The wind no longer howled over Dornheim. The cannons were silent, and the screams of the dying had faded. Only an acrid, sticky smoke lazily rose from mounds of ash, blending with the mist creeping in from the lowlands.
Inside the forge, which now looked more like an infirmary, the air was stifling.
Iron lay on a wide workbench covered with a clean cloth. His face was pale, and from time to time, barely perceptible sparks rippled along the veins of his neck.
"He's still cold," Spirit whispered, hovering over his chest. She touched his forehead with a tiny palm. "Too cold for a human."
Noah stood by the window, sharpening his sword, which had been broken in battle.
"He drained himself to the absolute bottom," he responded hollowly.
Spirit settled onto Iron's shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, as if trying to pass a tiny fraction of her own warmth to him.
"I won't give him to the forest. And I won't give him to humans either."
Those who survived gathered in the square outside the workshop. They sat on the wreckage of the barricades, staring into the void.
When Noah stepped out onto the porch, every head turned to him in unison.
"He's sleeping," Noah said curtly.
"Is he alive?" Darwin asked, his voice trembling.
"He's alive. But if we sit around waiting for him to wake up in a pile of garbage, he won't thank us. Get up."
The people stirred reluctantly.
"Clara," Noah pointed at a woman. "Gather everyone who can hold a ladle. There's grain left in the warehouses that Iron was rationing. Cook porridge for everyone. We need our strength. Men, follow me. We need to clear the debris at the gates and haul away the horse carcasses before disease sets in."
"But what about... the army?" someone in the crowd asked. "Will they come back?"
"Not while I'm here, they won't," Noah cut him off.
At that moment, Spirit flew over his head, leaving a trail of shimmering pollen behind her.
"And I'm here too!" she cried out brightly, and her voice, against all odds, made the people smile faintly. "The forest will watch the borders. Not a single spy will make it past my bushes!"
The next few hours turned into grueling labor.
The survivors, along with Noah and Spirit, cleared the ruins. Noah took on the heaviest work: lifting logs single-handedly that would have required four men, and tossing aside boulders weighing a hundred kilograms. The people watched this, shaking their heads, but worked in silence, trying to keep pace.
Spirit flew between them, making charred stumps sprout fresh shoots to somehow reinforce the temporary palisade. She sang quiet, strange songs, and the air in the village grew cleaner, replacing the smell of burning with the scent of pine needles and fresh earth.
By noon, a rider appeared on the road. He rode slowly, holding a white flag high. Behind him rolled a heavy wagon pulled by a pair of oxen.
Noah was at the gates instantly, blocking the way. His sword, though shortened by half, gleamed in the sun.
"Stop right there," he growled.
The rider, an elderly man in rich but dusty clothes, pulled back the reins in fear.
"Peace be with you, good people! I am an envoy of his excellency, Count Wayland!"
"Go back to your count," Noah took a step forward, his pupils narrowing into thin slits.
"Wait!" the messenger waved his hands. "His excellency is deeply saddened by the 'unfortunate misunderstanding' that occurred! He recognizes the sovereignty of Dornheim and... and wishes to provide aid to the victims! In this wagon is select grain, medicine, and clean cloth. It is a gift. No conditions attached!"
The people standing behind Noah began to whisper.
Spirit landed on Noah's shoulder.
"He's lying," she whispered. "His words smell like a stagnant swamp covered with flowers. But the food... it's real. I can feel the sun in this grain."
Noah stared at the envoy for a long time, then spat on the ground.
"Leave the wagon and get out."
"Of course, of course..." the messenger hurried, jumping down from his horse, and after unhitching the wagon with trembling hands, rushed to make himself scarce.
Evening fell gently over Dornheim. The survivors, having eaten hot porridge, fell asleep right in the square, huddling together by the campfire.
Noah sat on the roof of Iron's workshop, looking at the stars. Beside him, Spirit settled onto the tiles.
"You know, I lived in this forest for way too long. And you know what I'll tell you? It was deadly boring!" She laughed, tossing her head back. "Every day the same thing. Trees grow, animals eat each other, the sun rises, the sun sets. The forest is an endless circle where nothing changes. I was bound to watch over the balance, guard every single leaf... Utterly boring! And then I saw him. With that strange piece of iron on his right arm."
"He's a destroyer," Noah remarked.
"No," she countered. "He's a creator of something new. He's the first one who isn't annoyed by my personality. All the forest spirits—and not just them—thought I was too noisy. But he accepts me just the way I am."
Noah turned his head toward her.
"By the way, what's your name? I keep calling you a little runt. But you do have a name, don't you?"
"Elyria. My name is Elyria."
Noah repeated the name to himself.
"Elyria. It's a beautiful name. It suits you."
"Thank you, Noah. You're... not so bad yourself."
They sat like that until dawn. Elyria flew down a few times. She would sit on Iron's chest, listening to his heart. It beat slowly, heavily, but steadily.
"He's coming back," she whispered, having climbed back up to the roof to Noah. "I can feel his energy stabilizing. But as for when he will wake up... that is unknown."
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