While the west wing of the castle was still swaddled in the cries of a newborn, at the other end of Iron Hearth, a different symphony was being composed—the rhythmic thud of hammers, the rasp of saws, and the murmur of dreams beginning to take shape.
The construction site of Seruni School had been a hive of activity since dawn. Workers moved to and fro, their shoulders bearing the weight of bricks and sturdy timber. Dust swirled in the air, clinging to sweat and mingling with the sharp scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of freshly cut iron. In the distance, the rumble of a passing train vibrated periodically, creating a constant backbeat—the heartbeat of a city that refused to rest.
