Chương 119: The Builder's Day Off

The next morning, Hearthroot returned to work. It should have felt strange, perhaps, how easily the village did that. Goblins had attacked the mountain. Wardens had bled. Stonebelly hogs had been dragged through the south gate under a chorus of curses. The Hearth Hall had roared deep into the night with meat, ale, laughter, and the kind of celebration that came after fear had been boiled into stew and served with berry sauce. And yet morning came. Smoke rose from hearth vents. Builders shouted for rope.

Children chased one another between longhouses, one of them squealing, "I want the hogs!" with such perfect imitation of James that several passing villagers burst into laughter. The real hogs, secured in their new enclosure, answered with a thunderous squeal that sent the children racing away in delight. Wardens still stood thicker at the gates, and patrols left in pairs with sharper eyes than usual, but Hearthroot had endured too much to let a single ambush hold the whole village in its jaws for long.

James found that comforting. Also concerning. He stood inside the workshop with his new cloak pushed back from his shoulders, watching the weavers work as if autumn had become an enemy they could defeat through thread alone. James noticed that at the center of the weaving space stood a new version of the Threadwhirl Loom-Wheel. The first attempt was still in use by a pair of elves, trying desperately to make it work. The new one looked, if not safe, then at least less personally offended by the act of functioning.

A smoother wheel turned along one side, connected to a better spindle through a carved wooden housing and a series of metal pins that no longer jutted out at eye height. The tension frame had been widened. The shuttle moved with a crisp clack rather than a panicked rattle. It still squeaked occasionally, but no gnome stood beside it waiting to kick the panel every few minutes. That counted as progress. Zook stood beside it with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin lifted.

"Behold, the Threadwhirl Loom-Wheel, second refinement." Mira kept her eyes on the cloth in her lap, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

"It is quieter."

"It is much quieter," Zook said, with the careful dignity of a man defending a beloved child. Ida looked over the edge of her pattern board.

"It also stopped catching at my sleeve every time I passed it."

"That was never intended behavior," Zook said quickly.

"The tension guides were overenthusiastic."

"They drew blood." Zook glanced at the machine, then at the small bandage on Ida's finger. Some of the dignity left him.

"I have adjusted the tension guides," he said.

"And added a cover. And written down that clothworkers prefer their fingers attached." Mira finally looked up.

"That is a useful note."

"I am becoming an excellent listener," Zook said, then leaned slightly toward the loom-wheel as if warning it to agree. James smiled as he watched the wheel turn. A strip of cloak lining emerged slowly from the frame, narrow but even, stronger than the rough cloth they had produced weeks before. He watched a gnome duck beneath a leather strip, roll between two benches, and pop up near Zook with a basket of pins. James's mind caught on the movement. Gnomes were quick.

He had seen it yesterday in Tibbin, mud-slick and half-mad with courage, sliding beneath stonebelly hogs and turning Ilyndra's smoke potion into opportunity. The gnomes in the village were not suited to heavy shield lines. Some might grow into it with stubbornness, because Hearthroot seemed to produce stubborn people as efficiently as smoke and stew, but their bodies leaned toward speed, angles, and cleverness. Short blades. Daggers. Spears. Tools. Smoke. Ambush. Crossbows. James blinked. Then looked toward Zook.

The gnome was explaining to one of the elves that the Loom-Wheel's occasional clack-clack-ping sound was "the music of creation," which seemed to be convincing no one.

"Zook," James said. The gnome brightened at once.

"My lord requires textile revolution expansion?"

"Maybe later. I have another idea." Mira looked up. Ida looked worried. The elves pretended not to listen and immediately listened harder. James gestured toward a quieter bench near the side wall.

"Come here a moment." Zook hopped down and followed him with the eager suspicion, like he was smelling either glory or disaster. James lifted one hand and shaped a Mana Construct in the air. Pale blue lines formed slowly, uncertain at first. A short stock. A horizontal bow. A string pulled back along a groove. A small trigger shape beneath. A stubby bolt resting above. The image was crude. James knew that immediately.

His knowledge of crossbows came from movies, television, games, and a childhood enthusiasm for medieval things that had never translated into practical engineering. He knew the concept. A bow mounted sideways on a stock. A string drawn back and held under tension. A trigger release. A bolt rather than an arrow. More mechanical force, easier aiming, slower reload. Beyond that, the details became fog. Zook stared at the construct as if James had conjured a sacred headache.

