Stone and fire

The wind carried the scent of earth and embers as the first stones of Vaelthane's rebirth were laid. The returning riders worked alongside the survivors, their hands rough from years of hardship but steady with purpose.

Kael stood among them, not as a king commanding from above but as one of them—lifting beams, securing foundations, watching as life bled back into the ruins.

The first structure to rise was the marketplace. "Trade brings people," Kael had said, and the others agreed. Stalls were built from salvaged wood, merchants eager to reclaim their place among the living. Fires burned, warming pots of stew as laughter—laughter—echoed in the square for the first time in years.

The sight stirred something in him.

For so long, he had been a wanderer. A swordsman with no home, no roots. But now… this was his doing. He wasn't just surviving. He was building.

But peace was fragile.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kael found Fenir watching from the shadows, her silver eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight.

"You're uneasy," he said, stepping beside her.

She didn't look at him. "I don't trust peace."

Kael exhaled, crossing his arms. "Neither do I."

They stood in silence, watching the people work, watching their kingdom take shape. The flickering flames painted the ruins in hues of gold, the sound of hammers and voices rising into the night.

"What do you see when you look at this?" Kael finally asked.

Fenir's gaze lingered on the marketplace, the people laughing and trading, the first hints of life in a place once drowned in silence.

"A spark," she murmured. "But sparks attract storms."

Kael turned to her, studying her face. "Are you warning me? Or yourself?"

She glanced at him then, and for the first time since her transformation, something flickered in her eyes—something almost vulnerable.

But before she could answer, a voice rang out from the gates.

"More are coming!"

Kael straightened as movement stirred in the darkness beyond the firelight. Figures approached from the wilds, their silhouettes weary but determined. They carried packs, supplies, some even led carts.

Not soldiers. Not raiders.

Survivors.

Kael stepped forward as an older woman, wrapped in a threadbare cloak, stepped past the threshold. She scanned the kingdom—the rising walls, the people—and something wet gleamed in her tired eyes.

"Vaelthane stands again," she whispered. "After all this time."

More followed her, dozens of them, their footsteps hesitant but filled with hope.

Fenir exhaled beside him. "They're returning."

Kael's grip on his sword hilt loosened.

Yes. They were.

Vaelthane was no longer just ruins. It was becoming something greater.

And the world was beginning to notice.