The morning after Balmond's first day of labor, Doom made good on his promise. He stood by his forge—a simple stone hearth and an anvil made from a slab of compressed rock—with his arms crossed. He glared at Balmond's axe, which the berserker had reluctantly brought over.
"Put it there," Doom said, nodding to the anvil.
Balmond leaned the massive weapon against the stone. "It has served me well."
"It's a club with a sharpish bit," Doom snorted. He ran a calloused thumb along the chipped edge. "The balance is off by a hand's width. No wonder you swing like you're trying to kill the air behind your target."
Balmond's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He watched as Doom lit the forge using some of the precious, slow-burning coal traded from the goblins. The dwarf didn't use magic. He used heat, gravity, and a hammer he'd forged himself.
The rhythmic clang of Doom hammering the axe's edge true became the new morning sound. It was a sharper, cleaner noise than the furious pounding against the barrier. Each strike had purpose. Balmond watched, his anger cooling into a grudging fascination. He'd never seen his weapon cared for. It was a thing he used until it broke, then he took another.
While this happened, Kazuto was on the southern rim with Mavis. The final, largest section of the dome needed to be built. This part would curve over the open central area of the basin. It required precision.
"The arches here must be primary supports," Mavis explained, her finger tracing a complex web of lines on her slate. "The stress will be distributed from these points. If your mental 'blueprint' is off by a degree, the whole structure could fail under its own conceptual weight."
« CONFIRMATION: ARCHITECTURAL INTEGRITY PARAMETERS CRITICAL FOR MACRO-DOME COMPLETION. »
No pressure, Kazuto thought. He looked down into the basin. He saw Doom teaching Balmond about axe balance. He saw two young dwarves constructing a proper chimney for a communal kitchen. He saw Lunch the lizard happily dragging a sled of fresh clay from the gully. The goblins had discovered a deposit.
This wasn't just a hiding place anymore. It was a home people were building. He couldn't let the roof fall on them.
"Alright," he said. "Talk me through the first anchor point."
They worked for hours. Kazuto would focus, creating the first half of a massive, curving arch that sprang from the eastern rim. He'd hold it, a shimmering curve of solidified air, while Mavis checked the angles against her calculations. Then he'd complete the arch, connecting it to the opposite rim with a seamless join.
It was slow, mental sweat beading on his forehead. Each major arch felt like mentally lifting a car.
Below, the sound of Doom's hammering stopped. Kazuto glanced down. Doom was handing the axe back to Balmond. The weapon gleamed. Its edge was a continuous, wicked line of reflected light. The chips were gone. The balance, even from a distance, looked different.
Balmond took it. He gave it an experimental swing. It didn't whoosh through the air; it hummed. A clean, efficient sound. He looked at Doom, his expression unreadable. He gave a single, slow nod.
Doom grunted. "Now it's a tool. Don't make me regret it."
The moment was broken by a sudden, frantic chittering from the western rim. The goblin scouts were waving their arms in a specific pattern Mavis had helped establish: two arms crossed over the head.
"Riders," Mavis translated, her face going pale. "Approaching from the west. Not Seats. But not friendly."
Kazuto dismissed the half-formed arch. He and Mavis scrambled down. By the time they reached the basin floor, the news had spread. Dwarves grabbed tools, not as weapons, but because they were the only things in their hands. Balmond's grip tightened on his newly sharpened axe, the old fire flickering in his eyes.
"To the wall," Kazuto said, his voice calm. "No one makes a move unless I say."
They gathered behind the transparent barrier at the gully entrance. Peering through, they saw five riders approaching at a trot. They were humans, dressed in worn leathers and faded cloaks. They looked tough, weathered. Mercenaries. At their head rode a woman with a sharp face and a long spear strapped to her back.
They pulled up short of the gully, eyeing the seemingly open passage with suspicion. They'd heard the rumors too: a wall that couldn't be seen.
The lead woman dismounted. She walked forward cautiously, one hand resting on the hilt of a sword at her hip. She stopped about ten feet from where the barrier was.
"Hello the camp!" she called out, her voice rough. "We seek the one they call the Mercy. We have… cargo."
Kazuto stepped forward, passing through the barrier as it opened for him. He stood alone in the gully mouth. "I'm listening."
The woman's eyes widened slightly at his appearance—the clean, strange blue uniform amidst the dust. She sized him up, clearly finding him lacking. "You? You're the wall-maker?"
"I handle deliveries. What's yours?"
She jerked a thumb back to one of the other riders. He helped a figure down from his horse. It was an elderly dwarf, even older than Doom, with a beard braided with complex metal rings. But his clothes were torn, and he leaned heavily on a walking stick. Behind him, two more dwarves, young and scared, dismounted.
