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Winter’s Rebirth: B1 - 6. The Way Forward
🕑 Added 2025-10-16 07:30:26 +0000 UTCIn-Line Edit (If You See Errors)
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They left the killing field behind, the sunfire eagles still feeding.
Victor set the pace—slow, deliberate—stopping every quarter mile to check the reindeer and let his hunters breathe. The cursed land pressed on them with every step; the farther they marched, the heavier the weight on their souls. Even the furs could no longer keep out the creeping cold.
Every so often, he glanced right, where the sleds groaned beneath their loads: meat bundled in hide, stones secured in belt pouches, Mara unconscious beneath a mound of furs—her severed hand wrapped in a snow-packed cloth.
His mind dragged. His body ached. Each breath felt thinner than the last. It wasn’t just the hunters he stopped for; the strain on his soul was mounting after three days of constant channeling, ever since they’d left the last northern stronghold.
He let his gaze rest on the sled for a heartbeat before forcing it away, scanning the horizon.
Lyra won’t be able to fix that… Not with half the wrist gone. Too many nerves shot. Too much meat missing. Damn. Bad for morale.
The sun climbed higher, brilliant and merciless, turning the world into fields of white fire that reflected off every surface until his eyes ached. But beneath that heat, the cold still gnawed—the Curse of the North eating warmth faster than the sun could provide it.
It’s the second day of spring… Second day of the melt, Victor thought, scanning the horizon. Two weeks until this whole basin is mud and new growth. We need walls by then. Real walls.
The column moved through snow that was changing by the hour, warm wind mixing with the cold chill of the eternal frozen mountains to their north, beyond tundra, forest, and hills. It was softer, wetter, breaking under their snowshoes where yesterday it had held firm.
Beneath the crust, water trickled. Ice cracked, refroze, and whispered. It was the first murmurs of what he’d probably call the Iceflow River when they finally mapped the zone, waking from its winter sleep. There was so much to catalog.
And everywhere, life stirred.
A mile from the kill site, Victor caught motion along a distant ridge—massive shapes moving in loose formation, a film of emerald light streaming off them, settling like mist into the snow.
“Musk oxen,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, not breaking stride. “Seven of them. Adult bulls, probably. See the density of their fur? Their aura? My mother once told me she saw life budding where they roamed… She thought the strongest might carry pebble-sized emeralds. My father argued for shard-sized sapphires to navigate the cold.”
He’d only seen them in sketches and their old expedition records. This was the furthest south they’d ever been spotted—then again, no one he knew had ever gone beyond the cliffs that walled this valley.
Kaia looked up from where she walked beside Mara’s sled, eyes red-rimmed but curious. “Emeralds, My Lord? If they’re big enough—pebble-sized, like you said—can…can Lyra use it to heal her?”
Victor’s mouth thinned, his gaze never stopping its sweep of the horizon. “Remember what I told you, Kaia—it isn’t just about the stone’s size, but the soul using it. Could a pebble-sized emerald heal her? Maybe. But Lyra would need to grow a great deal before she could wield that kind of power. And taking down something with that much vitality, without knowing its defenses, would be suicide.”
The girl’s face fell, her teary gaze drifting to the bundled woman on the sled.
“Oh…”
He glanced her way, seeing the same downcast look on each of the other hunters’ faces, each no doubt wondering if they’d been more vigilant in their lookout if Mara would still have a hand. That wasn’t good.
We need to stay realistic—but hopeful. C’mon, idiot. Keep them sharp, not shattered.
“You’re right that there’s hope, though. Lyra’s been pushing herself hard—your teeth are proof of that. In a few months, she might be ready to try. We just can’t put that kind of pressure on her yet.”
“That’s true.” The teen looked up, thought for a moment, and flashed her teeth before running a gloved hand along them. “They were broken and damaged… She stopped a lot of the pain. Do they look good? I, um, haven’t seen what I look like in a mirror yet.”
A dry, half-slurred voice drifted from the sled.
“Put on a few more pounds and you’ll be a bull’s knockout…”
“Mara! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Kaia fussed, wide eyes darting to the woman as her head lolled to the side. “Mara?!”
“It’s okay.” Victor’s smirk came easily for once. “She just passed out again. And hear that? She’s already got you pegged to be the settlement’s mascot once you put on some muscle and meat.”
