The morning began with coughing. Fine lime dust hung in the air, clogging throats and stinging eyes. The center of Dornheim now resembled a quarry: mounds of charred shale, shattered brick, and the jagged stumps of walls that had once been the town hall.
Iron sat in his chair, ten paces from the nearest pile of debris. A gray cloth, serving as a makeshift respirator, covered his face. His knees were draped with heavy tarpaulin to keep his trousers clean of stone dust.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice muffled from beneath the mask.
Darwin, standing atop a three-meter-high fragment of wall, waved his hand. He gripped the "converter"—a heavy steel cube with copper wires sticking out in every direction, crudely soldered into bundles. It looked like a piece of scrap metal, but inside, coils tuned to the local stone's resonant frequency were humming.
"Fasteners are set," Darwin shouted, jumping down. "Get back unless you want your eardrums to leak".
Walter and a pair of his men had already ducked behind the corner of a surviving shed. Noah, leaning against a charred beam, was picking his teeth with a splinter. The dust seemed to bother him less than anyone, yet even he winced at the smell of stagnant soot.
Iron touched the panel on his armrest.
"Lumon, synchronization. Send an impulse to the external bus".
[Status: Connection Established.]
[Frequency: 14.2 kHz.]
[Storage Charge: 82%.]
[Warning: High risk of copper winding overheat.]
"I don't care. Do it," Iron commanded mentally.
The sound didn't come immediately. First, the air simply became heavy, vibrating. Then, a thin, piercing squeal erupted.
The wall to which the cube was attached trembled minutely. Cracks raced across the stone, and with a soft rustle, the multi-ton monolith settled downward, crumbling into fine gravel.
Ten seconds later, the squeal ceased. In place of the wall lay a neat pile of debris that could be easily hauled away.
Darwin approached the pile, scooped up a handful of gray grit, and rubbed it between his fingers.
"It worked," he grunted, wiping sweat away. "Three weeks of crowbar work—reduced to dust in ten seconds".
Iron pulled the mask from his face and took a breath. "Lumon, how much is left?"
[Charge: 64%.]
[Note: Efficiency drops when working with damp stone.]
"Walter!" he called to the captain. "Get the boys moving. We need to clear the area by noon. If we don't finish prepping the site for the foundation, it’ll set crooked by nightfall".
Walter peered from around the corner, looking warily at the pile of sand.
"Move it," he commanded his men. "And grab your shovels".
Iron leaned back in his chair, watching as the men dug into the cleared plot.
Creak. A dull strike of metal against the earth.
Noah stood knee-deep in the rubble. His face was angry, smeared with rust and grease. He grabbed the edge of a bent steel beam protruding from the town hall’s former foundation. A heave. The concrete crunched.
"Add it to the pile," Iron threw out, not looking up from the blueprint on his board.
Noah hurled the two-meter chunk of iron.
"Cut the boards," Walter called back. The captain swung an axe a few meters away, squaring off surviving rafters.
Darwin poked through the heap of junk. He tossed bent nails into one bucket and hinges and latches into another.
"This goes to the forge," Darwin kicked a twisted channel bar. "This we'll straighten. It’ll do for anchors. Don't throw anything out".
Iron sketched with charcoal on a block of wood. A frame schematic. Short lines, arrows, numbers. Calculations for stiffening nodes.
"Noah, right sector," Iron pointed toward the subsided wall. "There's a reinforcing belt stuck there. Rip it out, root and all. If we don't clear the foundation down to the bedrock, the whole building will drift within a week".
Noah stepped toward the wall in silence.
The work proceeded in bursts. Dust settled on their sweaty backs like a gray layer.
"Iron," Walter stopped to catch his breath, leaning on his axe handle. "Are you sure this 'mesh' of yours will hold? You're drawing the walls too thin. One ram strike, and it's over".
"It will hold," Iron didn't lift his head. "These are stiffening ribs. It's geometry, Walter. If we do it right, the building will dampen vibrations. It will bend, but not break. Like a living tree".
