Building, Breaking, Becoming

The morning haze over Bogwater lingered longer than usual, as if the land itself were holding its breath. A strange scent of freshly cut wood and upturned soil lingered in the air, mixing with the briny tang of the swamp. For the first time in perhaps a generation, the earth had been broken not for graves, but for homes.

Levi stood atop the slope just east of Mae's hut, staring out at the organized chaos below. Dozens of villagers—men, women, and even children—were hauling wood beams, guiding oxen, and shouting directions. It was noisy, alive, and real. And it had all started with him.

Behind him, three long crates lay opened: 300 wheels of cheese stacked like shields, 300 slabs of lizard meat cured and salted, 500 barrels of ale marked with crude burn-etchings of a berry. And next to them: a growing pile of thick wooden beams and slabs of stone, each almost unnaturally uniform in size and smoothness.

He had cheated, no denying it. In bulk.

Levi's fingers tingled from the cheat system's input—his makeshift menu screen flashing for a moment before fading from view. 1,000 silver stags. 300 lizard meat. 300 cheese. 500 ale. Dozens of stone slabs. Enough wood to frame houses and barns. More than enough to trigger suspicion if someone ever learned the truth.

Harwin approached, sweat glistening off his neck, a rolled-up parchment in hand. "The barn's frame is almost up. And the elder lads are working on the grain storehouse. But... we're thin on experience. We'll need instruction. Not just tools."

Levi nodded. "I'll speak with the old maester. See if his students can help oversee the storage and sorting. Might be a while before they're merchant-ready, but they can manage ledgers."

Harwin's eyes flicked to the shimmering crates. "And guards? You know as well as I do, that merchant caravan's not surviving four months on the road without blades."

"I know."

Harwin didn't press him. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the sound of hammering and oxen grunts. Then, softly:

"We could ask House Reed again. Or White Harbor. Hire men who know how to watch a caravan."

"Maybe," Levi muttered. "Or maybe I train our own."

That evening, Levi sat alone near the edge of the swamp. The ground here was damp and soft, but far from the activity of the central clearing. He held a small pouch in his hand: a test sample.

Three silver stags. A chunk of cheese. A piece of cured lizard meat. A carved stick of wood. All named, all summoned.

He tried again. "Pork." Nothing. "Beef." Denied. "Gold crown." Error. He frowned, muttering, "Fine. Apple?" Nothing.

It chilled him. The cheat didn't give anything—only what he had tasted, seen, named. It copied, not created.

He looked up at the sky. "It's not a god. It's a ledger. It remembers what I do. And maybe one day... it'll forget."

The accident happened the next morning.

Torrhen, a thick-armed farmer, had volunteered to help place the stone slab for the village square. Levi had told him to wait. But Torrhen insisted, shouting, "We aren't helpless!"

The slab tipped. Torrhen's foot caught beneath it. A scream split the air like a warhorn. By the time Levi reached him, the man's shin was bent backward. The bone pierced the skin.

People gathered. Torrhen's wife was shrieking. Others were shouting over one another.

"This is madness—this ain't our way!"

"He brought cursed stone!"

"He's rushing us to death!"

Mae stepped between them, her voice sharp as flint. "You think the old way spared you? It didn't! You starved, you buried your babes in mud, and you called it peace. Let the boy try."

But Levi didn't speak. He stood there, numb.

Later, in private, Mae found him by the edge of the barn. "You look like you want to vanish."

Levi exhaled slowly. "I thought I could just... build. Put walls up. Lay roads down. I'm just another villager now. And they expect me to be more."

Mae touched his shoulder. "Good. Then be more."

He nodded. Just once.

Then he walked back toward the crates.

The work wasn't done. Not yet.