“W-What’s that supposed to mean, Lord Victor?” Kaia stammered, turning to hide her face, though the cold masked any blush. “I’m not that pretty. My nose is weird. And what if I can’t put on…erm, meat?”
Durren snorted, gesturing toward another herd of oxen as he muttered, “Girl, if you’re not that pretty, then I’m a mud-caked troll. And do you see this mug? I’m practically a preening sunfire eagle. As for meat? Bah. Mara’s practically a queen of nutrition—it’s her passion. Trust the old goat.”
A few chuckles cracked the cold air, brief but real. Even Kaia couldn’t hide her smile this time.
“Man says that because the old goat turned down his proposal,” one of the brothers snickered.
“Said he nagged too much,” another added.
“Oy! Leave a man his pride,” Durren grumbled, though the grin spreading under his frost-burned beard betrayed him. “Maybe she’ll warm up to me if I feed her in bed. Think I got a shot?”
One of the brothers piped up. “Maybe if you got knocked upside the head by an ogre, fell down a mountain, and cracked your skull enough to drain out that personality!”
“Man’s being roasted on the stick!” his younger brother snorted.
“Bastard!”
Laughter burst through the cold, rolling down the line as Durren jabbed one of the grinning brothers in the shoulder.
Victor let the laughter roll through him, pressure easing with the mood. Kaia looked steadier now—steel back in her spine. And, to be fair, Mara wasn’t wrong: with a steady diet, the girl could be a knockout.
He turned back to the fields, then let his gaze drift east. Even the Blackwood’s colossal crowns were hidden beyond the land’s slow rise. A cold prickle ran down his spine. Kaia’s presence beside the sled pulled his thoughts to the one problem he couldn’t solve today.
Somewhere past that forest lay his twin—whether the same soul or not didn’t matter. She was his sister, serving under the youngest son of their tyrant king—their great-uncle.
I can’t do anything about it now… But step by step, I’m climbing this mountain.
Recentering, he kept a watch out for threats; they didn’t need a second incident this day.
The oxen grazed on something invisible beneath the snow, much like the elk had. They moved slowly and deliberately, each step considered, following paths ancient creatures had trekked before them.
Durren moved up beside Victor, bow at the ready. “My Lord, that fog rising…”
He pointed toward the east as a break opened up—not the forest but a cluster of a few dozen trees—where shadows gathered thick beneath colossal conifers.
“I see it… Something’s already watching us. The heat is creating fog for them to hide in.”
Durren squinted, then went pale. “Dire wolves?”
“Over here—tracks,” another hunter called out. Everyone was alert now. “I think…you’re right, Durren.”
Striding forward, Victor pulled out his bow, feeling the stress of his biceps and back complain. A line of prints crossing their path, maybe fifteen yards ahead—paw prints the size of dinner plates, claw marks raked deep in the frost.
“Dire wolves. Fresh ones. A pack came through here…maybe an hour ago. Probably not the same one that scattered after I killed their alpha.”
“Will they come back?”
He shook his head once. “Not yet. They’ll circle—try to drive the rival pack away while it’s weak. We smell like sunfire eagle. They don’t know what to make of that, and we’re carrying wolf meat. For now, they’ll watch.”
He glanced skyward. Far above, the sunfire family still wheeled, their shadows drifting like omens. “We’ve been marked,” he said. “They’re smarter than you might give them credit for. Whether we’re marked as a threat or an opportunity…that remains to be seen. If we offer the right pieces of our kills, they might decide we’re useful.”
He started forward, boots crunching over the tracks. “Until then, we keep moving.”
They walked. The snow crunched. The sleds creaked. Behind them, one of the brothers started coughing—deep, wet, the kind that came from breathing too much cold air too fast.
Victor raised a hand. “Five minutes. Check your feet. Drink if you’ve got water. Don’t sit—keep the blood moving. Lyra’ll look at you when we’re back.”
The hunters halted with audible relief, some leaning on their bows, others tightening harnesses or adjusting their furs. The reindeer stamped and snorted, tongues lolling, nostrils flaring as they caught strange scents on the wind. Even they were flagging beneath the weight of the cold. And this all while spring was beating back the northern curse.
Winter was going to be a bitch.
