09:10 a.m. - At Castle of Aurelthorn, Dawnspire.
A chill lingered in the great hall. Smoke clung to the rafters in a pale veil. Silver Stag banners whipped in a breeze that reeked of ash. Suits of armour lined the walls, gleaming yet battered. Outside, the dull murmur of a hurting city surged and ebbed against the stone.
King Aldric stood at the foot of the dais in beaten mail, helm tucked under his arm. His steel-grey gaze was steady. Queen Elenya stood beside him, hands composed, her face as calm as a quiet river. Aemond set his staff and dipped his head once.
Aemond (Patient): "The Elemental Ward holds at the main gate. I set anchors to the north and east. I threw a tether toward the Temple steps. Shadow-doors flare in the eastern lanes, but they won't take root if we keep the wards singing."
King Aldric (measured): "The people?"
Captain of the Gate (bows): "We passed many through the ward, Your Grace. There are survivors in the Market Square. A runner swears a man stood in the ash and the changed came apart at his touch. I cannot name him. No one can."
Aemond (Reflective): "Not every miracle wears a name. We take the boon and tighten our watch."
A younger voice cut sharp and eager from the right of the map table. Prince Kaelen stood there, one hand on the carved edge. His jaw was set too hard for his years.
Prince Kaelen (eager): "Let me go, Father. People should see we care."
King Aldric (calm): "No. Carry supplies and orders to the guard posts. Bring me names."
Princess Lyra, bright-eyed and exact, held a small ledger in both hands. Her tone was clear.
Princess Lyra (practical): "The timber wards will catch with a spark. Each fire bleeds our coffers twice—today and when the frost comes. Ovens are gone. Roofs are tinder. We should—"
King Aldric (firm): "We speak of houses when the line is firm."
The doors swung and a courier entered with a coat white with ash. He dropped to one knee and raised a sealed strip of parchment.
Courier (breathless): "Your Grace. Drakensvale's hostage slipped the leash at dawn. Their heralds void the truce. Riders are probing the western line already. Also… the High Temple chanted false prayers. The bells went wild. There are whispers of slaughter and the Pope turned into a… wrong thing."
Aemond's eyes went cold and careful.
Aemond (Solemn): "A reckoning draws near. We must ready our minds and hearts for the trials ahead."
Queen Elenya's voice cut soft and sure through the hall.
Queen Elenya (gentle iron): "Feed the little ones first. Count blankets and broth as we count blades. Send clean priests to the lower yard. No lists at our gate that make the poor kneel to eat."
King Aldric inclined his head to her, then faced the quartermaster—a square man with ink-stained fingers and a hat under his arm.
Quartermaster (plain): "Technologia says they can raise crossbows from fifty a day to two hundred with coin, coal, iron, and guards for their routes. They need seals, fuel, and rations for new hands."
King Aldric (impressive): "It's remarkable. We don't know how they managed it; that pace chills the blood."
King Aldric (decisive): "Send coin. Send iron. Send coal. Send written orders and seal them now. Two hundred a day. We will fill the racks. We will not be short of string and wood when the horn sounds."
He looked to Aemond.
King Aldric (measured): "Mark the convoys with whatever ward you can spare. We will not lose carts to shadows on the road."
Aemond (Instructive): "I will lay ward-ink on the crate marks. If a hand not on the list touches them, the mark will sing. I can bind a small chime to each wagon pole. It is not much, but it bites at the dark."
A page came with a board. The quartermaster wrote as Aldric dictated.
King Aldric (firm): "Put this to parchment. Western road escorts doubled for ore and food. No impressment. Day wages in coin. Names written at the point of hire. No Temple lists at our gate. If anyone brings a Temple list, it burns."
Prince Kaelen glanced from the map to the door as if already in the saddle. His mouth set again, too hard.
Prince Kaelen (eager): "If Drakensvale rides the badlands, we must show our fangs. Let me take a dozen spears and sweep the western track."
King Aldric (measured): "You will not chase their feelers. You will carry bread and water to the old watch-houses and bring me names from the far farms. The throne does not hunt glory. The throne feeds first."
