The Shape Beneath the Stone

Location: Oslo County – Central Canal Zone and Barrack Quarter

Time: Day 370 After Alec's Arrival

The scent of brackish water and wet stone pressed into the air like a wet cloth. Alec stood knee-deep in the muck of Oslo's main canal artery, sleeves rolled, boots half-submerged in sludge. Beside him, a dredger coughed as he hauled up a tangle of roots, broken cart wood, and a rusted emblem from a forgotten banner.

"Seventeen feet of debris depth," Alec called up to Elira, who stood on the canal's edge flanked by two of her reeves and a city scribe. "Another two weeks of rot and the whole waterway would have collapsed."

"Then let's not wait," Elira replied, waving to her men. "Open the channel from Raithe's Mill to the garden loop. Use the southward pressure. And reroute all washing basins to the auxiliary trench."

"That trench hasn't held since my father's day," one reeve muttered.

"Then it'll hold today," Elira said, steel under velvet.

Alec climbed up the canal steps, water trailing off his coat in thick streams. "I want filtering gates installed by dusk. Iron mesh. Reeds for the secondary sieve. We're not just moving water. We're purifying it."

She glanced at his soaked collar. "You know, most advisors don't wade through canals themselves."

"Most advisors don't get results."

They walked together along the new brickwork path, past workers hauling sediment and carts laden with fresh lumber. The scent of mortar and sweat hung thick as early summer.

"What about the barracks?" Elira asked, brushing hair from her cheek.

"Reinforcement teams moved in at dawn. We're doubling the bed count, reducing square-foot burden, and raising ceiling venting by a full span."

"That'll cut the night fevers."

"And the fights," Alec added. "Air circulation correlates to morale. When men breathe better, they brawl less."

She gave him a look. "You plan even emotions."

"I plan survival."

Late Morning – Barrack Quarter, Inner Field Compound

Captain Meren stood before two lines of restless guardsmen, his posture taut, his jaw twitching at the edges. Alec stepped into the training ground, Elira at his flank.

"Half these men haven't drilled properly in a year," Meren said. "They're farmers again in their heads."

"Then we remind them," Alec said.

He stepped forward, scanned the group. "Two ranks. Staves, not blades. Opposite hands forward. Show me your reach."

There were hesitations. Shuffling. Murmurs.

"Now."

Something in his tone dropped like a weight.

They moved.

Elira watched with interest as Alec circled. He corrected footings. Adjusted shoulders. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't bark orders.

But within minutes, the formation had tightened. Movements grew cleaner. Meren's eyes narrowed in grudging approval.

"Why staves?" Elira asked under her breath.

"Because every broken sword turns into one. And because coordination matters more than steel."

Afternoon – Upper South Square, Drafting Tent

The reform tent was full of dust motes and the scratch of quills. Maps stretched across the central table. Scrolls lined every available bench. Alec stood with his sleeves still damp, arms crossed as Elira pointed to three key junctions on the city grid.

"If we extend the sanitation line here, we force all street runoff into that bottleneck."

"Unless we add a second chute beneath the baker's alley," Alec countered.

"It'd flood the lower bread cellars."

"Not if we reinforce with stone culverts. Your uncle had the plans. I found them under the southern archive."

She stared. "You went through the southern archive?"

"I woke at four."

She laughed, short and real. "You're either the most maddening man I've met—or the most useful."

"Hopefully both."

Evening – City Forum, Public Address Platform

The people of Oslo had gathered. Not in protest. Not yet. But with wary eyes and folded arms. Tradesmen. Mothers. Retired soldiers. Hungry children.

Elira stepped forward first. "The city is changing. You will feel it under your feet, hear it in your wells, and see it in your kitchens. Some of you will lose familiar lanes. Some of you will be asked to learn new ways. But none of you will be left behind."

There were nods. A few doubtful grunts.

Then Alec stepped up. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't posture.

"I was not born here. I do not carry your names. But I walk your roads. I drink your water. I learn your histories. And I'm building the future with your hands. If you let me."

Silence.

Then a voice from the crowd. "And if we don't?"

He didn't hesitate. "Then I build anyway. But slower. And less well. So help me make it strong."

And that—that won them.

Elira turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze as applause rippled like cautious wind.

"You learn fast," she whispered.

"I listen faster."

Together, they stepped down.

And the city stepped with them.