The Shaping of an Empire

*Year: 18900, Month: 17 February, Day: Saturday Morning*

Rain drummed against the windowpane in a relentless staccato, rousing me from the depths of slumber. I rose, leaving the warmth of my bed to face the grey light that filtered through the glass. It was a dreary morning in Havenwood, yet as I dressed, my gaze settled on the scene outside: my workers, undeterred by the downpour, their figures blurred beneath cloaks and hooded ponchos, moving with determined purpose.

They were fortifying what would soon be not just a mansion, but a citadel—a testament to the new life I had carved out in this realm. The rhythmic sound of hammers mingled with the rain, an orchestra of progress. They understood the gravity of their task; the defenses they erected were not merely physical structures but symbols of the burgeoning empire I was building.