After the burial, Vhal-Sar did not rest.
Simon had expected the city to spend days in mourning. Instead, by the time the crimson moon lit up the city the next morning, the sound of hammers was already echoing across the terraces.
The Daegrins mourned the way they did everything else.
Quickly, thoroughly, and without wasting anything.
In the southern districts, craftsmen tore down what remained of the warehouses Tavian's roots had drained. Their palms glowed faintly as fresh timber from the harbor fitted together beam by beam, the wood joining with barely a sound. Where grey, rotten walls stood in the morning, new frames stood by evening.
Teams of runemasters worked beside the shattered crystal pillars, replacing them one after another. With every pillar restored, the golden light flowing into The Wall grew steadier. By the second day, the southeastern curve the Ironhook Kraken had bent inward stood straight again.
The western streets took longer.
