The foundation work had progressed faster than anyone anticipated.
Misaki stood at the completed base section of the outer wall—a continuous granite platform that would eventually support fifteen meters of defensive stonework—and allowed himself a moment of cautious satisfaction. Two weeks. Just two weeks since the dwarven specialists arrived, and the entire eastern approach's foundation was finished. The old wall's temporary reinforcement frames stood wrapped around deteriorating stonework like massive wooden skeletons, buying them the years they needed while the new fortification rose around it.
But the rapid progress came with complications.
The refugee influx from Ul'varh'mhir had accelerated over the fortnight, swelling Stone's End's population by nearly three thousand souls. Most were mana users fleeing the kingdom's systematic genocide, but others were simply families who'd recognized that their homeland was collapsing and sought stability elsewhere. The mountain city that had once seemed spacious now felt crowded, every available structure converted to housing, every public space repurposed for communal living.
And all those refugees needed work.
Syvra had integrated them into the construction crews with practical efficiency. Former loggers became excavation specialists. Farmers learned stonework fundamentals. Even elderly craftsmen found roles maintaining tools and managing supply logistics. The workforce had tripled in size, which explained the foundation's completion ahead of schedule.
It also explained why Misaki's body currently felt like it was actively trying to murder him.
He'd been working construction for four months straight now—not as an engineer providing technical oversight, but as an actual laborer hauling stone, mixing mortar, operating pulleys and lifting frames. The physical demands were relentless. His astronaut training had kept him fit by Earth standards, but Vulcan's higher gravity combined with the brutal repetitive labor of medieval construction work had transformed his physique in ways he was still adjusting to.
He'd gained muscle. Visible muscle. His shoulders had broadened, his arms showed actual definition, his core had developed the kind of functional strength that came from lifting heavy objects all day every day. By Earth standards, he was probably the most physically fit he'd ever been.
By Vulcan standards, he looked like a malnourished teenager.
"You're getting stronger," Lyria observed, handing him a water skin as they took their midday break. The healer had joined him for the day's herb foraging expedition in the foothills outside Stone's End's northern approach—medicinal plants grew wild in the mountain ecosystem, and Lyria preferred gathering her own materials rather than purchasing from market suppliers.
Misaki drank deeply and grimaced. "I feel stronger. But I still look tiny compared to everyone else here."
"You're five foot nine," Lyria said matter-of-factly. "That's small for Vulcan. Most adult humans here average six and a half feet, with significant variation based on genetic lines and planetary alignment at birth." She was five eleven herself, which made her shorter than average for Vulcan women but still taller than Misaki by two inches. "Even the dwarves are approaching five feet. You're closer in size to dwarven physiology than human."
"Why though?" Misaki asked, genuinely curious. "What makes Vulcans so much larger than Earth humans? We're the same species—or at least close enough that I can interact with everyone without biological compatibility issues. But the size difference is massive."
Lyria settled on a moss-covered rock and pulled out her botanical reference guide—a thick leather-bound tome that cataloged medicinal plants native to Seleun'mhir's mountain regions. "Planetary gravity and atmospheric composition affect developmental biology over generations. Vulcan's gravity is approximately twelve percent higher than Earth's based on your descriptions. Higher gravity environments favor more robust skeletal structures and increased muscle density to support basic movement."
She flipped through pages, locating an entry on highland moss varieties. "But that's not the complete explanation. Mana itself influences biological development. Vulcan's ambient mana levels are significantly higher than Earth's—your world essentially has no mana at all, which your own lack of chakra development before arrival demonstrates. Exposure to environmental mana from birth promotes cellular growth, enhances bone density, increases metabolic efficiency. Children raised in high-mana environments literally grow larger and stronger than those in low-mana conditions."
Misaki processed this while gathering the specific moss variety Lyria had indicated—a pale green species that grew exclusively on northern-facing slopes and allegedly reduced inflammation when properly prepared. "So Vulcans aren't just bigger because of genetics. The planet itself makes people bigger."
"Precisely. It's why immigrants from other worlds or isolated low-mana regions often produce children who are notably larger than their parents. The environmental factors influence development across just one or two generations." Lyria carefully harvested a cluster of mountain sage, its silver-green leaves pungent with medicinal oils. "You won't grow taller at twenty-one—your skeletal structure is already set. But you'll continue developing muscle density and strength as your body adapts to Vulcan's conditions. Give it a few years and you'll be quite impressive by Earth standards."
