Misaki stood at the wooden palisade's northern gate, running his hand along the timber that still smelled of mountain pine and fresh-cut wood. The massive Tra'űlth logs rose twelve meters into the morning air, each one precisely positioned and secured with iron brackets that Torran's apprentices had forged over the past month.
It was finished.
The wooden wall formed a complete circuit around Stone's End's outer perimeter, creating a secondary defense line that would funnel attackers into predetermined killing fields. Not as permanent as the stone fortifications still under construction, but solid enough to stand for decades if properly maintained.
"You look satisfied," Lyria observed, approaching with two clay cups of steaming herb tea. Her blonde hair caught the morning light as she handed him one of the cups, the familiar gesture of someone who'd learned his preferences over months of shared work.
"I am," Misaki admitted, accepting the tea gratefully. The mountain air still carried an edge of cold despite the season, and the warmth was welcome. "This represents months of planning finally realized. Every log positioned correctly, every joint properly secured, every drainage channel functioning as designed."
He gestured at the wall's curve as it followed the terrain's natural contours. "It's not innovative like the stone walls will be, but it's solid engineering. Practical. Functional."
Lyria settled beside him on a supply crate that had been repurposed as makeshift seating, her healer's satchel resting across her lap. At twenty-three now, she'd grown more confident in their friendship, less formal than during those early months in M'lod when she'd treated him as interesting patient rather than trusted companion.
"How long has it been?" Misaki asked suddenly, the question emerging from thoughts he'd been carrying for weeks. "Since I arrived on Vulcan. I know it's been multiple seasons, but I've lost track of the exact timeline."
Lyria considered, counting on her fingers with the careful precision of someone who'd learned to track time for medical purposes. "Fourteen months, two weeks, and three days since you crashed near M'lod," she said finally. "Though that's measuring by Seleun'mhir's calendar system."
"Calendar system?" Misaki raised an eyebrow. "Is there more than one?"
"Oh, absolutely." Lyria laughed at his confusion. "Every kingdom maintains their own dating system. It's one of the continent's more frustrating diplomatic complications." She pulled out a small leather journal where she kept her medical records, flipping to a page covered in numerical notations.
"Here in Seleun'mhir, we're currently in year 4,012 of the Mountain Calendar. That counts from the day the first dwarven settlements established permanent residence in these peaks." She pointed to different entries. "But when we were in Ul'varh'mir territory, they used the Royal Calendar, which was year 980-something. That counted from the founding of their first royal dynasty."
Misaki set down his tea cup, genuinely intrigued. "So the same day can have completely different dates depending on which kingdom you're in?"
"Exactly. Val'kaz'ra uses the Desert Calendar, which counts from the day they unified their tribal confederations. That puts them somewhere around year 1,847. Xyi'vana'mir has the Elvish Eternal Calendar, which is so old nobody remembers what event it started from, but they claim it's year 12,000-something." Lyria shook her head in amusement. "Trade negotiations become absurd when merchant contracts reference dates that mean completely different things to each party."
"What about Vel'koda'mir?"
"Military Calendar. Year 634 of the Republic, counting from when they overthrew their last king and established military rule." Lyria turned the page, showing more conversion notes. "I started tracking these when I realized how often we'd need to coordinate with people from different kingdoms. Medical records become meaningless if you can't determine when treatments occurred."
Misaki leaned back against the wooden wall, processing this information. "So there's no universal calendar system? No agreed-upon method for measuring historical time?"
"There have been attempts. Some scholars use what they call the Predecessor Calendar, trying to date everything from when that ancient civilization vanished. But since nobody knows exactly when that happened..." She shrugged. "Most estimates put the Predecessor collapse at roughly 5,000 years ago, but that could be off by centuries in either direction."
"And international agreements just accept this chaos?"
"They muddle through. Treaties usually include date conversions for all involved kingdoms. The Neutral Summit Accords, back when Rez'ax'tu hosted diplomatic meetings, required documents to be dated in seven different calendar systems simultaneously." Lyria smiled wryly. "Made for some very lengthy contract headers."
Misaki considered the implications. His astronaut training had included lessons on Earth's various calendar systems, but even those were mostly historical curiosities. Modern Earth used standardized dating for international coordination. Here, every kingdom insisted on maintaining their own temporal sovereignty.
"I think I'll just create my own system," he said finally. "Personal calendar. Day one is when I arrived on Vulcan. Today would be..." He calculated quickly, "Day 438 of the Misaki Calendar."
"That's remarkably practical," Lyria agreed. "Though you might want to establish some seasonal divisions. Day 438 doesn't tell you whether it's planting season or harvest time."
"Good point." Misaki pulled out his own journal and began sketching a basic framework. "I'll need to learn Vulcan's seasonal patterns, establish reference points for agricultural cycles, maybe add lunar phases..."