"What," he whispered, "is that?"

"A crossbow. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"This is the idea. Do not trust the details. The details are probably wrong enough to kill someone." Zook leaned closer, eyes enormous.

"A bow that holds its own draw."

"Yes."

"So a smaller fighter can prepare the shot before aiming."

"Yes."

"With a shorter bolt."

"Usually."

"How does the string stay back?" James tilted his head.

"A catch mechanism."

"What kind?"

"The kind that catches." Zook's eyes narrowed.

"That is deeply unhelpful."

"I warned you." The gnome circled the glowing construct, hands twitching.

"Could a gnome reload it?"

"That is the point. Maybe with a lever. Or a hook. Or a crank. I do not know. We can figure that out."

"Could the bow part be horn? Spring wood? Metal?"

"Yes, probably."

"Could it shoot smoke vials?"

"No."

"Could it shoot three bolts?"

"No."

"Could it shoot one bolt and two very small smoke vials?"

"Zook."

"I am exploring." James rubbed his forehead, though he was smiling.

"One safe prototype. A real one. Single-shot, stable frame, clean release. We get the base weapon working first, then you can start adding crimes against engineering." Zook nodded solemnly, though his expression suggested the restriction had only made things more interesting. James pointed at him.

"I know that face."

"This is my thoughtful face."

"That is your future trouble face." Zook looked down at the fading construct and began scribbling notes on rough paper he pulled from somewhere inside his vest.

"Gnome skirmishers," he murmured.

"Wall crews. Tunnel teams. Bolt standardization. Maybe wrist bracing. Trigger housing. Smaller stock. High tension. Dangerous if misfired. Wonderful."

"Safe prototype," James repeated.

"Reasonably safe."

"Safe."

"Prototype." James gave up before the argument became philosophical. He did not leave the workshop after that. Instead, he found an open bench near the side, pulled over a stool, and placed several stoneheart rocks and shards in a careful line. He had collected them from the quarry after the inspection, uneven pieces that had been too small or flawed for wall work. Some were fist-sized. Others were no larger than eggs. Pale stone wrapped around blue crystalline veins, each shard faintly cool beneath his fingers.

The workshop noticed. It always noticed when James did something with materials and a serious expression. The weavers kept working, but glances began drifting toward him. A woodcutter paused mid-plane. One of the elves slowed her stitching. A gnome crept closer until Zook, still scribbling crossbow notes, snagged him by the collar without looking and dragged him back. James pulled out his crystal stylus. Arcane Runecraft. He had neglected the skill for too long. There had always been more urgent things.

He kept telling himself runecraft would matter later, and later kept arriving with claws. Yet the quarry had changed something in him. The darkness inside the mountain had pressed against his nerves. His people were working in shadow because better options had not yet been made. He had a rune for light. The Glow Rune formed in his memory with clean clarity. A central starburst. Radiating lines. Passive mana light. Adjustable brightness if carved well enough.

Eight to twelve hours of duration, depending on material, mana input, and precision. The limitation remained obvious. Mana. But Hearthroot was full of people with mana. Wardens could charge gate lights before patrol shifts. Longhouse residents could top up interior glowstones in the evening. Quarry crews could carry them into the mountain and recharge them during rests. The walls, gates, longhouses, workshop, and roads could all be lit without burning through endless fuel if enough runestones were created.

James set the smallest shard before him and bent over it. The stylus touched stone. Runecrafting demanded a different kind of attention from building. When James built, his mind widened. He had to think about how a place would breathe once people entered it, how weight settled, how work moved, how a structure would serve the village after the last beam was set. Runecraft pulled all of that focus down to the point beneath the stylus. The world became stone, hand, groove, and mana. A careless line could bleed power.

A poor curve could turn the whole glyph against itself. The mana had to follow the cut cleanly, guided by pressure fine enough that his fingers began to ache with restraint. If he carved too lightly, the rune would fade. If he pressed too hard, the stone would crack. The workshop clacked and hummed around him. James let it all become background. He had done this before in another life, in ways that had nothing to do with mana. Drafting in an office while phones rang.

