The next day unfolded much like the last.

  My body protested from the moment I stood. Muscles stiff, palms tender, shoulders aching — and yet the work continued. The morning was spent shaping lumber for the palisade, stripping bark, trimming lengths, preparing the logs that would become our shield.

  By the time lunch was called, I was more grateful than I cared to admit.

  Cain sat with Theo near the half-built wall, a rough sketch scratched into the dirt between them. They were measuring distances with bits of cord, speaking in low, deliberate tones.

  I took my bowl and walked over.

  “Cain,” I began quietly, “what exactly are you preparing for? These fortifications seem… excessive for wildlife.”

  His expression changed immediately. The relaxed tone he wore for the others vanished.

  “We have four days,” he said.

  The certainty in his voice was jarring.

  “Four days until what?”

  “Three days of grace,” he replied evenly. “One day for word to spread once the lord calls for reinforcements. Four or five days for Percy to track us.”

  The words hit like cold water.

  “You’re certain?”

  Cain nodded once. “I know Baranabus. And Percy. They have nothing to lose. The city guard’s loyalty is fractured at best. They will brand us criminals. Percy will make an example of us.”

  I had seen Percy fight. I had seen the casual brutality in him.

  He would not hesitate.

  I crouched beside the crude map scratched into the soil.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “The palisade comes first,” Cain said, pointing along the perimeter of the clearing. “It doesn’t need to be tall — just high enough to keep the untrained safe and force attackers to funnel.”

  He tapped several marked points around the tree line.

  “Spike pits here and here. But we build those closer to the time. I won’t risk our own people stumbling into them.”

  Practical.

  “Spears this afternoon,” he continued. “The palisade gaps will be wide enough to thrust through. Tomorrow we drill. Everyone who can hold a spear will learn.”

  The thoroughness unsettled me.

  “You could have told me sooner.”

  Cain gave a faint, humourless smile.

  “I didn’t want to hurt morale.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He sighed. “Jenna doesn’t trust you. She asked that you be kept out of strategic planning. I agreed not to volunteer information.”

  He met my eyes.

  “But I never agreed to lie if you asked.”

  I couldn’t help a small smile at that. Cain was many things, but he was consistent.

  “So,” I asked, “what do you need from me?”

  “For now? Labour.”

  He drew a wider circle in the dirt beyond the camp.

  “And on your hunts, I want you scouting. Find choke points. Narrow trails. Fallen logs we can use for ambush. If Percy comes with numbers, we don’t meet them head-on.”

  His finger pressed firmly into the soil.

  “We bleed them on the way in.”

  Hit-and-run.

  Wear them down before they reach the wall.

  The lunch break suddenly felt shorter.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I made my way back to Illara, Faie, Sera, and Ash.

  “I spoke to Cain,” I said quietly. “He expects the guards to attack in four days.”

  Illara’s head snapped toward me. Sera visibly paled. Ash’s expression hardened into something grim and resigned.

  Faie, however, stared at me as though I had just announced that the sky was blue.

  “Obviously,” she said flatly. “Why else would we be hiding in the forest constructing a defensive wall?”

  “Well,” I replied dryly, “obviously the rest of us aren’t quite as enlightened as you.”

  Faie lifted her chin. “Clearly.”

  Sera swallowed. “I don’t want to fight,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want to die.”

  There was no sarcasm in her voice now.

  “I’m afraid that part isn’t optional,” I said gently. “If they come, we defend ourselves. That’s survival.”

  I walked them through Cain’s plan — the palisade, the spike pits, the spear drills, the ambush strategy. The more structure I described, the steadier Sera seemed to become.

  The afternoon’s work accelerated after that. The knowledge of a countdown sharpened everyone’s focus. Wood was shaped faster. Posts were set deeper. Even the children worked with grim determination.

  When it came time for the afternoon hunt, my body protested every movement. My shoulders burned, my hands throbbed, and my lower back ached in quiet rebellion.

