The rhythm of the village had changed.
Where once the people spent their days scavenging for reeds and patching broken huts, now they worked the kilns, carried bricks, and shaped foundations under Adrian's direction. The air smelled of smoke and wet clay instead of rot.
Two new brick houses stood side by side, their walls gleaming under the sun. Children laughed as they ran their hands across the smooth surfaces, as though the walls themselves promised safety.
For the first time, Adrian heard laughter that wasn't edged with hunger or fear.
This… this is what building means, he thought, pride swelling. Not just structures. Hope.
But hope had a price.
Three days after Elara moved into her half-finished brick home, a horn sounded at the edge of the forest. Men rushed to the barricades, hands gripping spears. The memory of raiders still hung heavy in their minds.
Adrian climbed onto the wooden watch platform, squinting at the treeline.
It wasn't raiders.