Victor moved down the line, checking faces, assessing who was holding up and who was starting to crack. Most were exhausted but functional. A few showed signs of frostbite on exposed skin they hadn’t even noticed—red patches that would blister by tonight if not treated. One of the younger hunters had a limp he was trying to hide.
Lyra had her work cut out for her.
Kaia sat beside Mara’s sled, holding the unconscious woman’s good hand, staring at nothing. Victor approached, boots crunching through crust.
“How are you holding up?”
She looked up—eyes hollow, face drawn. “I’m fine, My Lord.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
That earned the faintest smile. She looked back at Mara. “I just… I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d already had an amber stone—like the one you’re giving me. If I’d been faster, tackled her out of the way… If I’d seen it coming.”
“You’d have panicked, triggered backlash, and been bleeding from every orifice—including the uncomfortable ones.” Victor’s tone stayed matter-of-fact. “Magic stones aren’t free rides to power. They test whether you’re worthy every second you use them. Try to face something like that swan right now, and your soul would’ve cracked with the amount you’d need.”
Kaia swallowed hard, her hands instinctively going to her rear. “You…always know how to make me realize how far I’ve got to go, Lord Victor. How…amazing you are.”
Her fingers tightened in the leather on her thighs, resolve hardening in her voice. “Even if I was useless this time… I won’t let you down next time.”
Victor knelt beside her, meeting her gaze. “You’re not useless, Kaia. Far from it.” He nodded toward the unconscious woman she’d been tending since the fight. “You’ve been doing something I can’t. A unit needs every member to survive—each person has a role, and yours mattered.”
He let the words settle before adding, softer, “In time, sure, you might stand in my place. But until then, don’t forget this: a unit doesn’t move because of its leader. It moves because everyone carries their part.”
Kaia’s throat worked, thick and sticky, unsure if she should cry or hold firm. Eventually, she swallowed it and nodded, bottom lip trembling.
“Ahem! What happens to her now? She’s a hunter—was a hunter. Without a hand, she can’t draw a bow, can’t set traps, can’t—”
“She can teach.” Victor’s tone stayed even, matter-of-fact. “The other hunters have already been talking about it. Mara’s got twenty years of experience in the conquered northern woodlands. That knowledge doesn’t vanish because she lost a hand. She’ll train you—and anyone else who wants to learn.”
He stood, glancing toward the sled. “She makes us better hunters because she can’t hunt anymore. Now she gets to be the nagging voice in your ear. Right, Durren?”
“Joy…” the man groaned with a crooked grin, lifting his waterskin before taking a drink.
“One hunter becomes hundreds.” Victor rolled his shoulders, forcing blood into stiff legs. “In war, in the north—people lose things. Hands. Eyes. Lives. We can’t rewrite the past. We focus on what’s left to build with. We honor the fallen by surviving—by getting stronger, smarter, changing the future so the next person doesn’t lose what she did.”
Kaia was quiet for a long moment. Then she asked softly, “Is that what you did? In your past life?”
Victor looked at her, unreadable.
“I heard some people say you’re one of those nobles from another world,” she went on, eyes searching his face. “A king from another life—brought forth by the emperor to claim the north. I just… I want to be strong like you. I don’t want to be weak.” Her voice cracked. “Death passed me by, but it took almost my whole family in the plague. So… I have to do something.”
Her gaze dropped, frustration and grief tumbling over each other. “I—I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m sorry, My Lord. I just feel so much pressure here.” She pressed her palm against her chest, fingers curling into the fur. “It always hurts.”
From the sled, Mara exhaled—slow and visible in the cold. Her voice came weak but firm. “Good, Little Bull. Let it hurt. The ones who stop feeling it are already dead inside. That’s not us, right? I’m certainly not dead.”
“Mara!” Kaia lurched forward to check on the bundled woman, eyes half-lidded, no doubt fighting an enormous amount of pain. “What can I do?”
Victor smiled as the woman mumbled, “Quit with the woe-is-me bullshit… Bull’s knockout. Bullshit. Hah. I crack myself up,” she coughed through the laughter. “But no, you’ve got a bright future, love, so don’t dirty that pretty face of yours with a frown. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears streamed freely down Kaia’s cheeks, some freezing to her skin—not that she cared. A forced smile cracked her lips, trembling but real. Victor knew this moment would etch itself into the girl’s memory for the rest of her life.
“Good to see you up, Mara,” he said, motioning for the others to gather. Durren tripped twice in his hurry, half-crawling back to the woman he’d once proposed to.