Detailing window sections while coworkers argued over client revisions. Working late beneath fluorescent lights, ignoring printers, emails, and the terrible coffee machine that sounded like it was dying every time someone asked it for mercy. Focus had a shape. He knew how to step inside it. The first line of the starburst took. Mana followed the stylus, thin and bright. Then the second line. The third. The radiating spokes. The stoneheart accepted the rune eagerly. James paused, surprised.

Ordinary stone had accepted his mana like an empty cup. Iron resisted first, then held once persuaded. Stoneheart did something else. It welcomed the mana into its existing blue veins, folding his intent into what was already there. The glow sank into the material and moved with it, as if the stone had accepted the light into its grain. The finished shard brightened. A soft blue-white light filled the groove, then settled into a steady glow that remained after James lifted his hand. He stared at it.

"That is better than expected," he murmured. Lumen drifted closer.

"Stoneheart is mana-dense and structurally receptive. It appears particularly well suited to inscription work when the rune's function complements stability and endurance."

"Light complements stability?"

"People trip less when they can see." James snorted, then picked up the next shard. He worked for hours. The expenditure for each rune was small, but small costs became a river when repeated. By the fifth shard, his shoulders had tightened. By the tenth, his breathing had settled into the slow rhythm of concentration.

By the fifteenth, the workshop had shifted from morning bustle into deeper midday work, and the line of glowing shards on the bench had become bright enough that Mira finally told someone to move a stack of cloth away from his table before the glow made them think it was sun-dried. Different sizes behaved differently. Small shards lit quickly and held a sharper, smaller glow. Larger chunks required deeper cuts and more mana, but the light they produced was fuller and steadier.

One stone, crossed by an unusually clean blue vein, held the rune beautifully and glowed with a calm radiance that made even Zook abandon his notes to stare. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Some stones shone cool blue-white. Others, especially when James's thoughts drifted toward Heartroot without meaning to, warmed toward pale gold. That intrigued him. It also worried him a little, which meant it was probably important.

He was leaning into his twentieth rune when the notification struck. It burst into his vision with enough force that his stylus slipped and almost carved a line straight through the starburst. James froze, heart lurching. Settlement Defensive Project Completed: Stoneheart Wall Fortification Hearthroot's primary perimeter has been enclosed by a continuous fortified wall using stoneheart-reinforced construction.

Material Synergy Recognized: Stoneheart Stoneheart's natural mana density and crystalline reinforcement have strengthened the wall beyond standard settlement palisade or basic stone wall parameters. Effects Added: Perimeter Security I Hostile creatures below a certain level are less likely to enter Hearthroot's inner settlement grounds unnoticed. Stoneheart Bulwark I The wall gains increased durability, improved resistance to impact, and minor mana-diffusion against crude magical attacks.

Warden's Line I Wardens of the Hearthroot stationed on or near the wall gain a minor bonus to alertness, formation response, and defensive coordination while repelling attacks. Sheltered Hearth I Residents inside the completed wall recover from fear, panic, and weather exposure slightly faster, especially during raids, storms, and night watches. James stared. His breath caught in his chest, then left in a slow rush. The wall was complete. Hearthroot was enclosed.

Before he could fully process that, two more notifications appeared. New Blueprint Unlocked: Gatehouse A fortified entry structure designed to control access through settlement walls, protect gates, and provide defenders with elevated positions, murder holes, reinforced doors, and secure passage control. New Blueprint Unlocked: Wall Watchtower A defensive tower designed to extend sightlines, support archers, house watch crews, store emergency supplies, and strengthen perimeter defense at vulnerable intervals.

James's eyes widened. Then a final notification arrived. Defensive Development Notice Further defensive advancement requires a recognized civic command structure. Recommended Structure: Town Hall or Civic Keep. Additional advanced defensive blueprints may unlock after the settlement establishes a formal administrative heart. The Civic Keep shot up his mental priority list so quickly that everything else scattered around it. Political structure. Alliance requirement. Administrative heart. Defensive prerequisite.

Of course. Of course the village needed a civic center before it could keep unlocking more complex defenses. Walls were one thing. A defensive system required command, records, authority, planning, storage, and organized response. James stood so suddenly the stool scraped hard against the floor. Every head in the workshop turned. He pointed blindly at the nearest person.

