The sun rose clear for the first time in weeks.
Its light fell across fields that had been nothing but ash. Now, grass shimmered with dew. The air smelled clean — faint smoke mixed with soil and green.
Draven stood on the ridge, hands resting on the hilt of his sword. Below, hundreds of soldiers and villagers worked shoulder to shoulder.
Servitors hauled stone from the ruins. Two Stonehides pulled a cart of timber.
Nobody shouted. They moved in rhythm, each motion steady, measured, shared.
Mira stood a little apart, her notebook half-open. "It's quiet," she said softly. "Like the land's finally breathing again."
Draven gave a small nod. "It's about time."
Feyra padded through the fields below, her paws leaving faint green glows that faded into sprouting grass.
High above, Zor glided in slow circles, wings catching the early light. For once, it wasn't a patrol — just presence.
By midday, the camp gathered in the rebuilt square.
The walls of the old fort were patched with new stone, the cracks lined with runes that pulsed faint gold under the sun.
Brenn stood on a crate, holding up a steel plate engraved with a glowing ring. "This is who we are now," he said. "Not soldiers running from chains. Builders, standing together."
Joran lifted the plate higher. "The Bloomring — a circle that never closes, because it keeps growing."
The light from the plate spread across the crowd, linking rune-tags on every soldier's arm.
Even the beasts nearby paused, heads low, as if they understood the moment.
Mira smiled faintly. "It's simple," she whispered to herself. "But it's real."
The Bloomring Covenant had taken its first oath.
Afternoon heat shimmered off the fields.
At the forges, Joran worked with two apprentices, hammering new rune plates. Sparks flared and faded into gold dust.
Nearby, soldiers drilled in formation. They didn't bark orders or chant — they moved in rhythm, breaths steady.
Feyra rested on a hill, her glow faint but constant, spreading calm over the field.
Mira noticed something strange. "Joran," she said, "the runes on their armor — look."
He followed her gaze.
The runes on distant soldiers were pulsing at the same time, flickering in sync even across the open ground.
"No one's linking them," he said, surprised. "They're responding on their own."
Draven, who had just approached, stopped beside them. "Then we don't stop it," he said. "If the light wants to connect, let it."
Mira nodded slowly. "Maybe the script's learning."
None of them realized it yet, but they were watching the first breath of Bloomscript v2 — the Living Lightfield.
By evening, the air had cooled.
Feyra lay under a half-built arch, eyes half-closed, breathing slow and even.
Children from the refugee families sat near her paws, drawing simple rune circles in the dirt.
Mira walked by and paused. "You'd think after everything, they'd be afraid of her."
A young scribe nearby shrugged. "They're not. They just feel safe. It's hard to be scared when the light looks back kindly."
Draven walked the walls, checking every section of the rebuilt stone.
He stopped when something caught his eye — a half-buried slab sticking out of the trench.
He brushed away dirt. Dominion markings covered the surface — old, deep, carved in a language he barely remembered.
A faint green pulse flickered through it.
Zor's shadow passed overhead, wings stretching wide. Feyra lifted her head, ears turning toward the ridge.
Draven stared at the slab for a long moment. "Not all of this land is ours," he muttered. "Some of it remembers what came before."
He drove a small stake beside the stone. "Mark this," he told a nearby worker. "We'll come back to it when the forges cool."
Night settled.
The camp was quiet except for soft talk and the sound of hammers cooling in water.
Brenn and Dorn sat by a low fire, arguing over supply routes — how many villages they could protect before winter.
Mira closed her journal. "He's building something bigger," she said quietly. "But I don't think even he knows what yet."
Draven stood at the far edge of camp, facing the open plains.
He pressed his hand against the soil — the same soil that had once been burned black. It was warm now. Alive.
"Walls will hold for now," he said under his breath. "But we won't stay behind them forever."
Above, Zor's wings cut across the stars, a single flash of silver against the dark.
The night was peaceful — but not still. The world was waiting.
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