"Vulcan has three moons," Lyria mentioned casually. "Seleune, the elder sister, which you've probably noticed, and Vaer'khal, the younger sibling, which is smaller and faster. Then there's the third moon, which most people don't even know exists because it only appears during the dark seasons when skies are clear enough to glimpse it."
Misaki looked up from his notes, intrigued. "Three moons with family relationships?"
"Old folklore," Lyria explained with a slight smile. "Seleune is the protective older sister, bright and reliable, watching over the world with steady light. Vaer'khal is the energetic younger one, quick and playful, dancing across the sky in rapid cycles. The third moon doesn't have a common name because it's so rarely seen, but scholars call it Mor'deth - the hidden one."
"And it only appears during dark seasons?"
"When the nights are longest and the sky is clearest. Most years, people forget it exists entirely because Seleune and Vaer'khal provide enough light during normal seasons. But during the depths of winter, when the world feels darkest, Mor'deth emerges like a distant guardian watching from the shadows." She pointed skyward where the faint outline of Seleune was visible despite the morning light. "Any comprehensive calendar system needs to account for all three, though most kingdoms only track the two visible ones."
Misaki stopped sketching. "Three moons with irregular visibility patterns. Of course there are three moons. Why would a planet with a sun 258 times larger than Earth's sun have a simple single-moon system?"
"Are you complaining about the complexity?"
"I'm appreciating it," Misaki corrected, resuming his notes. "Earth's calendar development took centuries of refinement. Multiple civilizations contributing improvements, corrections, mathematical adjustments. Here I get to design something from scratch, incorporating all the lessons Earth learned through trial and error."
He looked up at her, suddenly curious. "What's your favorite calendar system? Of all the kingdoms you've studied, which one makes the most sense?"
Lyria considered carefully. "Probably Val'kaz'ra's Desert Calendar. It's based on practical cycles rather than political events. They track the great sandstorm seasons, the oasis blooming periods, the migration patterns of desert wildlife. Very grounded in natural phenomena that actually affect daily life."
"Unlike celebrating the anniversary of some king's coronation that happened three hundred years before anyone currently living was born?"
"Exactly. Though to be fair, the Seleun'mhir Mountain Calendar is fairly practical too. Mountain seasons are dramatic enough that dating them makes sense for agricultural and construction planning. And it does incorporate Seleune's phases, which helps with monthly divisions."
Misaki nodded, watching workers begin their morning shifts along the completed palisade. Some checked drainage channels, others inspected joint integrity, a few applied protective oil treatments to exposed wood. Maintenance schedules that would need to be tracked, recorded, coordinated across seasons and years.
"Fourteen months," he said, returning to her original answer. "Feels both longer and shorter than I expected."
"How so?"
"Longer because I've learned so much, experienced so many changes. New language, different culture, engineering techniques I never imagined, political situations Earth never prepared me for." He gestured at the fortifications surrounding them. "When I crashed near M'lod, I couldn't even light a fire without flint and steel. Now I'm designing defensive architecture for an entire city."
"And shorter?"
"Because it feels like I just started understanding this world. The complexity keeps revealing new layers. Calendar systems I didn't know existed, economic structures I'm still figuring out, social hierarchies that operate by rules I'm learning through trial and error." Misaki sipped his tea, tasting the blend of mountain herbs that had become familiar comfort. "Fourteen months is barely an introduction to a civilization that's been developing for thousands of years."
Lyria smiled. "That's a very healthy perspective. Some people arrive in foreign places and assume they understand everything within weeks."
"Those people probably aren't engineers," Misaki observed. "Engineering teaches you that complex systems require patient study. Assumptions lead to structural failures."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching Stone's End wake up around them. Market stalls opening for morning trade, children running between the residential quarters, miners heading toward the tunnels for their shifts. A city that had become home through necessity, friendship, and the simple accumulation of daily routines that created belonging.
"Day 438 of the Misaki Calendar," Lyria repeated thoughtfully. "I like that. Clear, personal, honest about what it measures."
"Want to adopt it? Coordinate our medical and engineering records?"
"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever offered me," she said with mock seriousness, then laughed at his expression. "Yes, I'll adopt your calendar system. Someone should."
Misaki grinned, adding another note to his journal. "Day 438: Official adoption of the Misaki Calendar by Lyria of M'lod, medical practitioner and my first convert to rational time measurement. Note: Must account for Seleune, Vaer'khal, and the mysterious Mor'deth in future lunar calculations."
The wooden palisade stretched in both directions, solid and functional and built to last. But the calendar conversation had given him something more valuable than defensive infrastructure.
It had given him a way to measure progress that didn't depend on kingdoms or cultures or political events beyond his control. A personal timeline that marked growth, learning, and the steady accumulation of experience that transformed strangers into friends and alien worlds into home.
Day 438.
With three moons watching overhead, two visible and one hidden until the world needed its distant light most.
And counting.