“And Kaia,” Victor added, his tone softening as he drew one of the amber shards from his pouch and held it out to the sobbing teen, “I don’t know what rumors are going around, but I’m no former king. I’m just a soldier trying to protect the people under his care. Someday, you’ll understand what that feels like.”
She stared at the stone, then at him, and hesitantly took the shard carefully, tears still wet on her long lashes. “Y-Yes, My Lord… I won’t disappoint you.”
Victor adjusted his gloves and turned his gaze to the pale horizon. “Rest a bit longer. I’ll keep watch. You saw that endless cliff? That’s your soul’s interpretation of the power. Everyone experiences it differently. For me, it’s a forest fire. A battlefield. A fortress under siege—enemies wearing my face, trying to kill me. The more you draw, the worse it gets.”
Understanding flickered across the girl’s face, fragile but bright. “You…have to conquer yourself before you can conquer the outside world? Is that what it means?”
He smiled, thumb brushing the amulet beneath his fur collar. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. If you can refine and master what’s inside, the rest of the world will bend to your will… It’s easier said than done. Don’t use it until you get proper training. I trust you.”
Kaia tucked the amber into her belt pouch, handling it like precious glass. “Thank you, My Lord. I…I will master my soul!”
With that, he turned back toward the field, watching the distant sunfire eagles wheel through the pale sky while the others crowded around Mara, voices rising in soft, hopeful chatter.
One step at a time, he thought. We take one step at a time.
Letting them mingle until he started to feel well enough to march, he tracked the fast movement of the sun. It was falling fast in the sky. They needed to find the others soon.
Victor turned to address the rest of the hunters. “On your feet! We’ve probably got two or three more hours to the fortress. Move with purpose! We need to get there before dark.”
“My Lord!”
Collecting themselves, they set off again, seeing more creatures as they marched.
Storm gyrfalcons wheeling overhead in pairs, wings spanning eighteen feet, riding thermals toward the distant coast.
Arctic hare tracks crisscrossed their path—small prints barely visible in the slush, but there were dozens of them, all leading toward the eastern tree line, fleeing, maybe. Or gathering for some instinctive migration, perhaps.
He spotted a frostwing moth, clinging to a sun-facing black rock—wingspan maybe two feet, wings translucent blue-white with veins that glowed faint topaz. Beautiful. Harmless, according to his mother, and holding some healing properties—non-magic stone related.
It watched them pass with compound eyes, antennae twitching, then took flight in a flutter of bioluminescence.
“That’s good luck,” one of the brothers muttered.
“Or it means the auroras are coming,” Durren countered. “From what I’ve seen, they follow the lights.”
Victor said nothing, but filed the information away. Moths as omens or superstition. Another piece of northern lore to learn.
Near the halfway point, they passed within sight of the Iceflow River—or what would be the river once the melt finished. Right now, it was still mostly ice, thick white sheets broken by dark cracks where water moved beneath. Steam rose from those cracks, warmer air meeting cold surface, creating veils of mist that drifted ghostlike across the basin.
They passed over it slowly and carefully, hearing the fissures widen.
And in one of those cracks, something moved.
Victor stopped, hand raised. “Hold.”
The column froze, reindeer snorting and shivering as they sensed something moving beneath them. He channeled amber, only lightly, entering the grueling inner combat session, his vision sharpening. He spotted a partial pattern of the scales, maybe twenty yards north.
There—beneath the ice—a shadow. Long. Serpentine. If it was what he thought, it should be twelve feet, maybe a tad more, but it looked quite a bit larger through mist and refraction.
As he watched, the shadow surfaced.
Scales like wet steel, crystalline spines along its back catching the light. Eyes that glowed faint blue-green—possibly embedded with the magic of emerald and sapphire.
A frostmaw serpent.
The dominant predator of the Iceflow, according to his father’s notes. He’d never actually seen it, but he’d heard another noble describe it in their area, and that was further south than this northern position, which meant these snakes would be far more deadly.
The southern variant was nine to fourteen feet long, eight hundred to twelve hundred pounds of muscle, magic, and territorial fury. Capable of flash-freezing water into jagged traps, healing from wounds that should kill it, hibernating for months encased in ice.
