The camp had shifted. No longer a scattered, ragged cluster of survivors and hired blades, Ash Company now moved with purpose. War gave direction. The siege plan had uncoiled like a viper, and every scale of the beast was a moving part.
On the cliffside north of the enemy fort, the hammering of steel echoed through the basin. Engineers under Peter's command had begun assembling the first of several timber-and-stone platforms, designed to brace the recoil of Craterhoof's artillery limbs. It was an awkward process—building siege structures on uneven slope and scree—but Peter's men worked with the grim patience of those who had done far worse with far less.
"Log bolts locked," one engineer called out. "Reinforce the rear truss!"
Peter nodded, already inspecting the waterproof casing being fitted onto Aegis-1. The heavy golem stood motionless like a statue of war, its stone-plated limbs thick with sediment and runic mesh. The engineers were sealing its core lines with tar, waxed cloth, and a chalky compound drawn from the herbs brought by Roa.
"Let the river swallow you, not the mana," Peter muttered. He tapped twice on the golem's chest. Aegis-1 whirred in acknowledgement, blue glow flickering behind its visor slot.
Down in the forest south of the fort, Mark and Park were making their own quiet preparations. Without speaking a word, the twin handlers led their crews through thick underbrush, cutting only what needed to be cut. Paths were traced in the dirt with chalk and symbols—runes that Thornjaw and Kindling would understand when they arrived. Low barricades were camouflaged under brush, deadwood stacked in ways that could be lit or rolled depending on the signal.
Mark pointed at a knotted tree stump. Park nodded, then motioned to a pair of handlers, who began embedding anchor points for one of the golems to stabilize on during advance. No words. Just efficiency.
At the heart of the basin, closer to the river crossing, Roa moved like a ghost. She watched from the trees as enemy sentries shuffled between half-crumbled watchtowers, their movements slow, predictable. She made no effort to hide her contempt.
"Same pattern every hour," whispered one of her scouts. "Two per tower, four on ground patrol. That tower by the cliff... blind on its left eye."
Roa nodded. "Sloppy."
Back at the temporary fortress, the Witch's Hollow captives worked like ants beneath a boot. Not crushed, but always reminded. They hauled water, fetched wood, ran messages and reports between sites. Fornos had made no threats—but none of them mistook silence for mercy. The presence of golems lumbering around the basin was more persuasive than any barked order.
Still, Fornos noticed their pace had steadied. Less panicked. More focused. Some of the children even smiled as they passed each other on errands. That troubled him, though he didn't know why.
He sat alone now, in a corner of the command tent, charcoal in hand, bent over the crude map Martin had drawn. His glove left faint smudges on the parchment as he marked another line with fast, sharp strokes.
"Let's see," he muttered. "Bombardment here should blind the northern towers. That would open their entire left flank."
He drew a hard arrow from the cliff's edge to the base of the nearest wall. Aegis-1 and Aegis-2's route curved up beside it, beneath the river's surface.
"Split their sightlines, make them react. Southern flank becomes secondary priority..."
"Elder, what are you writing?" asked a small voice beside him.
Fornos didn't look up. "Again, I am not that old."
"It's Klesh," the boy replied. "You always forget."
"No," Fornos said. "I remember. I just like annoying you."
Klesh giggled and leaned closer. "So what's this line?"
"A distraction," Fornos said. "We hit them where they look... then we crush them where they don't."
Klesh blinked. "Sounds mean."
"It's war."
The boy didn't respond. He just nodded, then ran off again toward the water barrels, small feet kicking up dust behind him.
Fornos set the charcoal down and stood. He looked out beyond the tent's flap. The entire basin was a hive of quiet violence—wood cut, armor polished, wires coiled, glyphs traced in ash and clay. A clock winding tighter with every tick.
Behind him, Martin entered with a small bundle of notes. "We've begun moving dried stores near the forward forest line, as discussed. Enough to hold position three days minimum."
Fornos nodded. "Put the second cache in the hollowed tree near Kindling's route. If we need to fall back, I want food where the enemy won't find it."
"Done."
A silence lingered, then Martin cleared his throat. "What's the morale reading?"
"Better than I expected," Fornos said. "Especially the Hollow-born."
"Starving men listen quick."
"No," Fornos corrected. "Starving men listen once. These ones... they're starting to walk like soldiers."
Martin gave him a long, unreadable look. "That good or bad?"
"Both," Fornos said. "But it's useful."
Outside, a warning horn sounded once—short, deliberate. Roa returning.
Moments later, she entered with a folded paper and a grim expression.
"Tower rotations confirmed. Weakest section is west wall—sentries sleep through their shifts. Either they're overconfident, or sick of the place."
Fornos unfolded the report. "Or both. Either way, that's our breach point."
Roa looked around. "The others?"
"Working."
She hesitated, then stepped forward. "And the Hollow-folk?"
"They'll survive. If they don't, they die. I've made that clear."
"You could give them more," Roa said, voice low.
"I gave them dignity," Fornos said. "That's already more than they had."
Roa said nothing. After a moment, she turned and left.
Fornos returned to his map. He circled the western wall in thick charcoal, then tapped the page twice with his finger.
"Tick, tick," he whispered. "Your clock's running out."