Morning came slowly. Not with birdsong or warmth, but with the dull gray light that seeped through the tower’s gaps, settling over everything like dust. Kael rose quietly, careful not to wake Elin. Ash stirred anyway, lifting his head and thumping his tail once against the stone.

  Kael scratched behind the pup’s ear, then stood and stepped outside.

  The ground around the tower was uneven trampled in places, wild in others. Weeds pushed through old stone paths, stubborn and alive. Kael walked the perimeter slowly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the earth as if it were a puzzle to solve.

  He stopped near the eastern side and crouched. With a stick, he drew a shallow line in the dirt. Then another. Not random. Measured.

  Ash padded over, sniffed the marks, then sat beside him, head tilted. Kael almost smiled.

  “This,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “could work.”

  The tower sat on slightly higher ground. That mattered. If he cleared space just enough and fenced it, even poorly, he could keep animals out. Keep things close. Food close. Safety closer.

  Seeds.

  His gaze flicked upward toward the tower’s ceiling. The attic.

  He didn’t climb. Didn’t reach for the hatch. He already knew what was up there tools, old supplies, remnants of people who had once planned to stay. Using them without preparation felt wrong. Wasteful. Dangerous.

  Instead, he stood and continued marking the ground.

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  Elin joined him not long after, wrapping herself in the thin cloak she’d slept under. She watched him quietly for a moment, then followed his lines with her eyes.

  “You’re measuring,” she said.

  “Planning,” Kael corrected.

  She nodded slowly and crouched beside him. “For planting?”

  “Eventually.”

  She hesitated. “The soil’s not bad here. Needs clearing, but… it could take roots.”

  Kael looked at her. “You know farming?”

  “A little,” she said quickly. “Not fields. Just small plots. Enough to keep people fed if trade failed.”

  That mattered more than she probably realized.

  Ash circled them once, then lay down directly on one of the drawn lines, clearly unimpressed by the concept of borders.

  Kael snorted. “We’ll need wood. Stakes. Something to tie them with.”

  “There are ruins,” Elin said. “Old beams. Doors. Broken carts.”

  “I know.”

  Kael straightened, scanning the village again. He didn’t move toward the forest. Didn’t reach for his spear. Not today.

  The rest of the morning passed in quiet work. Clearing stones. Pulling weeds. Testing the ground with hands and heel. Kael worked steadily, deliberately, while Elin gathered smaller debris into piles, careful not to wander too far. Ash never left their side.

  By midday, the lines in the dirt were clear. Crude. Uneven. But visible. A promise, if nothing else.

  They ate lightly berries and water shared in silence. Elin watched Kael as he worked, memorizing how he moved, how he decided when something was enough.

  That afternoon, Kael stood back and studied the space. It wasn’t much. But it was controlled.

  As the sun dipped, he wiped his hands on his pants and nodded once.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “We start building.”

  Elin smiled small, tired, real.

  Ash barked softly, tail thumping against the earth, right over the line Kael had drawn.

  Kael’s gaze shifted to the forest beyond the clearing. The smoke wasn’t visible today. That didn’t mean anything.

  And as night crept in and the tower swallowed them again, the lines remained faint, fragile, but deliberate. A claim. Not of land. But of intent.