Princess Lyra's brow knit, but she kept her tongue. Queen Elenya watched her daughter and set a hand on her arm.
Queen Elenya (soft): "Your thought is not lost. Write it. We will need your list when the snow comes."
The captain cleared his throat.
Captain of the Gate (plain): "One more matter. Guilds in the Temple Quarter push to raise dues if Technologia hires from their books. The guildmaster threatens to bar carts with his men if we do not bless his dues."
King Aldric's gaze hardened.
King Aldric (measured): "He may lift words, not pikes. The carts move under my seal. Dues that starve are theft. If he blocks the road, I will sit him on the gate for a day with a sign that reads 'I tax hunger.'"
A low breath of laughter moved through the room and settled again. The hall returned to the taut sound of work. Aemond tapped his staff on stone. A thin blue ripple passed over the map lines, a quiet sign he listened for more ill news.
Aemond (Patient): "I will keep the ward singing at the gate. I can spare a junior to walk the Technologia yard with ward chalk. It will not stop a blade. It will show a shadow."
King Aldric (nods): "Do it. Hold the gate. We arm. We feed."
Queen Elenya studied the map where the Temple sat like a rotten tooth in the city's jaw. Her mouth thinned.
Queen Elenya (gentle iron): "The Temple doors were shut on my people. If any priest would preach, let him preach beside the pot he stirs. Not on the steps. Not with lists."
King Aldric (measured): "So it is."
He stepped toward the great doors. He did not roar when he spoke to the guard and the men down the long hall. He did not lift his arms. He had no need.
King Aldric (calling): "Dawnspire stands because you stand! Feed the small first. Hold one another. We do not leave anyone to the dark."
He looked back once at his family. At Queen Elenya, iron wrapped in linen. At Prince Kaelen, who tried too hard to be flame. At Princess Lyra, who held numbers—and the city—in her thin hands.
King Aldric (calm, exact): "Steady. You have a king."
The quartermaster pressed seals in wax. A scribe dusted the ink. The captain took the seals and signed for a pair of shaped escorts. Aemond turned and moved with his staff, the tip ticking on stone like a metronome of nerve.
No one in that hall spoke of raising the city anew. Not now. Not in war. Not under smoke. The orders were armour and bread, iron and wards. The labour of roofs and walls was left to later, to fortune, or to those who did not wait for leave.
11:40 a.m. - At Technologia Company (Workshop), Dawnspire.
The workshop smelled of oil, hot iron, and wet ash. The big steam engine sat in the back like a black animal with one eye open. A seam on the pipe had a burned scar. Two apprentices with singed sleeves stood near it, faces pale but alive. On a bench lay a ledger with a tea ring and a list of names.
Aidan had one hand on the engine casing like a doctor with a patient. He listened, then nodded once. He turned, and his voice was short and exact.
Aidan (decisive): "Lock the engine. Pull the heating whip. Pull out the seals. Bromar, Murdock, check the coils."
Bromar Ironbeard, short and square, grunted and moved with a hammer in hand. Murdock, older and loud, laughed once and then turned serious as a priest with a good pot. Sariel came with a smudged pencil and a neat slate.
Sariel (practical): "Minor burns. Two sleeves. One seal blistered. We record. We replace. We carry on."
Ryan sat on an upturned crate, bright Tunic dulled by ash. He watched the floor move like a machine that began to hum. He had the look of a man who had spent all his panic and had only clear lines left.
(Ryan thinking): (The Authority sits behind my mind like a locked door. No menu. No light. Hands and lists can still move the world.)
Aidan stepped up on a small box so the room could see him. The light hit his neat hair and the edge of his jaw. He held a slate with a thick chalk.
Aidan (reports): "Pens ship tomorrow. Crossbows hit prototype five. We need two extra hands for stamping."
He laid down the chalk and lifted his chin to the room.
Aidan (decisive): "The castle orders two hundred crossbows a day. We scale headcount from eighty to two hundred. We hire. We train. We pay fair. We add the second shift. We keep the two-person sign. No risk cuts here."
