The fires from the battle had burned out, leaving behind the bitter smell of smoke and charred clay.
The wall—half standing, half rubble—still steamed in the dawn light.
Adrian stood at the base of it, hands on his knees, exhaustion weighing on every breath. He hadn't slept since the attack. He couldn't.
They'd won, but victory had never felt so fragile.
Elara approached quietly, handing him a bowl of water. "You should rest," she said.
"I will," Adrian murmured, though both of them knew he wouldn't. His mind was already drawing, planning, rebuilding. "If they send more men, we'll need higher defenses and a wider trench."
"You're trying to outbuild an army, Adrian," she said gently. "You can't do that alone."
He was about to reply when the watchtower bell rang twice—the signal for an approach.
Torren came running. "One traveler on foot! Cloaked, unarmed—headed straight for the gate!"
Adrian's grip on the water bowl tightened. "Show me."
The stranger emerged from the trees slowly, walking with a steady, confident stride. She wore a dark hood and travel-worn boots, and across her back hung what looked like a crossbow—though sleeker, more mechanical, unlike anything Adrian had seen in this world.
The villagers whispered nervously, forming a loose circle near the gate.
Adrian stepped forward. "You've come a long way to reach a half-burned village. Who are you?"
The woman pushed back her hood. She was young—early thirties, sharp-eyed, with a scar running from her jaw to her ear. Her hair was short, unevenly cut, and her voice was calm when she spoke.
"My name's Kaela. I heard there was a Builder here. A man who used knowledge from another world to raise walls from mud and ash."