The sun rose over Asterion, bathing the budding town in a golden hue. From the highest point of the newly fortified wall, Damian could see it all—fields stretching outward, smoke rising from dozens of chimneys, people bustling with a rhythm that hadn't existed weeks ago.
The city had begun to breathe.
The Market
Down in the heart of town, a market square had formed. At first, it was only a handful of traders selling vegetables, meat, and cloth. But with Damian's tools and enchanted plows, the harvests were stronger, and soon the stalls multiplied.
Merchants shouted:
"Fresh bread! Baked with grain from Asterion's new fields!"
"Hand-woven cloaks, warm enough for the cold nights!"
"Wild game, hunted beyond the river!"
Children darted between stalls, laughing as they clutched skewers of roasted meat. For the first time, music filled the streets—simple flutes and drums, but it carried joy.
Selena walked beside Damian, smiling faintly at the lively scene. "You've given them more than walls and food, Damian. You've given them life."
Damian crossed his arms. "I didn't give them anything. They built this with their own hands. All I did was hand them tools."
Selena glanced at him knowingly. "And that was enough to change everything."
The Tavern
Near the edge of the market, a tavern had sprung up—rough, wooden, and loud. Inside, the air smelled of ale and stew. Settlers gathered at long tables, sharing stories and laughter. Hunters boasted of their kills, farmers clinked mugs together, and adventurers from other towns had started trickling in, curious about this rising city.
Damian entered briefly, the chatter quieting when he stepped inside. Some raised their mugs to him. Others whispered his name with reverence.
A burly farmer called out: "To Lord Arkwright! May Asterion stand tall!"
The tavern roared with cheers. Damian simply gave a curt nod, then slipped out before the attention could linger.
The Festival
That evening, Selena found him outside the half-built town hall. Lanterns had been strung along the streets, their warm glow flickering against the night. The people had decided—without Damian's order—to hold a small festival.
Musicians played in the square. Children waved paper lanterns. Families gathered around fire pits, telling stories.
Selena leaned close, whispering, "You see? They already love you."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Love is dangerous. If I fail them once, it turns to hate."
Selena frowned. "Or… it becomes loyalty if you don't."
Before he could respond, the AI chimed softly in his mind:
For once, Damian allowed himself a small smile.
The Omen
But as the night deepened, while the festival lights glowed bright, something stirred beyond the horizon.
Far to the north, in a mountain range cloaked by storm clouds, a presence opened its eyes. Its aura rippled across the land—dark, suffocating, powerful.
Damian froze mid-step, feeling the weight press against his chest. His AI whispered:
The joy of the festival carried on behind him, but Damian's gaze stayed fixed on the dark horizon.
The city was alive.
But so was the storm that sought to end it.