"Still tiny by Vulcan standards," Misaki noted dryly.
"Perhaps. But effectiveness isn't determined by size alone." Lyria stood, brushing moss from her work clothes. "I've seen you fight. Your precision-based combat style doesn't require overwhelming strength—it requires exactly what you have. Speed, accuracy, tactical thinking."
They continued foraging in companionable silence, working their way through Lyria's checklist of needed materials. Mountain sage for respiratory issues. Highland moss for inflammation. Frost lichen for fever reduction. Bitter root for digestive complaints. The mountain ecosystem provided remarkable pharmaceutical diversity for those who knew where to look.
Misaki found himself genuinely enjoying the work. It was methodical, peaceful, mentally engaging without being stressful. A welcome contrast to the constant pressure of fortification construction where every delay potentially meant lives lost when Vel'koda'mir eventually attacked.
He was reaching for a particularly difficult-to-access frost lichen cluster when movement in the forest below caught his attention.
Four figures emerged from the treeline—Vellin leading, her distinctive hobbit stature unmistakable even at distance. Behind her: Deylos, Eldrion, and someone Misaki didn't immediately recognize. A man, tall even by Vulcan standards, moving with the careful precision of someone who'd spent years in military service.
But something was wrong.
The group's body language radiated tension. Vellin walked faster than usual, her scout's awareness clearly heightened. Deylos kept glancing back toward the forest they'd emerged from. Even Eldrion—typically relaxed to the point of appearing half-asleep—moved with unusual alertness.
"That's not good," Lyria murmured, following Misaki's gaze. "They were supposed to be foraging in the eastern valleys. That's northern approach forest. Wrong direction entirely."
The foraging team spotted them and altered course, climbing the hillside with obvious urgency. As they drew closer, Misaki could see Vellin's expression—grim, angry, and underneath that: genuinely frightened.
The fourth member of their group became clearer. Human male, approximately forty years old, powerfully built, with the kind of controlled movement that screamed military background. His clothes were civilian now, but the way he scanned their surroundings suggested combat training that had become permanent instinct.
"Misaki," Vellin said without preamble when they reached the herb gathering site. "We need to see the captain. Now. All of us."
"What happened?" Misaki asked.
"Tell you when we're secure." Vellin's tone brooked no argument. "But we need to move. Quickly."
Stone's End's military command center occupied the eastern tower of the old fortification—a structure that predated the current wall by several centuries and showed it. The stonework was darker, the architecture more compact, the interior spaces designed for functionality rather than comfort.
Syvra's office was on the third floor: a circular room with windows overlooking both the city's interior and the surrounding approaches. Maps covered every wall surface, marked with defensive positions, patrol routes, resource caches, and threat assessments that updated daily based on intelligence reports.
The defensive coordinator stood when they entered, her two-hundred-year-old face showing immediate concern at the group's composition. "Vellin. Deylos. Eldrion." Her eyes moved to the unfamiliar fourth member. "And you are?"
"Aren Trell," the man replied, his voice carrying the clipped precision of military discipline. "Former sergeant in Ul'varh'mhir's Seventh Border Regiment. Refugee. Defected four months ago when my commanding officer ordered a village purge I couldn't morally execute."
Syvra studied him with the calculating expression of someone evaluating potential security risks. "Defection is serious business. You abandoned military service during active operations?"
"I abandoned a genocidal regime engaged in war crimes," Aren corrected flatly. "There's a distinction."
"Noted." Syvra gestured for everyone to sit at the large tactical planning table that dominated the room's center. "Now. What brings you to my office with expressions suggesting you've discovered something that violates several international treaties?"
Vellin pulled out a hand-drawn map—quickly sketched but detailed enough to convey specific geographical information. "We were foraging in the eastern valleys like assigned. Standard medicinal herb and edible fungus collection. Approximately fifteen kilometers from the city, in the designated safe zone that border patrols regularly sweep."
She pointed to a marked location on her sketch. "Except Aren noticed trap markers. Very subtle ones—the kind military scouts use to designate secured perimeters. We followed them carefully and found this."
She placed a second piece of parchment on the table. A more detailed map showing structures, guard rotations, supply caches, and defensive positions.
"Hidden base camp," Aren said, taking over the explanation. "Professionally constructed. Camouflaged against aerial reconnaissance. Designed to support approximately fifty personnel for extended operations. Full supply cache including military rations, weapons maintenance equipment, communication infrastructure."