A murmur went through the benches. The engine ticked. The air tasted like hot iron and stew. Through the open door, a little sister (it is a little girl) clutched a shawl and peered in. A little brother (it is a little boy) stared at the engine with a wide mouth. An big sister (it is an big sister) pulled a crate across the floor with both hands. An big brother (it is an big brother) set a box down and rolled his shoulders.
Aidan (warning): "If someone brings Temple noise to our gate, we pull the books and the witnesses. No show trials in our yard."
A few workers chuckled without humour. They had seen things and did not want to see more.
Aidan swept his eyes over the floor.
Aidan (decisive): "With the conflict in the capital closer to us than we think, does anyone have ideas on how to advance our work? Speak. Keep it simple."
A hand went up near the engine, callused and black with soot.
Worker (hopeful): "Add another engine?"
A young man with a cut on his cheek and a straight back raised his voice.
Apprentice (nervous): "We can build a sword line, sir. Blades and hilts and scabbards with rivets. Fast."
A carter leaned on a post and spoke in a slow voice.
Carter (plain): "We can fit a stamp press for arrowheads. Save time."
Voices rose with small, good ideas, the kind a shop makes when it knows how to turn scrap to use. Aidan listened, nodding at each, but he did not write them yet. His eyes went to Ryan.
Ryan stood and rubbed his thumbs together. He looked at the faces: hungry, tired, stubborn. He cleared his throat.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "Why don't we just rebuild the city?"
Silence fell. Even the engine seemed to wait. Somewhere outside, a pot lid clanged. A dog barked once and then stopped as if it knew the room was listening.
Worker (doubtful): "We don't have enough hands for that."
Ryan nodded once.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "People are hungry. Winter eats. Most houses here are wood. One spark and the street burns. If we make a new wall—blocks that set fast and do not burn—we can work and live."
Murdock scratched his beard and tilted his head.
Murdock (leans on bench): "Aye, melt iron? You got some fancy ideas, lad? You think you know more than what we've been doin' for generations?"
Ryan gave him a small, tired smile.
Ryan (curious/Inquisitive): "I think we can use what we already know and push it a bit. Not stone. Stone is slow and heavy. We use lime burnt from shells or stone, ash from fired clay, and river sand. Mix it thick. Press it in wood molds. Let it set. Stack like bricks. It is not magic. It is work."
Bromar grunted and tapped the bench with a knuckle.
Bromar (skeptical, thawing): "If it can make a wall that does not burn, then I might entertain your idea."
A thin woman with a needle in a band on her sleeve lifted a hand.
Seamstress (soft): "Who teaches us? I do not pull carts, but my hands are steady. I can make molds if I learn."
Sariel was already writing a list.
Sariel (practical): "We need names, weights, and routes, not rumours. Lime from shells or stone. Sand by barge from the river. Fired clay dust from the old brick pits. Coal or wood to burn a small kiln. Bromar and Murdock can design the kiln in plan, not yet build."
A guildman stepped in from the door with fat fingers and a sour face, wearing a leather coat with too many buttons.
Guildman (threatening): "You take my men and I raise dues. You hire from my book and I stamp you with a fine. Who signs you to hire free?"
Aidan did not blink. He looked down at the guildman's hands, then at his eyes, then at his paper.
Aidan (to rival): "You want exclusivity? Show me a cheque now. Otherwise we keep our path."
The guildman's mouth pinched. He muttered something about order and walked out like a man who had lost his grip on a noisy cart.
Aidan turned to Sariel.
Aidan (decisive): "We will write our own book. Names in order. Wages in coin. Two signatures on every receipt."
A small cough came from the door. A young messenger in the king's colours stood there, cap in his hands, face tight but proud. He held out a sealed roll.
Messenger (clear): "By order of King Aldric: two hundred crossbows per day with coin and iron. Escorts for ore and food convoys. No impressment. Day wages in coin. Names written. Orders sealed."
Aidan took the roll, broke the seal, read, and then nodded once.
Aidan (reports): "Orders confirmed. War first. We move parts, not bricks."
Ryan took a slow breath and pressed two fingers to the bench.
(Ryan thinking): (The crown arms. We build. We do not need permission to plan.)