"Found them hiding in the ruins of Hearthstone," the mercenary woman said. "City got 'cleansed' by the Seat's forces a month back. They've been running since. Couldn't outrun the fever, though." She nodded to the old dwarf, who was shivering despite the warm day. "They can't pay. But the whispers say you take in strays. So here. Our good deed for the decade."
This was a new kind of delivery. Refugees. Sick ones.
Doom pushed through the barrier, his eyes locked on the old dwarf. "Elder Leon?" he breathed, his voice full of awe.
The old dwarf squinted. "Doom? Of the Shattered Anvil? You live?"
"What is this?" the mercenary captain asked, looking between them.
"He is… was… the greatest bladesmith and swordmaster of the northern holds," Doom said, his voice thick. "He taught my grandfather."
Kazuto made a decision. "Your delivery is accepted." He looked at the sick elder. "But the fever. Is it catching?"
The mercenary captain shrugged. "Who knows? Probably. Look, we're dropping them off. Not a hospital."
« ANALYSIS: ORGANISMS EXHIBITING SYMPTOMS OF BLOOD-RUST FEVER. NON-MAGICAL, HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS AIRBORNE PATHOGEN. »
Great. He couldn't let a plague into Delivery. But he couldn't leave them outside.
He had an idea. He focused on a spot just outside the barrier, to the left of the gully. He imagined a structure. Not a cube. A small, simple house. Four walls, a roof, a door. Made entirely of seamless barrier material. He included a small, vented opening near the top for air.
« ACTIVATING [DIVINE OMNI BARRIER] – QUARANTINE SHELTER PROTOCOL. »
A transparent, hexagonal hut shimmered into existence. It was about the size of a small room.
"Bring him inside there," Kazuto instructed the mercenaries.
They helped the shivering Elder Leon and his two young companions into the barrier-hut. It was bare, empty, but clean and safe.
"Now you," Kazuto said to the mercenaries. "Stay right there for a moment." He focused on the ground around their horses' hooves. A low, circular barrier wall, just a foot high, rose from the earth, corralling them and their riders in a ring about twenty feet across.
"Hey!" the captain yelled, drawing her sword.
"It's just a precaution," Kazuto said. "For decontamination." He had no idea if that would work, but he had to try. He focused on the concept of the pathogen itself within the corral. A hostile, invisible invader. He willed the air within that small ring to become safe.
A faint golden glow washed over the mercenaries and their horses. They flinched, but felt nothing. The glow faded.
*« NOTICE: LOCALIZED APPLICATION OF [DIVINE AURA OF SAFETY] COMPLETE. PATHOGENIC AGENTS NEUTRALIZED WITHIN DESIGNATED ZONE. »
Kazuto dismissed the circular corral. "You're clean. You can go."
The mercenary captain stared at him, then at the transparent quarantine hut, then at her own hands. She slowly sheathed her sword. "You're not what I expected, Mercy." She turned to her men. "Let's move. This place gives me the creeps."
They rode off without a backward glance.
Kazuto now faced the problem of the hut. He walked up to it. He could see Elder Leon inside, sitting on the floor, his two young kin huddled close.
« QUERY: EXTEND [DIVINE AURA OF SAFETY] TO INTERIOR OF QUARANTINE STRUCTURE TO TARGET PATHOGEN? »
Yes. Do it.
Another soft glow filled the hut. The old dwarf flinched, then relaxed as the shivering began to subside. The color slowly returned to his face. It wouldn't cure weakness or starvation, but it would kill the fever.
Kazuto created an opening in the hut's wall. Doom rushed in with a waterskin and blankets.
"The fever… it's gone," one of the young dwarves stammered, feeling Elder Leon's forehead.
Elder Leon looked up at Kazuto, his eyes clear now, deep and knowing. "You wield a power that does not wound," he rasped. "A strange and mighty thing."
"It's just a skill," Kazuto said. "You should rest. We'll get you proper food soon."
As Doom helped the new arrivals out of the hut and toward the main fire, Kazuto dismissed the barrier structure. He looked at the gully entrance, then at the now-busy basin, then at the southern rim where his unfinished dome waited.
One delivery had led to another. A berserker was becoming a laborer. A lost swordmaster had arrived sick and was now healing. Each person changed the shape of the place. Each one added a new need, a new strength.
Balmond walked up, still holding his perfect axe. He looked at the retreating dust cloud of the mercenaries, then at the recovering dwarves. "They will talk. More will come."
"I know," Kazuto said.
"They will bring more than sick old dwarves. They will bring their problems. Their enemies."
"I know that too."
Balmond was silent for a moment. "The wall is strong. But a wall that cannot attack… it can only be besieged."
Kazuto met his gaze. "We're not building a fortress. We're building a roof. And under a roof, you don't attack the rain. You just make sure no one gets wet."
He turned and walked back toward the southern rim. The dome wasn't going to build itself. The dominoes were falling, each new arrival setting up the next. His job wasn't to stop the fall. It was to make sure they all landed in the right place.