Syvra's expression went very still. "How far inside Seleun'mhir territory?"
"Twelve kilometers," Vellin replied. "Well beyond any reasonable navigation error margin. This isn't an accidental border violation. This is intentional infiltration."
"Did you identify national affiliation?" Syvra asked.
"Vel'koda'mir," Deylos said quietly. "Equipment markings were distinctive. That particular shield boss design with the crossed spears—that's Eastern Mountain Regiment insignia. Elite troops, not regular infantry."
Silence settled over the tactical room like falling snow.
Misaki felt his engineering mind shift into crisis analysis mode. Vel'koda'mir forces, positioned inside neutral territory, within striking distance of Stone's End. The implications cascaded: intelligence gathering on fortification construction, advance positioning for potential assault, establishment of supply lines that bypassed border security.
"This is an act of war," Syvra said, her voice carefully neutral despite the obvious fury beneath. "Vel'koda'mir military forces operating covertly within Seleun'mhir borders violates every neutrality treaty dating back six centuries."
"Can we complain to their government?" Misaki asked. "File diplomatic protest? Demand withdrawal?"
"We could," Syvra replied. "And they would deny everything. Claim those troops are deserters acting independently. Suggest our intelligence is fabricated. Maybe even imply we're manufacturing incidents to justify military buildup." She stood and moved to the window overlooking the eastern approaches. "That's how violation of neutral territory works when one nation has significantly more military power than another. The strong do what they will, the weak suffer what they must, and international law is what powerful nations say it is."
"So we do nothing?" Vellin asked, her small frame vibrating with frustration.
"We do what we can within our capabilities," Syvra corrected. "Which means we adapt our defensive strategy to account for this new intelligence." She turned back to the table. "Aren, you said this camp was designed for extended operations. How extended?"
The former sergeant considered. "Supply cache volume suggests minimum three months, possibly six. That's not a temporary surveillance post—that's forward operating base infrastructure. They're planning to be there through multiple seasonal cycles."
"Which means they're gathering long-term intelligence on our fortification construction," Syvra concluded. "Observing our techniques, timing our progress, identifying vulnerabilities as they develop." She traced the map's marked defensive positions. "This explains why our recent patrol routes have encountered unusually placed trail markers. They're mapping our security patterns."
Misaki's thoughts immediately jumped to Sera and Kyn, safe in their communal quarters but suddenly feeling much more vulnerable. If Vel'koda'mir was actively preparing for assault while simultaneously establishing covert positions inside supposedly neutral territory...
"How long before conflict?" he asked bluntly. "Not diplomatic conflict. Actual fighting."
Syvra met his eyes with the grim honesty of someone who'd spent two centuries managing border security. "Could be tomorrow. Could be a year. But yes—conflict is coming. Vel'koda'mir doesn't establish forward operating bases for peaceful purposes." She pulled out a territorial map showing the broader regional context. "They've been expanding eastward for thirty years. Seleun'mhir's neutrality is the only thing that's stopped them from simply taking whatever territory they want. But neutrality means nothing if they can manufacture justification for 'defensive intervention.'"
"Like claiming we're harboring Ul'varh'mhir refugees who attacked their forces," Deylos observed.
"Exactly." Syvra marked several locations on the map. "Here's what we do. First: that entire forest sector is now restricted zone. No foraging, no hunting, no civilian access. We quietly evacuate anyone living in outlying areas and bring them inside the city fortifications."
"Second: we accelerate fortification construction. If conflict is imminent, we need those walls functional as soon as possible. Misaki, I know your timeline says three years minimum. I need you to determine what we could accomplish in twelve months."
Misaki's engineering brain immediately protested—compression like that meant compromises, reduced structural integrity, potential failure points. But he understood the strategic necessity. "I'll run the calculations. We might be able to complete the critical sections if we sacrifice some of the nice-to-have features."
"Third," Syvra continued, "we need to expand our workforce, but specifically with Seleun'mhir natives rather than refugees. Aren, you've worked both mountain and lowland terrain. Explain the difference."
The former sergeant nodded. "Mountain construction is fundamentally different from lowland work. The soil here is harder—higher mineral content, more compact density, requires different excavation techniques. Temperature variations between day and night cycles are more extreme, which affects mortar curing time. Elevation impacts oxygen availability, which reduces worker endurance if you're not acclimated."