"You. Make sure no one messes with my stuff." The nearest person happened to be one of the elven weavers, holding a spool of thread and looking startled.

"Of course?" James was already moving. His cloak flapped behind him as he ran from the workshop. The air outside was clean after the rain. Puddles shone in the paths. The Heartroot's golden leaves glimmered with droplets, and the whole village seemed washed brighter than usual. James ran past the storage shed, past a group of children attempting to build a mud wall around a wooden pig, past two wardens who turned in alarm and then relaxed when they saw his expression was excitement rather than fear.

The northern edge of the plateau came into view. The wall stood complete. Merrit and his crew were celebrating. They were muddy, wet-haired, exhausted, and brilliant with triumph. Some sat on spare stoneheart blocks with their tools across their knees. Others leaned against the wall as if needing to feel it under their backs. A few dwarves had already started singing, though they seemed to have chosen different songs and committed to them equally. Humans and elves laughed together.

A Veinbound dwarf had one hand on a measuring cord even while smiling, because apparently some habits were spiritual rather than practical. The fairy children had arrived before James, drawn by noise and celebration. Piri danced around a dwarf's head trying to crown him with a tiny chain of yellow flowers. Her brothers and sisters cheered and flew around the builders like restless bees. Merrit saw James and turned, face splitting into a grin so wide it made him look younger.

"We did it, my lord." His voice shook.

"We did it." James slowed. For a moment, he simply looked. The wall wrapped the northern edge in pale stoneheart threaded with blue. It rose thick and tall, the courses clean, the joints tight, the material gleaming in the washed light after rain. The last open stretch had closed. Hearthroot's plateau was now fully enclosed, the eastern longhouses, workshop, forge, dressing yard, Hearth Hall, grove, pasture, training yard, and Hearthroot itself all held within a continuous protective ring.

It lacked gatehouses, towers, walkways, stairs, and a dozen other things. It would need more, always more. For one breath, James let himself ignore that. The wall existed. He crossed the last few steps and clasped Merrit's shoulder.

"You did it." Merrit swallowed and nodded, eyes bright. James turned to the crew and raised his voice.

"All of you did it. Every block of this wall is safety. Every aching back, every argument, every muddy trench, every cursed stoneheart seam. Children will sleep better because of this. Wardens will fight better because of this. Hearthroot stands stronger because of what you built." The crew erupted. Someone cheered. Someone else lifted a hammer. Piri threw flowers in the air, hit herself in the face with two of them, and declared victory anyway.

James laughed, then looked back at Merrit with a smile that he could not quite hide.

"Do you want to know how the wall can be upgraded?" The crew groaned as one body. Merrit laughed, turning to them with his hands raised.

"What did you expect? To drink ale and eat Marla's steaks for the rest of your lives? Of course there is more work to do."

"Mean thing to say on a day of celebration," one human builder called.

"Ale and steaks sound like the perfect retirement plan," a dwarf added. James lifted both hands.

"You are all free for the rest of the day." A cheer began.

"Except Merrit and me." The cheer faltered.

"We are placing blueprints." The groaning resumed, louder this time, and somehow everyone followed anyway. They started at the northern gate opening. The current gap in the wall was functional, little more than a controlled entrance waiting for proper doors and structure. James stepped before it and opened himself to the blueprint. Mana lines rose in the air. The Gatehouse took shape over the opening. It was not merely a gate. That struck him immediately.

The blueprint unfolded with layered intelligence, filling in all the knowledge James lacked. Two squat flanking chambers grew on either side of the passage, built to tie into the wall itself. Above the entry, an upper walkway connected both sides, giving defenders a protected firing position directly over the gate. The main doors were thick and reinforced with iron bands, fitted into stoneheart sockets.

Beyond them, an inner gate created a short passage between outer and inner doors, a deadly corridor if enemies breached the first barrier. Narrow firing slits faced outward. The upper chamber had downward openings over the passage. Murder holes, James realized with a shiver of fascinated discomfort. Places where stones, sand, boiling water, oil, or alchemical mixtures could be dropped on attackers trapped below.

