The square is currently alive with the clamour of hammers breaking the stone and the low hum of enchantments being woven into the air. Dust drifted lazily in the shafts of morning light as masons hauled blocks of pale limestone into place, while skilled craftsmen and their apprentices set up the bent-over sigil-carved tablets so that they lined up beautifully.
King Maximus stood at the heart of it all, cloak drawn back over his shoulders, his gaze following the rising form of the first great air well. For now, it's just a framework made of stone and timber scaffolding, yet even so, its scale loomed above the nearby market stalls.
"It must be more than a tower," he said, his voice firm but calm, meant to carry to both noble overseers and sweating labourers alike. "It must be a promise to every person in the Citadel that their king does not forget them."