  We chose a different direction this time, moving more deliberately — not just hunting, but scouting. Watching for narrow passes, fallen logs, choke points.

  We managed another goat before dusk and brought it back to appreciative murmurs. Fresh meat did wonders for morale.

  As before, the five of us settled together near the fire to eat.

  Sera tilted her head thoughtfully. “Would you rather have the power to fly,” she asked, “or to be invisible without magic?”

  I almost laughed at the irony.

  “Flying,” I answered. “You could see the world. Invisibility would become… complicated.”

  Illara gave me a small, knowing look.

  “I’d choose invisibility,” Faie said. “There are things one could observe without interference.”

  Sera smirked. “Such as your crush undressing?”

  “No,” Faie replied without hesitation. “Observing a cat in its natural state without human disruption.”

  Ash snorted quietly.

  “I’d like to fly,” Illara added. “I’d go beyond the sea. See what’s out there.”

  “I’d fly too,” Sera said. “Mostly to see above the clouds.”

  “You’d suffocate,” I said absently.

  Sera frowned. “Why?”

  “As you go higher, the air thins. Eventually there isn’t enough to breathe.”

  She blinked. “Then why doesn’t it all rush upward? Doesn’t air move to fill empty space?”

  “Gravity,” I explained, gesturing with my hands. “It pulls everything toward the centre. The air is held here. The higher you go, the less of it there is above you compressing what’s below.”

  Sera stared at me. “Then why doesn’t it all squash into a thin layer?”

  “Because compressing something requires force,” I said. “Air pushes back. The lower layers carry the weight of the upper ones.”

  She frowned in concentration. “So if you go high enough, there’s just… nothing?”

  “Almost nothing,” I corrected. “Space is mostly empty. The stars are distant suns. Some may have worlds of their own.”

  Faie was staring at me now with rare intensity.

  “You consistently describe the world in ways that contradict most formal texts,” she said slowly. “You should write this down.”

  “I don’t have time to write a book,” I replied lightly.

  Illara leaned close, her breath warm against my ear.

  “Have you seen it?” she whispered.

  I didn’t elaborate.

  I simply nodded.

  Her smile deepened — not disbelief.

  Wonder.

  That night, long after the camp had quieted and the fire had burned low, I remained awake.

  The forest breathed around us — soft wind through branches, the distant call of something nocturnal — but inside my mind there was no such calm.

  Had this been worth it?

  Seeking justice had felt righteous at the time. Necessary. But lying there in the dark, listening to the steady breathing of those who trusted me, the question felt heavier.

  How many lives was justice worth?

  How many friends?

  I had not properly considered the risk before we began this path. I had known there would be resistance, yes — but I had not truly accounted for retaliation. For Percy. For the guard branding us criminals and hunting us down.

  I had already lost Norman.

  The memory still sat like a stone in my chest.

  I was not certain I could endure losing another.

  Beside me, Illara shifted slightly.

  “You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice barely above a breath.

  “I can’t sleep,” I admitted quietly. “Not knowing I’ve put everyone in danger.”

  She rolled toward me in the dark. I could just make out her outline against the faint glow of embers.

  “You can’t carry that alone,” she said softly. “Most of us chose to be here. We understood there would be risk.”

  “But what if that risk becomes loss?” I asked. “What if someone else dies because of this? I’m not sure justice would feel worth it then.”

  Her hand found mine beneath the blanket.

  “There is no use fearing what hasn’t happened,” she replied. “If danger comes, we face it. Worrying now won’t prevent it. Preparing will.”

  Simple.

  Direct.

  True.

  She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my shoulder.

  “And please,” she added, voice quieter still, “don’t suffer alone. You have me now. Let me share it.”

  Something in my chest loosened at that.

  The fear didn’t vanish. But it softened — edged by warmth instead of isolation.

  Eventually, the steady rhythm of her breathing drew mine into sync.

  And sleep found me at last.