workers on again.
Vargo approached Keuraber with heavy boot steps. His fur was matted with sweat and dust, and his eyes glared with open contempt.
"You've got a picky eye for stones, Sarun-Ke."
He growled sarcastically.
"Is Monos basalt not to Laboreus's taste? Our stones inferior to yours, Sarun-Ke?"
Keuraber turned, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes were tired, but sharp as he looked up at Vargo.
"The basalt from Monos quarry is excellent—dense and solid. Better than any I've seen."
He parried the sarcasm smoothly.
"But placement matters. A wall is only as strong as its stacking."
He pointed to the Dawi group chiseling the basalt.
"Flatten the edges. No gaps or weaknesses. But leave small spaces between to absorb shocks."
Vargo snorted, bristling his fur.
"You think we don't know our work? Damu's walls stood for centuries before your kind touched them."
He raised his voice to the workers.
"Keep chiseling, lads! Show this Sarun-Ke what Damu masons can do!"
His voice boomed, but he faltered slightly at Keuraber's calm retort. That Sarun-Ke has a way with words... He grumbled inwardly.
Ignoring the jibe, Keuraber focused on the wall. He descended the scaffolding and gathered Dawi and Muwa artisans near the partially built section. Workers converged, their tools glinting in the faint sunlight. The young Muwa mason, Kallia, had her feathers tied back and clutched a chisel in her hand-like appendage, her eyes shining with curiosity. The dust-covered Dawi veteran, Logan, leaned on his hammer, waiting. Brone, still muttering, dragged a sled from afar.
"Listen well."
Keuraber said in his rough voice. He cleared his throat and steadied his breath.
"The lower two-thirds of the shell: thick, with a protruding belly shape, bulging outward like a shield. To withstand siege weapons' impacts."
He knelt and drew a curve in the dirt with a stick. The line outlined the wall's sturdy contour.
"The upper third: prioritize height—sleek but tough. If damaged, it can be rebuilt mid-battle. That's why we leave margins."
Logan scratched his chin, clicking his claws.
"Rebuilding while fighting? Bold, Sarun-Ke. Will there be time with Minotaurs at the gates?"
Kallia parted her beak slightly, tilting her head.
"A wall that adapts like our trees?"
Keuraber nodded.
"Exactly, Kallia. Flexibility is its strength. For that, the remaining upper third curves forward in an arc."
He drew another curve.
"Stack this tight—no gaps. The fewer spaces to absorb shock, the better. Siege engines—ballista bolts, catapult stones—when they hit, fragments cascade downward, spilling outward. Our archers stay safe."
Logan whistled lowly, tapping his palm with his hammer.
"Clever. With that height, no stones fall on the archers' heads."
Kallia clicked her talons, puffing her feathers.
"A fighting wall! I get it now! This isn't just any wall!"
Excitement tinged her voice.
At the edge of the group, Vargo stood with arms crossed, listening to Keuraber's words.
"Fancy trickery."
He murmured.
"But will it work on the savages of the Badlands? Orcs or Minotaurs don't care about shapes, Sarun-Ke."
His tone was skeptical, but a flicker of curiosity touched his eyes. Keuraber's words pricked his pride, yet the logic was hard to deny.
Keuraber stood, brushing dirt from his hands.
"It'll hold, Vargo. Damu's walls will repel any threat from the Badlands."
He pointed to the living trees. Their branches swayed gently, whispering in the wind.
"Wood and stone binding the walls... With the masons' strength, it'll endure."
Wind swept the site, ruffling the workers' fur and feathers. Artisans exchanged glances—some nodded, others whispered in awe. A wall evolving against enemies, breathing with the city—the vision stirred even the most skeptical hearts. Keuraber thought: A living wall, breathing with the city—that's Damu's wall touched by Laboreus's hand.
Vargo turned away, clenching his claws.
"We'll see how well you stack those words into a wall, Sarun-Ke."
He growled and returned to the workers.
"Bring the next stone! Move, you lazybones!"
His voice echoed, but his mind lingered on Keuraber's words. Margins... a living wall... He hated to admit it, but the Sarun-Ke's talk had weight. Checking the sled, he shouted at Brone again.
"Brone, snap to it! One wrong stone, and I'll pluck every fur from your hide!"
Keuraber climbed back onto the scaffolding. His gaze swept the wall. The trees' leaves shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
Keuraber's eyes turned to the distant west, where unseen threats stirred. Minotaurs, Orcs, or something more dreadful... Whatever came, Damu's walls would be ready. His hoarse voice rang out again.
"Stack stones for a wall that'll last a thousand years!"
The workers moved with renewed resolve. Hammers struck stone in rhythm. Sleds scraped earth, hauling more rocks.
The wall grew layer by layer—a testament to Dawi skill, Muwa precision, and the Sarun-Ke's vision.
Branches swayed in the wind, rustling softly. That breeze cooled the sweat of the masons silently chiseling stones at the wall's base.
From the scaffolding, Keuraber raised his hand to encourage the workers. His shadow fell across the wall.