Winter's grip was finally loosening its hold on the valley, and with it came a quiet but steady pulse of life returning to Vireloch.
The discovery of the ore vein beneath the cliffs wasn't just a stroke of luck—it was the key to the town's rebirth.
Miners, many of them local farmers and craftsmen, had set up makeshift camps at the mine's mouth. Their hands, once rough with plow and hammer, now learned the rhythms of pick and shovel. Each chunk of iron-rich rock brought hope, and as the first ingots rolled from the forge, a spark ignited in the hearts of the people.
The market square buzzed with activity for the first time in months. Merchants had begun arriving—small caravans bearing cloth, spices, and tools, eager to trade for the precious ore and the blacksmith's fine wares. Farmers sold surplus root vegetables and preserved meats, while tailors mended worn garments, and children chased the traders' carts with wide eyes, dreaming of distant cities and better futures.
Zareena stood atop the fortress wall, her eyes sweeping over the bustling town below. The garrison still drilled, their movements sharp and disciplined, but the real change was in the people—their hope, their renewed purpose.
"This is more than iron," she said quietly to Doren, who had joined her.
"A new beginning," he replied with a rare softness in his voice.
But Zareena's eyes darkened as they scanned the horizon.
News of Vireloch's growing wealth was already spreading through the surrounding lands. Traders and artisans sent inquiries. Nobles in distant halls whispered behind heavy curtains. The town was no longer a forgotten outpost—it was a rising beacon.
And with prosperity, new dangers.
Greed. Envy. Old rivals lurking in the shadows.
Zareena clenched her fists.
This was only the beginning