He looked at the room again. Faces waited.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "We do the plan now. We do not pour today. We do not build today. We draw. We list. We ask. We teach. When the road is safe, we move. We pay in coin. No chains. Everyone eats."
Aidan lifted his slate.
Aidan (decisive): "Planning teams only. No production yet. We do not light a kiln today. We do not mix today. We plan and we price."
He pointed with the chalk.
Aidan (decisive): "Sariel runs the lists. Bromar and Murdock draft the kiln on paper. Carter runs the route map. Seamstress trains mold craft on scrap wood. Apprentice foreman picks steady hands for safety. Cooks feed the small first."
He paused to look at the little sister (it is a little girl) and the little brother (it is a little boy) at the door.
Aidan (calming): "We run checks and we do them again. Breathe. We fix, then we move."
A hand in the back went up, old and scarred.
Old mason (cautious): "What of lime? It eats skin. I have seen bad burns."
Ryan nodded.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "Safety first. Lime to water, not water to lime. Gloves. Eye cloths. Aidan will stop the line if a jar chips. We write this rule big."
Aidan tapped the board with chalk like a judge with a small gavel.
Aidan (decisive): "Rule one. Lime to water. Rule two. No single-man carts. Rule three. Two-person sign. Porter's mark. Stamp it. Move it."
The porter at the back, a quiet man with strong arms, lifted a hand.
Porter (Professional): "Slip? I'll need to check the docket before we move those baskets."
Aidan pointed the chalk at him as if it were a blessing.
Aidan (to Porter): "Stamp the sheet. If the float is over two days, you call me. No exceptions."
Sariel turned a page and started new columns.
Sariel (practical): "Names. Skills. Hours. Wages. Routes. Tools. Kiln bricks. Fuel. Shell weight. Sand weight. Cart list. Escort request."
A carter cleared his throat.
Carter (offers): "There is a man down at the west docks who says he can bring ash from the far mountains. Fine powder. He asks coin and no questions."
Murdock's eyes narrowed. Bromar's jaw tightened. Aidan did not even turn his head.
Aidan (decisive): "We don't buy from men who ask for no questions in a war. We use fired clay dust from our own broken tiles. We use clean wood ash. We do not go to enemy lines to buy their powder."
The carter nodded and did not argue. The room understood. Work was good. Treason was not.
A woman with thin hands and a little boy at her side spoke up.
Woman (asks): "Who watches the small while we work?"
Aidan looked to the cooks by the shed.
Aidan (decisive): "Stew in the yard. Bread on the bench. The small eat first. If you bring a small, you bind a cloth to your arm. We watch for them."
He raised his voice to the yard.
Aidan (calling): !"Feed the small first. Write the names. This shop stands or falls together."
There was a sound like a small cheer and then the scrape of bowls. The little sister (it is a little girl) got a piece of bread. The little brother (it is a little boy) got a tin cup of stew and stared at the steam like it told a good story. An big brother (it is an big brother) lifted a crate to a bench. An big sister (it is an big sister) took scrap wood and a chisel and sat to learn a clean cut.
Ryan stepped closer to Aidan and spoke in a low voice.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "We skim from crossbow profit to pay the planning crews. We buy scrap wood for molds. We pay carters to bring shell weight when the escorts start. We do not beg. We do not borrow. We write every coin."
Aidan gave one short nod.
Aidan (private, to Ryan): "You run wide sometimes. I'll hold the center. Tell me when you want me to make the hard call."
Ryan looked at the shop. The engine was locked and cooling. The seam would be replaced before shift two. The men and women wrote their names in Sariel's book. The porter stamped slips with a clean hand. The apprentices stood straighter because the work felt like purpose, not just noise.
(Ryan thinking): (No production today. That is right. Plan first. Teach first. Make rules. Make routes. Make trust.)
He turned to the room and used a voice like a small fire—steady and warm, not wild.
Ryan (philosophical/Thoughtful): "We will send a letter to the coast for shells. We will send a letter to the north for coal. We will ask the dwarves for advice on brick that holds heat. We will not start work until the road is safe and the rules are taught. This is not a rush. This is a new way."