Just from the size of its head, Victor judged this breed could be more than forty feet long. The serpent watched them for maybe five seconds—head above water, tongue tasting air, assessing threat. Then it slid beneath the ice and vanished.
“Keep moving,” Victor said quietly. “Avoid cracks. Don’t look at the river. Don’t provoke it.”
“W-What was that?” Kaia whispered. “It was massive!”
“Death, in our current state, if we get too close. The river’s not our territory. It’s theirs.”
They gave the Iceflow fissures a wide berth after that, angling their path southwest toward the fortress.
By the time the black stone walls came into view, the sun had descended toward the western horizon, casting a golden and crimson glow over the snow. Shadows stretched long across the basin, and exhaustion dragged at every step.
But they’d made it.
Victor called a halt and turned to look at the ridge far in the distance—the same ridge where they’d camped last night, where the sunfire eagle had struck and this whole desperate expedition had begun.
This is the final stretch. We’ve made it. Now…can we keep it?
“Five minutes,” he said. “Check your feet. Check the sleds. We’re almost home.”
The hunters dropped where they stood. Some sat despite the cold, too tired to care. Others leaned on their bows, eyes half-closed, breath coming hard.
Kaia stayed beside Mara’s sled, still holding the unconscious woman’s hand after she’d ingested more painkillers and fallen asleep.
Victor stood alone, studying the fortress that rose out of the white; it was built on a small hill, between the northern tundra and southern plains. Not a mile to their west would be the ocean. He could see the flocks of birds in the distance; typically, their small size made them unattractive prey for the super-predators.
Squinting, he caught smoke rising from what must have been a fire in the courtyard. People moved like ants in the distance—stone and timber teams unloading supplies, building makeshift shelters against the outer walls. But they were outside, not inside.
Caldren… What went wrong? Why are we building on the outside?
Rallying the others after five minutes, he found new strength, pushing them up the snow mound hills to the front. They reached the fortress gates as the sun touched the horizon, turning the world to copper and shadow.
The settlers parted as Victor approached—scared faces, wide eyes, some of the women clutching children close. The soldiers stood at the perimeter, weapons drawn, but not knowing what to fight.
At the center of the circle, Caldren lay on a makeshift stretcher.
Victor’s breath caught as he rushed forward.
The old general’s tunic was shredded—not just torn, but destroyed. Four parallel gashes across his chest, each one deep enough to show ribs beneath. His left arm was wrapped in bandages already soaked through, blood still seeping. More wounds along his side, his shoulder, his thigh—claw marks that had carved through leather and fur like they were silk.
His face was gray, beard crusted with dried blood from a gash along his jaw. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. His breathing was shallow, labored, each inhale accompanied by a wet rattle that spoke of internal damage.
Lyra knelt beside him, both hands pressed to his chest, emerald pendant flaring bright green as she channeled healing energy. Her face was pale, exhausted—she’d been at this for at least an hour, Victor could tell. Blood stained her hands to the wrists.
“My Lord,” one of the soldiers said, voice shaking. “He went in alone. We tried to stop him, but he ordered us to stay with the civilians and—”
“Report later,” Victor cut him off, kneeling beside Caldren. “Tell me the bastard isn’t going to die, Lyra!”
“N-Not if I can help it,” the fourteen-year-old panted, eyes half-glazed over as she pushed harder—pink skin slid over the worst of the gashes. “I… I think I did it. There will be scarring, but…”
She tailed off, then collapsed atop him.
“Katie,” he barked, snapping his fingers at one of the white-faced healers who stood by helplessly. “You’re up—the rest of you—and one go check on Mara. She’s lost blood and a hand. Go!”
They scrambled into motion, hauling supplies, but Caldren’s hand shot out to grip Victor’s, eyes cracking open. The bastard actually showed a grin.
“Caldren, what the hell happened?!”
“Ah, My Lord, late as usual…” he rasped, choking. Then, straining to rise on one elbow, he let out a ragged laugh. “Damn shadowmane leopards. Should’ve been here. It was fun. Family den—two adults, two juveniles. Little ones are vicious up here!”
His breath hitched, face contorting. Katie began fussing over the smaller wounds that had reopened, preparing needle and thread.
“Took them all,” Caldren continued through gritted teeth. “But the female…she was faster than I remembered. Got past my guard twice before I burned her down—the little tikes were better at blending into the shadows than their parents.”