Side rooms held mechanisms, tools, emergency supplies, glowstone mounts, and a tiny guard alcove large enough for a watch rotation to shelter from rain. James exhaled.

"I know very little about medieval defensive structures," he admitted.

"The wall was simple compared to this." Merrit was staring with a mix of awe and dread.

"The blueprint knows."

"Yes," James said softly.

"Thank the system for that." Information brushed the edge of his thoughts. Gatehouse Blueprint — Projected Effects Controlled Passage I Improves inspection, entry control, and defensive response at settlement entrances. Defender's Overlook I Wardens stationed within the gatehouse gain improved sightlines and minor accuracy support when firing at attackers approaching the gate.

Stoneheart Locking Frame When built with stoneheart and proper metal fittings, the gate structure gains improved resistance to forced entry and heavy impact. Emergency Seal I If the outer gate is breached, the inner passage can be sealed temporarily, slowing attackers and buying time for defenders. The crew had gone quiet. Even the dwarves stopped joking. Then James moved to one side of the gate and placed the first Wall Watchtower. Everyone looked up. And up.

The tower rose higher than the wall, a glowing skeleton of stoneheart, wood, and purpose. Its base was broad, tied deep into the wall's line. The shaft tapered upward for stability, with internal stair segments and small landings. Arrow slits punctuated the intermediate levels. At the top, a covered watch deck looked out in four directions beneath a rain-shedding roof. Mounts for glowstones, horns, signal flags, and future chimes sat beneath the roof beams.

Small storage compartments held emergency arrows, water, medical wraps, and tools. The tower seemed to pull the horizon closer. From there, a scout could see over the forest edge, along the wall line, toward the river, perhaps even down the roads once roads existed. Wall Watchtower Blueprint — Projected Effects Extended Sightline I Watch crews detect movement farther from the wall, especially along prepared approaches and cleared sight paths.

Archer's Nest I Ranged defenders stationed in the tower gain minor support to aim and coordination when firing downward or across connected wall sections. Signal Point I The tower can support horns, flags, glowstones, fires, or future magical communication tools for rapid warning. Wall Link I When connected to a completed wall, the tower improves response coordination along nearby wall sections. A dwarf whistled low. Merrit looked paler now.

"Our job just became harder." James clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Yes." James placed a second tower on the other side of the gate. For now, each gate would get two towers. Eventually, the long western and eastern stretches would need additional towers at intervals, but Hearthroot needed first steps before perfection. West first, because that side faced the most likely goblin approach. South second, because the mountain road and quarry had just become urgent. East third, for the mine.

North last, already being marked as the least immediate threat, though James knew enough now to distrust that phrase. They walked the perimeter. The crew followed in a loose, excited pack, complaining and speculating as James placed glowing structures at each gate. Western gatehouse. Two towers. Southern gatehouse. Two towers. Eastern gatehouse. Two towers. Northern gatehouse already marked. Future tower positions along longer walls were noted with smaller projected anchors, waiting for materials and time.

As they walked, James and Merrit discussed logistics. Stoneheart quantities. Whether Dorgrun and Varn could produce that much ironwork without turning the forge into a battleground of professional pride. Whether the quarry could supply suitable blocks if James improved transport. Whether the gatehouses needed to wait for the Civic Keep or could begin immediately. The answer seemed clear. Begin immediately. The Civic Keep could unlock advanced defenses later, but gatehouses and towers were available now.

Iron became the problem that loomed largest.

"We need a lot," Merrit said, looking at the southern gate projection with a builder's faraway gaze.

"More than nails. Even if the main structure is stoneheart, the moving parts will eat iron." James nodded.

"I know."

"We will need the smiths happy." James barked a laugh.

"Ambitious."

"We will need the smiths functional."

"Better." Merrit grew quieter as they finished marking the last tower. The crew had drifted a little ahead, arguing about which gate would be worst to build. James was halfway through outlining an order of priorities when Merrit spoke softly.

"My lord." James stopped.

"What is it?" Merrit looked embarrassed, proud, frightened, and giddy all at once. His fingers twisted together, then stilled as he forced himself to stand straight.

"I got a class when we completed the wall," he said.

"A few levels too. But…" He swallowed.

"I got a class." James's eyes widened.