He looked at Noah. The man had pulled out the final pin. He looked rough, but he was working five times faster than any dozen workers.
"Sorting finished?" Iron swept his gaze over the cleared square of earth.
"Everything worth saving, saved," Darwin tossed the last bucket onto a cart. "The plot is empty. We can start the piles".
Iron nodded. The sun had begun to dip toward the forest. It was time to call her.
"Elyria. Come out".
The spirit appeared nearby. She hovered half a meter above the ground, gingerly tucking her legs up so as not to touch the sticky mud.
"Again?" she grimaced.
"Don't you remember helping in the fight against the Collegium? Your magic is meant for life," Iron pointed at the deep pits where steel piles, driven by Darwin and Noah, already stood. "Steel is the bone. Wood is the frame. But I need ligaments".
He looked up at her.
"See those boreholes? There is bedrock beneath them. Bind the metal to the stone. Put down roots. Deeply, three meters down. Weave through every pile so it can't be ripped out. This will be a living foundation".
Elyria descended a bit lower and thrust her palms into the earth.
At first, nothing happened. Then, the ground beneath their feet shuddered. A low hum was heard, transitioning into the dry crackle of breaking stone. The soil around the steel piles began to stir, rippling in waves.
Thick, brown cords began to erupt from the depths of the pits. They scraped against the metal with a screech, coiling around it in tight rings, biting into every notch left by Darwin.
Through Lumon, Iron watched the soil structure changing.
[Status: Foundation Reinforcement... 40%... 70%.]
[Abnormal soil compaction detected. Strength increased 12-fold.]
Elyria was breathing heavily. Her face had become almost transparent from the strain. The roots whistled as they dove underground, anchoring the steel and the bedrock into a single monolith.
Five minutes later, it went quiet.
Elyria rose, swaying. Clumps of mud clung to her dress.
"Done," she wiped her forehead. "But don't ask me for this again".
"Thank you, Elyria," Iron softened his tone for the first time that day.
He looked at Darwin and Walter, who stood aside, staring in stunned silence at how common iron poles had turned into part of the forest.
"Why are you staring?" Iron threw out. "Carry the beams. While the roots are still flexible, we'll fit them into the frame".
The sky faded to a dirty gray. The bonfire at the edge of the plot crackled, casting long, jerky shadows onto the frame.
Wooden beams, fastened with steel brackets, rose three meters high. Between them snaked those same roots of Elyria—now dried, darkened, and hard as bog oak. The building looked strange: too squat, too heavy for a typical house.
Count Wayland approached Iron from behind. The soles of his boots crunched on fresh gravel.
"The beginning has been laid," the Count said quietly, looking at the skeletal structure. "It looks like a town hall. Or a house for my advisors".
Iron watched the narrow openings that Darwin was currently boarding up with thick planks.
"It's not a town hall," he replied dryly. "And it's not a house".
Wayland paced along the foundation. He touched one of the steel piles, which a root had gripped so tightly that the metal had buckled slightly.
"Too much effort for a dwelling. Walls a meter and a half thick? Narrow windows? What do you intend to build?"
"I'm building a pillbox," Iron spun his chair wheels, turning to face the Count.
"Reinhart will come. It's a matter of time."
Iron jabbed a finger toward the forest, from which a distant howl still emanated.
"Look at these windows, Wayland. The field of fire is one hundred and twenty degrees. The roof will be sloped so incendiary projectiles slide off. This is the heart of the defense. If this house falls, everything we manage to build around it falls too".
The Count stared for a long time at the black voids of the window openings.
Noah walked up to them, wiping a bloodied knife on his trouser leg—evidently, he had been finishing off the rest of their supper.
"Looks like a coffin," Noah remarked. "A sturdy, reliable sort of coffin".
"For those who try to enter without an invitation—absolutely," Iron snapped. "Walter! Wrap it up for today. Tomorrow we start filling the gaps in the walls with a mixture of grit and resin. We need to finish the shell before the rains come".
Walter waved his hand in agreement. The workers began to disperse.
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