Victor examined the wounds—the claw marks across his chest were the worst, deep enough that he could see where ribs had cracked under the impact before Lyra had closed them. The arm was bad too, tendons severed, bone maybe fractured.
This wasn’t a one-and-done healing session. He’d need to recover naturally for at least two to three weeks with occasional light touch-up from Lyra.
Shit… We’re already putting too much pressure on her.
He glanced at the fainted girl, pride blooming in his chest regardless; his mother really had given her more than a crash course in using emeralds. He was half-worried what kind of training she’d inflicted on the teen to produce these kinds of results. It wasn’t easy to remain focused for so long and at such a high output.
Caldren laughed—wet, pained. “Nothing to say? It’s just like you, trapped in your head, mapping out logistics and how this changes things… Yeah, I screwed things up. Getting old. I’m slow. Could barely manage five Ignis Vectors in a row.”
“Five? You insane bastard,” Victor snarled. “I’m surprised you don’t have third-degree burns across your whole body at that pace.”
“Bah. I could’ve taken four leopards without breaking a sweat five years ago… Time kills the best of us.”
“You killed four shadowmanes,” Victor said flatly. “Alone. In their den. That’s not old age. That’s legendary, you fool.”
“Perhaps so, Young Lord… A legendary fool.” Caldren’s chest shook with pained laughter, waving off Katie’s herbal painkiller. “Bah. I don’t do those. Dulls the mind and senses. Pain keeps you sharp. Agh.” He stretched out, cracking his neck. “Should’ve waited for you.”
“And let them ambush the civilians while we were gone? No. You did right, even if I hate the price.” Victor stood, voice low at first, then louder until it carried. “Listen up!”
The murmur died. All the settlers’ faces turned—tired, frightened, waiting.
“General Caldren killed four shadowmane leopards today,” Victor called out, letting the fact land. “He cleared them out of the fortress so we’d have a place to call home. He will recover—because Lyra and the healers saved him. We brought back meat—enough for weeks. We recovered magic stones to train with. And we’ve got shelter. Bought with Caldren’s blood, but bought.”
He swept his hand toward the sleds. “Meat for three weeks. Stones to train with. Shelter behind walls. That’s a start.”
He pointed at the dark mouth of the keep. “Shadowmanes are apex in the plains. As far as I’m aware, everything avoids their ground. With them gone, the stretch from this keep to the ocean, from here to the river, becomes ours to hold. No rivals. No immediate threat.”
Understanding flickered across faces; fear thinned, and something like hope crept in.
“The hardest part is behind us,” Victor continued. “Food, stones, a defensible roof. The snow will melt over the next two weeks. Caldren is down—he recovers—but I’ll run training while he heals. Everyone who can channel begins tonight.”
“Tonight,” the former general forced a laugh. “You’re a slave driver, Lord Victor.”
Victor chuckled, and most of the settlers joined in.
He looked to the Stone and Timber teams. “First priority: clear the inner keep. Make one large room livable for tonight—whatever room you can make functional with what supplies we have. We’re on a short timetable before nightfall. Fires, sentries, a roof. That’s our base.”
From the crowd, thin at first and then stronger, rose the Song of the North—voices lifting, steadying.
Walk in the deepest of footprints,
Step into the frost;
Follow the way of the strong…
Victor let it pass through him, then knelt beside Caldren. The old general offered a grin, pained but real. “Even if you’d been here, boy…you’d have gotten in my way.”
Victor almost laughed, but he wasn’t wrong. “That’s what I figured.”
“My Lord,” Katie said, fussing with the old man’s wounds. “I can keep him stitched, maybe, but only if you can make him not move around and undo all our hard work. Lady Lyra won’t be able to heal for at least a week.”
Victor nodded. “I’ll make sure he and everyone else knows we’re walking on thin ice for medical treatments.” He rose and faced the fortress entrance where shadows pooled.
There was no snow left to clear…Caldren had melted everything inside, and yet, somehow, the black stones stood without a blemish. No cracks. No damage. Just the mortar failing and leaving the brick to fall over.
This should work… Now, we just need to rebuild it before the real threats awaken and start roaming for food. If an ice troll or ogre decides to expand their territory from the forest to the plains…or a goblin army decides the fortress looks nice, we could be in trouble.
But that’s for tomorrow… Tonight, we rest.
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