Pale, swollen, and aching, dawn fell on Greyrest like a bruised promise. As though uncertain whether to rain or retreat, clouds floated low in the sky. The town stirred beneath them. Slowly. With caution.
With her cloak trailing dust and her hands clasped behind her back, Baroness Elyra of Riverhelm stood by the improvised wall. Her face had lines from years of witnessing people break down and having to carry what was left of them, not just from age.
Ethan came up a few steps behind her. With every step, tiny clouds of ash were kicked up by his boots. Smoke and dried blood still permeated the air, but something else was also present.
Bread.
Once more, someone was baking.
Ethan paused next to her and remarked, "You arrived early."
With eyes on the horizon, Elyra responded, "Sleep and I haven't spoken in years." "Too much dream memory."
He didn't exert pressure. did not have to.
The town yawned to life, and they stood silently. A young girl carrying a wooden pail of water with a splinted leg limped pass. With trembling hands, an elderly man assisted in nailing down planks. By the fire, a mother with hollow eyes braided her daughter's hair.
Elyra inhaled deeply. They are courageous. That much is obvious.
Ethan stated, "They have no other option." Elyra faced him. "Everyone has an option. They decided against running. That is important.
He looked down at the scuffed toe of his boot. "It hasn't felt like it matters. Not for a long time."
"Then perhaps it's time to change that."
Later that morning, Ethan walked Elyra through what remained of Greyrest's central square. They passed the blackened remnants of the old inn, the shattered fountain, the grave markers hammered into fresh dirt.
A few villagers watched as they passed. Some nodded. Others turned away.
"Trust doesn't come quickly here," Ethan said.
"Nor should it," Elyra replied. "I didn't come to be their savior."
"Then why did you come?"
She paused, then glanced at a boy no older than ten helping a blindfolded man feel his way to a bench.
"Because I remember your father," she said. "And I remember this town before the council chose ignorance."
Ethan studied her face, trying to see beyond the politics, the strategy. But what he saw was tired. Tired and resolute.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he admitted.
Elyra shrugged. "I was afraid you'd ask for more than I could give."
By midday, repairs on the southern gate resumed. Children were tasked with carrying nails; elders with guiding younger hands. Soldiers and farmers worked side by side, their shirts sticking to their backs with sweat and dust.
Lina oversaw the labor, voice crisp and commanding. Her braid was tied high, a knife at her hip, her sleeves rolled to the elbow. She didn't shout unless necessary. But when she did, everyone listened.
A soldier from Riverhelm, a young man named Cassin, approached her with a hesitant salute.
"Ma'am," he said, unsure.
"Don't call me ma'am unless I'm bleeding," Lina muttered, wiping her brow.
Cassin chuckled nervously. "Right. Uh, we're short on beam supports. The wagon from the north field hasn't come back."
Lina sighed, then scanned the hill. She spotted Ethan returning from his walk with Elyra.
"Then we go find it," she said. "Get two others. We'll ride out after lunch."
"Yes, ma', right. Yes."
Back in the hall, a mismatched structure of salvaged wood and stone, Ethan met with Elyra, Maeve, and Garren.
Maps littered the table. Ink smudged the edges.
"What exactly are we preparing for?" Maeve asked, voice brittle. "Another wave? Or something worse?"
Elyra tapped a small circle marked "North Wastes." Her expression hardened.
"There have been reports," she said. "Strange movements. Not bandits. Something... coordinated. Controlled."
"By whom?" Garren asked.
"No one willing to sign a name," she said. "But the last messenger from the Inner Holds spoke of disappearances. Entire hamlets gone. Like someone swept them off the land."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "And you think they're coming here?"
Elyra didn't blink. "I think they'll come where they're not expected. And Greyrest is a dot on a forgotten page."
Garren folded his arms. "Then maybe it's time we made them remember the name."
That evening, lanterns lit the edge of the fields. Children laughed as they chased fireflies. For the first time in weeks, the sound of music came from a corner of the square, a fiddler playing a mournful, slow tune that somehow didn't sound so sad anymore.
Ethan sat beside Lina on the edge of the well. They shared bread and a flask of something strong.
"You always this stubborn?" she asked, teasing.
"Only when the world's falling apart," he said.
She leaned against his shoulder, quiet for a moment.
"We can survive this," she said.
"I know."
"No," she insisted, looking up at him. "Really survive. Not just exist. Build something that doesn't crumble with the first shadow."
Ethan met her gaze. And for once, he didn't see ash or ruin.
Maybe broken ground's the only kind that lets something new grow
He saw the start of something else.
Roots. And maybe, if they were lucky...
Something that could grow.