"What?" Merrit immediately shushed him, glancing toward the crew. James lowered his voice but leaned closer.

"What class?" Merrit's smile turned goofy despite his embarrassment.

"Earthbound Bastioner." James made an impressed sound that would have embarrassed both of them if he had not meant it.

"That sounds fancy." Merrit's ears went red.

"It does, doesn't it?" Lumen appeared near James's shoulder, bright with interest.

"That is a significant class. The wall project likely met several hidden requirements at once. Long duration, high difficulty, stone-based construction leadership, defensive function, successful perimeter completion, and crew coordination. Such class unlocks often include multiple abilities if the achievement is large enough." James repeated the gist aloud. Merrit nodded eagerly.

"That is what I thought. The abilities came all together."

"Read them," James said. Merrit glanced around again, then recited from his notification in a low voice.

"Crew Rhythm: Stonework. When leading a construction crew on stone-based work, nearby workers make fewer placement mistakes and tire slightly slower while lifting, fitting, and bracing stone." James smiled immediately.

"That is excellent." Merrit's confidence grew.

"Anchor Call. I can designate a point as the current anchor of a build with mana. Workers instinctively understand how their tasks relate to that point." James's smile widened. That would help gatehouses. Towers. The Civic Keep. Anything complex. Merrit drew a breath.

"Defensive Affinity. All defensive structures built by this class gain twenty percent durability and slightly increased resistance to siege damage." James stared. His eyebrows practically rose into his hairline.

"Merrit," he said.

"That is huge." The builder looked down, clearly trying not to grin too hard.

"I thought so."

"That is beyond huge. That is…" James pointed at the wall, then at the projected towers, then back at Merrit.

"That is exactly what we need."

"There is another." James snapped his attention back.

"Another?" Merrit looked increasingly nervous.

"Raise Rubble. Active ability. I can pull loose stones, broken masonry, or rubble into a crude temporary barrier. Rough, ugly, short-lived, but useful during emergencies." James lost all dignity.

"You can raise a wall from rubble?"

"A crude temporary barrier."

"Magical wall."

"Mud ugly, likely."

"Magical wall."

"Temporary."

"Merrit." The builder took a step back.

"My lord?"

"Show me." Merrit paled.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, man. Aren't you curious?"

"I am curious in private."

"It is straight-up magical."

"It is also new, and I have no wish to throw stones at myself in front of half the crew." James's excitement had drawn attention. The builders began drifting back. A dwarf called, "What ability?" Another asked, "Why is Merrit red as a bride?" A gnome added, "First night of marriage red!" The crew exploded into laughter. Merrit covered his face with one hand. James, because he was a terrible lord and an enthusiastic friend, raised both arms.

"Everyone. Merrit just got an awesome new class." The laughter stopped. The shift in the crew was immediate. Respect moved through them first, followed by awe, then pride. These were people who had followed Merrit through mud, rain, stoneheart hauling, wall courses, foundation lines, arguments, and exhaustion. His success belonged to him, but it also reflected all of them. Then James continued.

"And he has an ability that raises a temporary wall from rubble." The awe sharpened into hungry delight. Merrit lowered his hand slowly.

"My lord." The chant began with one dwarf.

"Show it." A gnome joined.

"Show it." Then half the crew took it up.

"Show it! Show it! Show it!" A dwarf clapped Merrit on the back.

"Do not be shy, lad. Just whip it out!" The crew howled. Merrit looked as if he might attempt to climb the wall and disappear over it. A gnome pointed toward the northern gate.

"There is still enough stoneheart rubble there." Merrit seized on that.

"We need that stone for the gatehouse." James raised one hand with ridiculous lordly gravity. The crew quieted at once, grinning.

"Let the lord decide whether Merrit's new ability merits the possible destruction of our precious stoneheart." He frowned theatrically, stroking his chin as if weighing the future of civilization. Merrit looked betrayed. James smirked.

"Of course it does." The crew cheered. They dragged Merrit to the rubble near the northern gate. Merrit stood before the pile, red as a beet, muttering about dignity, waste, and classes that should include clearer instructions. He finally lifted one arm perpendicular to the ground, palm open. His eyes closed. He chanted something under his breath, the words low and rough, more felt than heard. Everyone held still. Nothing happened. Then the air whooshed. Loose stones trembled.

