The city of Lefast transforms in a matter of days.
Every street, every gate, every stretch of wall bristles with activity. Blacksmiths hammer day and night, sparks flying as new spearheads and arrow tips are forged. Carpenters drag planks, beams, and ropes, fashioning barricades that can be dropped across narrow alleys. The smell of pitch and burning tar fills the air as cauldrons are prepared for the walls.
On the northern plain, soldiers work in the heat of the sun, sweating as they dig deep trenches. Wagons filled with sharpened stakes roll in, their contents planted upright until the ground bristles like a forest of wooden fangs. Engineers haul crates of alchemical powder, placing them carefully into hidden pits before covering them with soil.
From the ramparts, Velira watches, arms folded, crimson cloak tugged by the wind. Her eyes follow the lines of men and women working, every one of them moving with grim determination.
