"Heave-ho, heave-ho," the shout of large men lifting rocks and debris echoed, a rhythmic, hollow sound against the silence of the dead.
It had been a week since the village fell to the monsters. A week since the sky had been split by silver light and the earth had swallowed its children. What remained were not homes, but charred skeletons of wood and stones; not memories, but the choking scent of ash that clung to the back of the throat.
Inside the castle, the air was cold, untouched by the fires below but heavy with the tension of failing accounts.
"Alistair… report," Melrick said, his voice grating like stone on stone.
He raised his hands to his forehead, massaging his temple as if trying to push back the mounting debt.
"Yes, milord," Alistair responded.
He opened a leather-bound ledger, the scratching of the pages the only sounds in the room.
"Of the 2,300 population, there are 1,109 confirmed survivors. 704 are confirmed dead. The rest… about 500 missing, likely lost to the forest or consumed by the fire."
Melrick didn't flinch at the numbers, but his eyes narrowed as Alistair continued the breakdown.
"The casualties were not distributed equally, milord. The Lower Quarters were almost entirely erased. Of the eight hundred who lived there, barely two hundred were accounted for. The Middle District suffered significantly, with about half the commercial district decimated. However," Alistair paused, "the Upper Quarter remained relatively intact. We reported only thirty deaths among the peerage, mostly those who were caught in the crowd or refused to retreat to the inner keep. A few hundred sustained injuries, mostly minor."
Smack.
Melrick's fist hit the table. "A thousand survivors? That is half of the tax base!"
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
"The livestock?" Melrick asked.
"Decimated," Alistair answered without hesitation. "Fields destroyed, supply chains disrupted. Grain stores burned in multiple sectors. Recovery will take months—longer without external aid."
Melrick took a deep sigh.
"The granaries are near-empty, resources are destroyed, and the trade routes are being harassed by stragglers of that damned horde. This isn't a disaster, Alistair. This is bankruptcy."
"And the treasury?" his voice sharpened.
Alistair paused only briefly.
"A significant loss, milord. Reconstruction alone will drain nearly forty percent of the current reserves. That does not account for trade delays, lost manpower, or reduced taxation from the lower districts."
"Forty percent…" Melrick repeated slowly.
The room felt colder.
"They've taken lives… land… and now my wealth," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.
His fist slammed against the armrest.
"Useless beasts," he growled.
He waved a hand.
"Status of the village?"
"Stabilizing," Alistair replied. "Knights have secured the inner perimeter. Remaining monsters have either been driven out or scattered into the surrounding lands."
"Scattered?" Melrick echoed.
"Yes. Smaller groups remain active in the outskirts. Knights and hired mercenaries have been deployed to eliminate them."
"Good," Melrick said. "I want every last one of them erased."
Alistair continued.
"Search parties are also active. Families have been separated. Many are still looking for loved ones."
Through the open window, faint voices carried in. Calling names and begging for answers.
"Let them search… it keeps them occupied," Melrick's expression hardened further.
Alistair said nothing.
"What about the help we requested?" Melrick asked.
"They arrived this morning," Alistair replied, sensing the Baron's spiraling temper. "The church sent clerics and healers. They have already begun tending to the injured."
"They sure took their time," Melrick folded his arms.
"Costs?" he asked immediately.
"Negotiations are underway," Alistair answered. "They have agreed to assist… for now."
Melrick scoffed.
"Of course they have," he muttered. "They never miss an opportunity to extend influence."
"There's a few things I would like to bring to your attention milord." Alistair calmly closed the ledger.
"Go ahead," Melrick nodded.
"While the Young Miss Liliana has safely reached the smaller village overseen by the eldest," he continued, "there has been no news on Miss Celestia's whereabouts."
"And we've received a letter from Fenwick, detailing relief supplies arriving in the upcoming days."
"Tch…" Melrick snickered, "Celestia must be found immediately. Two of my pawns disappeared at the same time… where were my stationed guards!" His anger spilling over like a river flooding its bank.
"I will not allow Baron Fenwick to gain leverage," he shook his head.
Beyond the castle walls, the village struggled to breathe again.
The scent of ash clung to everything—clothes, skin, even the wind itself.
Clerics moved between them, handing out potions to the lightly injured—healers' hands glowing faintly as soft light stopped bleeding and soothed pain. The church worked side by side with volunteers, not caring about status or pride.
Among them, the silhouette of a woman seated up inside a tent.
"My child! Where is my child?" She clutched the sleeve of a healer..
"Madam!... you're injured please let us tend to your wounds first," the healer restrained the woman's hand.
Outside the tents, the world remained a battlefield.
Knights and hired mercenaries prowled the outskirts, their blades wet with the black ichor of goblins and lizardmen that had survived the initial wave. These stragglers loitered in the shadow of the surrounding woods, waiting like scavengers. Every hour, a horn would sound, signaling another find—sometimes a shivering child found, other times, just a piece of a dress identified by a sobbing husband.
Families stood at the edge of the perimeter, their faces gaunt, asking questions that the knights ignored.
"Have you seen my grandmother?"
"Is my son safe?"
The universe offered no answers. Only the mechanical sound of shovels hitting dirt.
Far away, tucked into the folds of the hidden Lancaster outpost, the air was still.
Celestia sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the grey horizon. For three days, she had not touched the bread or broth Felicia had placed before her.
Her silver hair, usually so bright, looked like dull lead.
"You must eat young miss," Felicia said softly. Her own eyes were rimmed with red, her voice cracking, yet she held herself together with the discipline Aurelia had etched into her soul. She was grieving, her heart screaming for the woman who had sacrificed herself, but she had been given a mission.
"...Lady Celestia," she said firmly. "Your body will fail if you continue like this."
Celestia's lips parted slightly.
"Why?" her voice was a ghost of a whisper. "Mother is gone… everything is gone."
Felicia set the tray down and sat on the floor beside the bed, leaning her head against the wood.
"I remember," she paused, "the first time I met her. I ran away from my home, I lived in the streets… scavenging for food. I had to steal to survive."
Celestia's head turned towards her.
"One time she caught me, but didn't hand me over to the guards," Felicia continued. "She looked at me and said, 'You have the eyes of someone who wants to live, but doesn't know how.' She took me in and brought me to the Lancaster Estate. I didn't know that she was the viscount at that time."
Felicia closed her eyes briefly.
"She taught me that being a servant isn't about bowing—it's about being the foundation that allows others to stand. She told me she was going to have a child, and would often discuss caring for one with me. When she lost her title, when she was forced into that life and taken far away from her people… I followed her. I would have followed her into the depths of enemy territory."
Felicia looked up, her expression hardening.
"She didn't sacrifice herself so you could starve here, young miss. She did that so the 'Morning Star' could rise. She told you: "If the world stands against a Lancaster, become strong enough to stand against the world."
Celestia turned from the window. The grief was still there—a yawning, cold void—but beneath it, a spark began to hum.
"Felicia… will you help me," her grip tightening on the sheets.
Felicia stood with a bright smile, "Of course my lady."
While the girl forged her iron, the boy began searching for his fire.