Stoneheart chips, broken masonry, and scattered rubble lifted from the ground one after another. Merrit yelped and tried to duck, but the stones never struck him. They hung in the air, shaking, then snapped into place in front of him. One after another, they locked together in a jagged formation until a rough wall stood before him, chest-high, ugly, uneven, and absolutely magical. Silence fell. Merrit peeked around the side, pale and astonished. Then the stones dropped.

The wall collapsed into rubble with a clatter and a burst of dust. Merrit swayed.

"Merrit!" one of the dwarves shouted. James reached him just as two builders caught his arms. Merrit's face had gone grey, sweat standing on his brow.

"What's wrong?" James asked, suddenly cold with worry. Merrit swallowed.

"Mana. Took a lot. I am empty." James exhaled hard in relief. Then, because relief often made him unfair, he turned an accusing glare on the nearest gnome.

"I told you this was a bad idea!" The gnome pointed at himself, looking genuinely unsure whether he had been involved. James pointed toward the Greemoss Den.

"Go to Ilyndra and ask for a mana potion." The gnome saluted with the gravity of a soldier receiving orders and bolted. James turned to a dwarf.

"You. Go to Marla and ask for the new ale." Everyone froze. James beamed.

"We have to celebrate." The cheer that followed probably reached the Hearth Hall before the dwarf did. Ilyndra's mana potion helped Merrit recover, though he made a terrible face while drinking it and declared that her potions tasted like someone had threatened swamp water with medicine. The gnome who had fetched it repeated this critique word for word when Ilyndra demanded feedback, which James suspected would have consequences later.

The ale arrived soon after in a small keg carried by two dwarves and one very proud brewer who insisted on supervising distribution. They gathered near the completed northern wall as afternoon mellowed toward evening. Cups passed from hand to hand. Workers sat on stone blocks, piles of timber, and the damp grass. Fairy children darted among them, trying to imitate Merrit's ability with pebbles and achieving nothing except dropped rocks and giggles.

Piri managed to lift one pebble for half a heartbeat, though James suspected she had simply thrown it upward and called the timing magical. Stories came out as the ale loosened everyone. The time a stoneheart block got stuck in a trench and six dwarves blamed one another for twenty minutes before discovering a gnome's measuring tool wedged underneath. The time Merrit had fallen asleep upright against a wall course and remained there long enough for Pella to mark him as "temporary support."

The time Pella threatened to measure a man's skull for replacement when he ignored spacing again. A human builder admitted, under pressure, that he had once called Thrain "your short majesty" and then spent the rest of the day expecting death. Even Merrit laughed at that, though he still looked drained. They spoke of the future too. Gatehouses. Towers. More iron than anyone liked thinking about. More wood. More stoneheart. Better plans. Larger crews. The Civic Keep looming over all of it like an unbuilt answer.

Hearthroot was no longer a few desperate structures clinging to a forest clearing. It was becoming a settlement with layers, systems, and problems that required people other than James to solve. For this moment, though, the wall was complete. Merrit had a class. The builders had done something enormous, and James let himself be swept into their joy. The ale was rough and smoky, warming his chest. The air smelled of rain-washed stone, damp grass, and laughter. Someone began a work song.

Someone else sang a completely different one over it. The fairy children danced through both. James was laughing at a story about a trench full of rainwater and two builders who had tried to fish in it when Dewpip appeared. At first, he barely registered her. She hovered lower than usual, pale green curls damp from the mist, her dew bead clutched tight against her chest. Her wings fluttered unevenly. She did not join the other children. She did not smile at the songs or hide behind anyone to listen.

She came straight toward him. James's laughter faded. The world seemed to narrow around her small worried face. Dewpip stopped before him, hovering at eye level because he sat on a stone block. Her eyes were too wide. Her fingers trembled around the dew bead.

"James Lord," she said. James set down his cup and leaned forward.

"What is it?" Dewpip turned her head toward Heartroot hill. The golden tree rose in the distance, beautiful in the late light. From here, James could see its leaves moving, its white bark shining, the crown still holding a faint shimmer from the afternoon sun. Dewpip looked back at him.

"I think…" Her voice shook.

"I think something is wrong with the Heartroot Tree."