The smoke appeared at dawn—thin and gray at first, then thickening into a dark plume against the horizon.
By midmorning, Lukas climbed the lookout post and shouted, "They're coming! Twenty riders, maybe more!"
The village erupted in motion. Children were sent to the inner huts, women carried water to the trenches, and men grabbed tools that had suddenly become weapons—axes, hammers, picks.
Adrian stood on the half-built wall, surveying it like a general inspecting his army.
The structure wasn't finished, but it was strong. Three layers of baked clay, reinforced with timber beams, curved inward slightly at the top—a trick he'd borrowed from an ancient design back on Earth. Inside the wall, narrow trenches filled with sharp stakes formed a deadly maze.
"Torren," Adrian called. "Ready the oil barrels."
Torren nodded grimly. "They're in place, just like you said. One spark and the whole front trench lights up."
Elara approached, bow in hand. "You're sure this will work?
Adrian looked at her. "No. But it's all we've got."
The first sound of hooves hit like thunder.
Twenty riders in red armor burst through the trees, carrying the Dominion's crimson banner. Behind them came a dozen foot soldiers, faces hidden beneath metal helms.
Captain Varek rode at the front, his smirk visible even from a distance.
"So this is the Builder's village," he shouted, drawing his sword. "A pretty wall. Let's see how it stands against fire and steel!"
Adrian's voice rang out from the parapet. "You should've stayed away, Captain."