He gestured toward the window. "The Ul'varh'mhir refugees we're training—they're used to soft lowland soil that excavates easily. They're accustomed to moderate climate variations that don't require constant adjustment. They work hard, but they're fighting the terrain every step of the way. Native Seleun'mhir workers move three times faster because they understand mountain construction instinctively."
"Exactly," Syvra confirmed. "Which is why I'm requisitioning additional workers from the highland settlements. They'll cost more—skilled mountain labor commands premium wages—but speed is now more valuable than cost efficiency."
She looked at each person around the table in turn. "This information doesn't leave this room. If word spreads that Vel'koda'mir has covert forces positioned inside our borders, we'll have panic. People fleeing the city. Supply disruptions. Exactly what an attacking force would want before assault."
"What about the children?" Misaki asked. "Sera, Kyn, all the refugee kids. If fighting breaks out—"
"Evacuation protocols are already established," Syvra assured him. "First sign of military action, all non-combatants retreat to the inner keep. It's the oldest, most defensible structure in Stone's End—pre-dates even the current fortification by three hundred years. Walls are four meters thick, built from mountain granite that would take siege equipment weeks to breach. Food and water supplies for six months. Medical facilities. It's specifically designed as civilian refuge during siege conditions."
That should have been reassuring. Instead, it just reinforced how seriously the defensive coordinator was taking the threat.
Eldrion, who'd been silent through most of the discussion, finally spoke. "I could eliminate that base camp. Remove it entirely. Make it look like they never existed."
Syvra shook her head. "And create an international incident that Vel'koda'mir could weaponize. They'd claim Seleun'mhir assassinated their personnel, demand reparations, potentially use it as justification for the very invasion they're already planning." She met the old mage's eyes. "No. We know they're there now. We adjust our strategy accordingly. But we maintain plausible deniability until we're ready to act."
"Political theater," Aren muttered. "While real soldiers die."
"Yes," Syvra agreed without hesitation. "Welcome to border politics. It's ugly, it's frustrating, and it gets people killed. But starting a war before we're ready gets everyone killed. So we build walls, we train soldiers, we prepare, and we wait."
She turned back to the maps. "Vellin, you and Deylos will coordinate expanded patrol routes with military intelligence. I want that base camp under constant surveillance—anyone who enters or leaves, supply delivery schedules, communication patterns. Aren, you'll work with me translating your Ul'varh'mhir military experience into defensive strategy for mountain warfare."
"And me?" Misaki asked.
"You make walls happen faster than physics should allow," Syvra said simply. "Because if Vel'koda'mir decides to test our defenses before we're ready, those walls are the only thing standing between eight thousand civilians and a professional military assault."
The meeting continued for another hour—detailed logistics, resource allocation, contingency planning. By the time they were dismissed, Ulth'rk had descended toward the mountain peaks, painting Stone's End in dramatic amber light.
Misaki walked back to the communal quarters feeling like he was carrying significantly more weight than when the day started. The herb basket Lyria had given him felt trivial now—medicinal plants for treating minor ailments while potentially catastrophic military conflict approached.
He found Sera in their quarters, practicing her letters with determined concentration. Kyn slept in Feya's lap, the nine-month-old infant blissfully unaware that his safety was now tied to whether fifty Vel'koda'mir soldiers twelve kilometers away decided to start a war.
"Did you find good herbs?" Sera asked, looking up from her writing practice.
"Yeah," Misaki replied, setting the basket down and forcing a smile. "Lots of good stuff. Lyria will be happy."
"You look worried though."
Kids noticed things adults tried to hide. "Just thinking about the fortification timeline. Lots of work left to do."
Sera studied him with those too-knowing eyes—the gaze of a seven-year-old who'd survived genocide and learned to read adult deception. But she didn't press. Just nodded and returned to her letters, trusting that he'd protect her like he'd promised.
Misaki watched her write, watched Kyn sleep, watched Feya quietly tend to both of them with patient care.
Three people he'd somehow become responsible for.
Three people whose survival now depended on building walls faster than enemy forces could position for assault.
Three people he absolutely could not fail.
Outside, construction crews continued their work despite the descending darkness. The foundation was complete. The old walls reinforced. The moat excavation ongoing.
But twelve kilometers east, hidden beneath camouflage that had been professionally designed to evade detection, fifty Vel'koda'mir soldiers waited and watched and planned.
And the clock was running.