The Weight of Silver and Stone

The old maester lived in a crumbling stone cottage near the village edge, roof sagged from years of Bogwater rain. Levi arrived early, scroll in hand, the parchment from House Reed still faintly smelling of wax and river reeds.

Inside, the maester sat by a brazier, nursing a weak tea and surrounded by three youths hunched over slates and tablets. The oldest boy was no older than seventeen, the youngest barely eleven.

"Ah," the maester rasped, blinking behind cloudy eyes. "Levi Hallow. Come to speak of letters and trade?"

Levi gave a tired smile. "And of dreams that might be too big."

The old man waved off the words. "There's no harm in big dreams. Only in empty ones."

He gestured to the three boys. "These are my pupils. Wren, Timor, and Kell. Not scholars yet, but sharp enough. They read, write, count, and remember. That's more than most."

Levi studied them—thin, wary boys used to swampy silence and cold mornings. Not merchants yet, but perhaps they could become something close.

"I need them ready in three moons' time," Levi said. "Maybe five, if it delays. House Reed knows we exist. They sent word—a seal with the green gator of Greywater Watch. They want trade, and soon. I need men who can carry records, speak clearly, and return whole."

The maester nodded. "They will be ready. But knowledge isn't the only thing you need."

"No," Levi admitted. "We need protection. That's why I'm speaking to Harwin next."

—

Harwin stood outside Mae's hut sharpening an axe, sweat shining on his brow. When Levi told him the news, he stopped the blade mid-stroke.

"A caravan without guards is a grave without stones," Harwin muttered. "Bandits, poachers, even worse if word spreads too far."

"I know," Levi said. "So we have three choices. Train villagers. Hire sellswords. Or ride north to White Harbor and ask for help."

Harwin scratched his beard. "Training takes time. Arms we don't yet have. Mercenaries take coin. And I don't trust those who fight for gold. Not here, not now."

Levi tapped his chin. "What if we do all three? Train a few men here—ones we trust. Send a rider to White Harbor quietly, looking for honest blades. And as for coin…"

He paused.

"…I'll handle that."

—

That night, Levi shut himself inside the tower's ruined chamber. The spot where he'd first bled into the stone—his eye now scarred, his mind less clouded.

He reached into the air, summoning the cheat engine.

The old, familiar windows blinked to life.

Silver: 1 → 1000.

He felt it pulse, felt the world tilt briefly. A thousand silver stags now sat, tightly wrapped, in a trunk he kept buried beneath his floor.

Next came food.

Lizard Meat: 300.Cheese: 300.Ale Barrels: 500.

He summoned crates, barrels, sacks—packed and stored in secret spaces within the barn, the cellar, and beneath his bed.

Then wood.

Wood: enough to raise five more houses and a new barn.Stone Slabs: for the road and drainage paths.

He didn't know how to plan sewers. But they needed something. Something better than stinking holes and wet pits.

He stood by the window as the moon hung low.

Bogwater was growing.

He was growing.

And he couldn't do it alone.