The morning sun had barely risen above the horizon when the open grounds between Hillford and Lowmere began to stir with life.
What had once been an empty stretch of disputed land was now filled with movement—ropes stretched across marked boundaries, wooden poles driven into the earth, and clusters of people moving back and forth with tools in their hands. The sound of hammering, voices calling out instructions, and the occasional argument blended into a strange rhythm that echoed across the field.
It was not harmony.
But it was no longer hostility either.
Eric stood at the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, a piece of charcoal in his hand as he crouched near the ground, sketching out boundary lines over a roughly drawn map. A few volunteers hovered nearby, watching as he adjusted markings and gave out quick instructions.
"No, move that line a little further out," he said, glancing up briefly. "If it's too close, people will trip over each other during the tug of war."
