Dawn in the keep was a clean, sharp line drawn between night and day. Draven was already at the forge, the clang of his hammer a metallic heartbeat in the quiet courtyard. He was turning scavenged ore into thin, essence-laced tripwires, each one a nasty surprise for the warlord to the south. The kiss from the night before was a soft subroutine running in the background of his strategic mind—not a bug, but a feature upgrade.
Grayfang was a silver heap of snoozing muscle, while the newly-leveled Thornling practiced shooting spines into a straw dummy. Zip, zip, zip. Automated defense. Draven liked it. Voss's patrols were getting bolder. Time to turn the valley into a digital killbox.
The Automated Trap System was online, a clean checklist in his vision. He had the parts. It was time for deployment.
"You're going to forge yourself into a puddle one of these days," Kara's voice cut through the ringing of the hammer. She stretched, a Seattle coder turned ranger, her eyes already debugging the morning for threats.
He tossed her a strip of jerky. "Sleep is a resource. Right now, traps are a higher priority."
Jaxon lumbered over, cracking his knuckles. "Point me at the heavy stuff. Let's wire this place up."
The plan was laid out over a quick, brutal breakfast. Three chokepoints on the southern trail. Alarms first, spike pits second. A layered defense.
"Solid," Kara said, shouldering her bow. "Let's go play in the dirt."
They moved out, a tight, efficient unit. Grayfang was a silent scout, the Thornling a spiky, living gadget riding on Draven's shoulder. The Territory Mapping Interface painted a blue line over the terrain, the optimal path. This was just another logistics problem, Draven thought. But with higher stakes.
At the first chokepoint, a narrow ravine, Jaxon went to work, his shovel biting into the earth. "Reminds me of digging out a car during a Mumbai monsoon," he grunted, sweat already beading on his shaved head.
Draven laid the first wire, a shimmering, near-invisible thread. He pressed an essence shard into the trigger, carving a quick rune with his dagger. A blue glow, a soft hum, and it was live. The Thornling scurried under it, then poked it. A clear, sharp chime echoed through the woods. System online.
They were setting the second trap when Grayfang froze. The UI pinged yellow. CONTACT.
Two of Voss's grunts, lumbering down the trail, complaining about quotas.
"Boss wants the northern ruins cleared by week's end," one of them growled. Intel. A timeline.
They melted into the trees, silent and invisible. The grunts passed, none the wiser.
"Close," Kara whispered when they were gone, her breath warm against his ear. He squeezed her shoulder. Acknowledged.
By noon, the southern approach was a web of alarms and hidden pits. Back at the keep, the afternoon was a rare moment of peace. Jaxon hammered away at the watchtower. Kara drilled the Thornling, turning the spiky critter into a tiny, living turret. Draven joined in, pushing a surge of essence into its bond. It leveled up with a happy chirp. [Bond Level: 3].
Later, in the heat of the forge, Kara found him reinforcing the main gate. "You're relentless," she said, her voice soft over the clang of steel.
"It's what keeps us alive," he replied, not stopping.
She stepped into his space, took the tongs from his other hand, and helped him brace the glowing metal. They worked in a perfect, unspoken rhythm. When the piece was set, she leaned in and kissed him, a taste of sweat, smoke, and something real.
That night, the fire felt warmer. Jaxon told a story about fixing a rickshaw in a flood, and Kara countered with a tale of hacking Seattle's traffic grid. They were a team. A weird, broken, but functional family. As Kara leaned her head on his shoulder, her hand finding his, Draven finally felt the tension in his own shoulders ease. It felt… sustainable.
Then the UI pinged. A soft, almost imperceptible chime from the southern trail.
A single green dot on his map flashed red for a second, then went green again. A test breach. An animal, maybe.
Or maybe not.
He squeezed her hand. "We check it at dawn." The realms never slept. And neither, it seemed, would he.