Kael woke with the faint ache in his palm. The bandage from yesterday had dulled the pain, but movement reminded him it wasn’t fully healed. Still, the morning called, and the soil wouldn’t turn itself.

  Elin was already awake, kneeling near the half-tilled patch. The sun had just begun to climb over the tower walls, casting pale light across the clearing. Ash lay close by, tail flicking occasionally, ears alert.

  “Morning,” Kael said, stretching his back carefully before letting his gaze drift to the small plot of earth.

  “Morning,” Elin replied, brushing stray hair from her face. Her eyes flicked to his bandaged hand. “That’s… still hurting?”

  Kael flexed it slowly. “A little. But I can manage. We need to finish this today.”

  He picked up the crude hoe he had made, wooden handle firm in his grip, stone edge sharp against the stubborn soil. The first strike was careful, testing the tool and his palm. Pain flared briefly, white-hot, but he gritted his teeth and continued.

  Elin crouched nearby, clearing roots and stones with her hands. “You know,” she said slowly, “if we worked like this all day, it could take forever.”

  Kael glanced at her, wiping sweat from his brow. “Better slow than broken. And this soil isn’t forgiving.”

  He swung again, splitting the crust. Dark, damp earth smelled rich beneath the surface. For a moment, the small success made his chest lift slightly, a spark of pride in the hard morning. Then the stone slipped, wood scraping against his palm. Pain bloomed sharp and sudden.

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  “Kael!” Elin’s voice was sharp now as she dropped the small pile of roots she’d been gathering. She moved to his side immediately.

  “It’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth, dropping the tool. Blood welled again along the old cut.

  “Not fine,” she said, steady and firm. She knelt, taking his hand gently, cleaning it with water she carried in a small cup. Her hands were calm, precise, patient. “You push too hard. The tool didn’t fail you did.”

  He didn’t argue. He only watched her as she pressed the cloth against the wound and tied it securely. Her fingers lingered, careful and quiet, and Kael caught himself noticing the steadiness, the care in her touch.

  “Rest,” she said softly. “We can continue after a short break.”

  He nodded, letting the ache in his palm remind him of his limits. The hoe leaned against a half-turned furrow, dark soil clinging to its stone edge. Around them, the tower stood silent, the fence marking their claim on the small clearing.

  After a moment, Kael stood, brushing dirt from his pants. “We’ll do a few more lines, then call it a day,” he said. His voice carried authority but also the acknowledgment of his own fragility.

  Elin nodded, returning to her pile of roots. “I’ll help,” she said, voice gentle. “We can finish it together.”

  Kael lifted the hoe carefully again, testing the grip. Pain flared, but the soil beckoned. They worked side by side in the growing warmth of the morning, slow and deliberate. The land resisted, stubborn and heavy, but with each pass of the tool, the earth turned a little more willingly.

  By midday, the first half of the furrows were ready. They were rough, uneven, imperfect but fertile. Kael surveyed their work, flexing his hand carefully. The ache had not vanished, but he had endured.

  Elin brushed her hands on her tunic, her eyes flicking to the half-turned soil. “We’ll finish the rest soon,” she said, but her tone carried something more than practicality it was hope.

  Kael nodded. “soon,” he agreed. And for the first time that morning, he allowed himself a small sense of satisfaction. The land was theirs to claim, one stubborn handful at a time.