Bromar folded his arms and smiled with one corner of his mouth.
Bromar (gruff approval): "Let's see if your ideas are worth Murdock's reputation before I commit to anything."
Murdock barked a laugh and clapped Bromar on the shoulder.
Murdock (fond): "If it can make a wall that does not burn, then I might entertain your idea."
A young man at the back raised a hand.
Young man (asks): "When do we start?"
Aidan looked around the yard, at the stew, at the names, at the chalk lines on wood.
Aidan (decisive): "We start today with plans. We break into four tables. Table one—kiln plan. Table two—mold plan. Table three—route map. Table four—safety rules and gloves. We meet again at dusk. We do not pour. We do not build. We get ready so no one dies of our hurry."
He pointed fast.
Aidan (decisive): "Bromar, kiln table. Murdock, mold table. Carter, route map. Sariel, safety table. Everyone else, stand where you can see and learn. Write, not talk."
Ryan looked down at the bench where Sariel had written a new line in neat, simple words: No chains. Pay in coin.
(Ryan thinking): (Good rule. Keep it simple. Keep it written. No one twists a spoken promise in a loud room.)
He lifted his chin and spoke a final line that was half joke and half truth.
Ryan (encouraging/Optimistic): "Every impossible problem is just a puzzle waiting for the right algorithm."
A few people laughed like they had been holding their breath. A few people wiped their eyes with the back of a wrist and then smiled down at the paper in front of them because it was easier than crying in front of others.
The messenger from the castle waited by the door and then cleared his throat once more.
Messenger (careful): "Sir Aidan. The writ says escorts for ore and food convoys only. Sand and shells are not written under the seal. The captain said I must say it plain."
Aidan gave him a look that was not angry, only exact.
Aidan (decisive): "We will not move sand or shells today. We will request an addendum when the lists are ready and the routes are safe. Thank you."
He held out a cup. The messenger took stew and bread and looked surprised and grateful.
Porter (Friendly): "You know, a good porter can make all the difference in keeping things running smoothly."
The messenger smiled at him around a mouthful of bread and nodded.
Ryan turned, slow, and looked out at the yard through the open door. The light was the colour of dirty wool. The city was still hurt and hungry. He saw a little boy at the pot, holding his cup with two hands. He saw a little girl sitting on a step with a crust as if it were a jewel. He saw an big sister showing a young worker how to hold a chisel without losing a finger. He saw an big brother standing guard at the gate with a stick that would be a spear if you squinted.
(Ryan thinking): (I cannot fix war. I cannot fix the Temple. I can fix how we work. I can make rules that keep people safe. I can build a wall that does not burn. Plans first. Then blocks. Then roofs. In that order.)
He rested his hand on the warm engine casing and let the heat soak through his skin.
Aidan raised the chalk one last time.
Aidan (decisive): "One more thing. If someone brings Temple theatre to our gate, we pull the books and the witnesses. No show trials in our yard."
There was a round of low, grim agreement. The shop had seen enough lies. It did not want more.
Sariel tapped her pencil against the slate, then looked up.
Sariel (practical): "We need weights and measures straight. One basket of shell is how many stones? One cart of sand is how many baskets? If we do not agree now, the road will lie to us later."
Carter nodded and started writing numbers on the board with neat care. Bromar drew a square kiln with a slow hand. Murdock tapped a block of scrap wood and said, "Line your mold with oil or ash so the mix does not stick." The seamstress traced a mold lip with a cloth-wrapped finger and did not flinch at the roughness of the wood. The porter moved slips from one nail to another in an order that made sense to him and, therefore, would make sense to the rest later.
Ryan stepped back and let it all live without him for a moment.
(Ryan thinking): (This is planning. Not production. Not yet. Good.)
The engine ticked like a heart. The stew steamed like a good omen. The sky outside did not fall. It only sat there, dull and cold, and waited to see if this room would make a promise and keep it.
No block was poured that day. No kiln was lit. The only thing set in stone was a plan, neat and plain, on Sariel's slate and Aidan's board. It was enough to move the next hour forward. It would have to be.