Morning came quietly.

  Kael woke to warmth pressed against his side. For a split second, panic flared—sharp and instinctive—before he realized it was the pup, curled tightly against him, breathing slow and steady. The bandage around its leg was darkened but holding.

  That alone felt like a victory.

  He stayed still longer than necessary, listening.

  Wind slipping through broken stone. Birds calling somewhere far off. No screeches. No howls.

  Good.

  Carefully, Kael shifted and checked the pup’s leg. It flinched, but didn’t pull away. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Still with me,” he murmured.

  Hunger followed soon after. Real hunger—the kind that hollowed him out and made his hands shake slightly as he stood.

  He knew what needed to be done.

  Outside, the village felt the same—empty, worn, but no longer entirely hostile. Kael gathered scraps of dry wood: old planks, splintered beams, pieces pried from collapsed walls. He moved slowly, pausing often, eyes drifting toward the treeline.

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  Nothing moved.

  Back at the tower, he arranged the wood the way he remembered from half-forgotten videos and fragments of books. Not confidently—carefully. One mistake and he’d waste what little fuel he had.

  It took longer than he liked.

  When the fire finally caught, weak but alive, Kael sat back against the stone wall, heart thudding. A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out.

  “I did it,” he said quietly, as if afraid the world might hear.

  He cleaned the clay pot and used it to heat water first. Just water. The faint smell of smoke and warm stone felt unreal—comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.

  Cooking the meat came next.

  He hesitated.

  This wasn’t berries. This was something that had been alive.

  Kael forced himself through it, jaw tight, hands steady through sheer will. The fire helped—changed the smell, softened the edges of the act. He tore off small pieces first, letting them cool before offering them to the pup.

  The pup ate slowly, then more eagerly. Its tail thumped weakly against the stone.

  That was enough.

  Only after did Kael eat himself. It wasn’t good. Tough. Barely seasoned by smoke.

  But it was warm.

  And it filled the emptiness inside him just enough for his thoughts to settle.

  The day passed in small tasks. Clearing debris. Reinforcing weak spots in the tower. Blocking narrow gaps with wood and stone. Nothing impressive—but each task made the place feel less temporary.

  The pup followed him everywhere, limping but stubborn.

  “You’re relentless,” Kael said once, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

  The sun dipped lower before he noticed.

  Instinct made him stop.

  From the edge of the tower, he looked out across the village—and beyond it.

  At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  Far away. Faint. Almost nothing.

  A thin thread of smoke rose somewhere past the trees.

  Kael frowned.

  Maybe it was natural. Maybe it was nothing at all.

  He told himself that as he turned back inside.

  Still… that night, he kept the fire small.

  And he slept lighter than before.