Greyrest's wall was no longer just a plan. It was rising.
By week's end, the southern section reached waist height, rows of stone laid tight with sand-lime mortar, flanked by timber scaffolds and the rhythmic chant of working crews. Hammers rang in harmony, shovels scraped gravel into place, and amid it all was the slow hum of something stronger than mortar binding the people together, belief.
But belief, Ethan knew, was fragile.
A storm was building, not above them, but within. He could feel it in the silence between workers when Alder Murn passed. In the subtle shifts of conversation. In the way eyes flicked toward Elyra and then away, uncertain.
"He's clever," she said one night, seated across from Ethan at the war table, candles flickering between them. "He doesn't speak directly. Just... nudges. Suggests things. Doubts. Why the walls take so long. Why you get to lead."
Ethan rubbed his temple. "He's sowing division without making a single accusation."
"Exactly," she said. "He asks questions that make people feel clever for doubting us."
"And we can't call him out without making it look like we fear the truth."
Elyra nodded grimly. "It's a perfect strategy, for someone who's played political games before."
They sat in silence, maps and construction plans spread before them like a battlefield waiting to be fought.
"What do we do?" she asked.
Ethan stared at the candle flame for a long moment. Then: "We show them what we're building is bigger than one man's voice. We pull the right people close. Not with orders. With trust."
He rose, picking up a handful of parchment sheets and folding them into a leather binder.
"Come morning," he said, "I'm going to walk the entire line with Elen and Brennar. Let the crews see the blueprint evolve in real time. Let them own it."
Elyra watched him with a faint smile. "And what about Murn?"
"We leave him in the open. So he has to choose, either build with us, or prove himself a threat."
The next morning broke over Greyrest like a blessing: pale sunlight through a thin mist, smoke curling softly from chimneys, and a kind of calm that felt earned.
Ethan kept his word. He walked the wall from end to end, blueprint in hand, sleeves rolled, coat flapping in the wind. Elen flanked him, adding notes and adjustments. Brennar hauled stone, paused to listen, then nodded in quiet agreement. The workers took notice. They leaned in. They asked questions. They offered ideas.
And slowly, the whispering paused.
Alder Murn stood at a distance, arms folded, watching it all with calculating eyes.
By midday, a breakthrough.
"Sir!" a young voice called. Ethan turned to see a girl of maybe ten sprinting from the carpenters' tents, clutching a bundle of scrolls. "My father said to give you this, he fixed the load-bearing joints for the eastern gate model. Said it'll hold better in cold."
Ethan took the scrolls and knelt. "What's your name?"
"Edrin."
"Thank you, Edrin. You just made this wall stronger."
She beamed and ran off, trailing dust and laughter.
Ethan looked up at Elyra, who had arrived silently from the barracks. She gave him a small nod.
"They're starting to believe again," she said.
"They never stopped," Ethan replied. "They just needed to see the reason with their own eyes."
That night, Ethan sat alone under the half-finished gatehouse, watching stars emerge behind scaffold beams.
He held a small, folded sketch in his hands, not his own. Elen had drawn it during their walk: a window, arched and framed with colored glass, embedded high in the tower wall. A symbol. Not of defense, but of light.
"We should build it," she had said.
He had nodded then, unsure.
But now, beneath the stars, he knew: they would.
Because Greyrest was not only a refuge.
It was becoming a home.
And homes, unlike fortresses, needed more than walls.
They needed stories, and symbols, and something sacred in the stone, a reason to stay, not just survive.
As the wind stirred the trees beyond the ridge, Ethan heard footsteps behind him.
It was Murn.
The older man approached slowly, hands behind his back, a shadow in the torchlight.
"You've built quite the following," he said, voice light. "Even the children talk of your vision now."
"I didn't build it alone," Ethan replied without turning.
"No," Murn said, tone tightening. "But they follow you. That's dangerous."
Ethan finally faced him. "Only if you've got something to fear."
Murn's eyes glinted, not with fear, but with warning. "Don't make the mistake of thinking all builders want the same future."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Ethan stood still, spine straight, heart steady.
He knew now: the walls would rise.
But so would the threats within.
And if Greyrest was to survive, the next stone laid would not be of mortar or timber.
It would be of truth