The sound of hammer and chisel echoed down the half-formed trench line, striking with a rhythm that mimicked war drums.
Somewhere to the north, near the edge of the forest line, a wyvern shrieked—a distant warning, or perhaps just hunger—but the workers didn't pause. Not anymore.
The beasts had been circling for weeks. The forest knew what was coming. So did the men.
Ian walked slowly along the scaffolded wall-line, his boots coated in dust and fine white stone. Sunlight cut through the clouds in hard bands, revealing the incomplete ramparts rising from Esgard's western quarter.
This was not ornamental stonework—this was fortress masonry. Thick blocks, rune-etched and reinforced with flame-charred steel, aligned in cruel angles meant to catch siege magic and hold against talons.
Beside him, Eli kept pace in silence.
From up here, the world looked bare.
