The Duskmaw struck the unfinished barrier before Weston could reinforce its base.

The paving slab had risen less than three feet when the beast crashed into the sloped stone. Cracks spread outward from the point of impact, but the angle caught the Duskmaw beneath the chest and lifted part of its weight. Its front paws left the road while its hindquarters continued driving forward.

One foreleg clipped Callum and threw him sideways. The creature’s shoulder struck Weston a moment later, ripping his hand away from the paving and ending the transformation.

Weston landed hard enough to lose his breath. The half-shaped barrier collapsed beneath the Duskmaw, but it had disrupted the charge. Instead of reaching Weston with its jaws open and its weight balanced behind them, the beast came down awkwardly among the broken stones.

One forepaw found level ground. The other dropped into the space left by the collapsing slab, twisting the leg beneath the animal’s body.

Callum recovered first. He rolled onto one knee and cut across the tendon behind the trapped foreleg. His sword entered only a few inches through the thick hide, yet the wounded limb folded when the Duskmaw tried to pull free.

The beast swung its long muzzle toward him.

Elara struck the side of its head with a heavy lash of water. The blow forced its jaws away and sprayed the road, briefly blinding the creature while Callum regained his footing.

Weston reached for the steel spear he had shaped from the cart rail.

Then something moved inside the gatehouse.

The female Duskmaw emerged from the darkness at a low run. She was smaller than the male, though only by comparison, and she avoided the shattered barrier instead of trying to cross it. Her path took her directly toward Desmond, who stood beside the tilted supply cart with a knife in one hand and no room to use it properly.

“Left!” Weston shouted.

Desmond jumped toward the ditch.

The female’s shoulder slammed into the cart as she passed. One wheel lifted from the road, and the supply bags strained against their ropes. Her jaws closed where Desmond had been standing a moment earlier.

Weston seized a loose fragment of paving stone. The piece was small enough to transform quickly. He pictured a short steel spike with a heavy base, forced the image into clarity and released his mana.

The grey stone darkened beneath his fingers. It contracted as its substance became denser, shrinking into a compact metal weapon.

He threw it before the female could turn.

His aim was poor, but a creature that large presented a forgiving target. The spike entered high in her shoulder. It failed to reach anything vital, but the impact broke her stride and turned her away from Desmond.

Elara struck her across the muzzle with another burst of water.

“Inside the gate!” Callum shouted. “We force them through one at a time.”

The entrance would give them a narrow space to defend, but the male Duskmaw still stood between them and the arch. It dragged its wounded leg free of the broken road and began turning toward Callum again.

Weston looked at the shattered barrier beneath his knees. The first attempt had failed because he had tried to move too much material before deciding exactly what shape it needed. Turning the road into steel would take longer, and the denser finished substance would shrink beneath their feet.

He kept the stone as stone.

Weston pressed one palm against the broken paving and concentrated only on its form. Several fractured pieces fused at their bases and rose into thick points angled toward the wounded beast.

The change moved much faster without transmutation.

The male charged.

“Right!”

Callum stepped aside at the last possible moment.

The Duskmaw’s injured paw landed between two stone points. Its weight snapped the first, but the second drove into the softer flesh beneath its chest. The creature roared, tried to pull backward and only forced the stone deeper.

Callum struck the side of its neck.

His sword cut through hide and muscle before catching against bone. The Duskmaw twisted, almost wrenching the weapon from his hands.

Elara directed a narrow stream of water against the flat of the blade.

The pressure forced it deeper.

The male collapsed onto its side, still alive and clawing at the road. Weston recovered the steel spear and approached from behind its forelegs. He placed the point beneath the jaw and drove upward with both hands.

The steel passed through the throat and into the base of the skull.

The Duskmaw’s body shuddered once before settling against the broken road.

For several seconds, the only sounds were their breathing and the female’s low growl near the cart.

Weston turned slowly.

She stood with his spike lodged in her shoulder, blood running down one foreleg. Her eyes moved from the humans to the body of her mate.

A thin cry came from inside the ruined keep.

Several smaller shapes shifted among the rubble of the northern tower.

The female answered with a deep, broken call and placed herself between the group and the sound of her cubs.

Callum pulled his sword free and raised it again.

“Leave her,” Weston said.

“She may attack.”

“She has the cubs behind her. If we follow, she will.”

Callum kept the blade ready but did not advance.

The female backed through the gatehouse without turning away. Once she reached the collapsed tower, three cubs gathered around her. She limped through a breach in the northern wall and disappeared into the forest.

Callum watched the opening for a long moment before lowering his sword. “Someone faces that side tonight.”

“Agreed.”

Desmond climbed out of the ditch. Mud covered one side of his clothing, and a shallow cut marked his cheek. He looked at the newly formed stone spikes, then at Weston.

“You could have warned me.”

“I was still deciding whether it would work.”

Desmond stared at him. “That is somehow worse.”

Weston might have answered, but he noticed blood running down Callum’s forearm. One of the male Duskmaw’s claws had torn through his sleeve, and every movement of his hand pulled the wound open again.

Elara saw it at the same time.

“Sit down.”

“We need to clear the gate first,” Callum said.

“You need to stop bleeding first.”

“I can still move the arm.”

“That is the problem.”

Callum looked toward Weston, perhaps expecting support.

“Let her treat it,” Weston said. “Desmond can watch the road while I check the courtyard.”

“You should not go alone.”

“You are the only trained swordsman here. I would prefer not to lose the use of your arm because you refused to sit still for ten minutes.”

Callum’s expression tightened, but he sat against the cart and allowed Elara to clean the wound.

Weston entered the gatehouse carrying the steel spear.

The passage smelled of wet fur, old blood and rotting meat. Bones lay in the corners, most belonging to deer and wild boar. Several had been crushed too thoroughly to identify.

The female had already left the courtyard. Weston could hear her moving beyond the northern wall, but each sound came from farther away.

He did not follow.

Duskwatch Keep had been built around a broad rectangular courtyard. A capped well stood near the centre. The western barracks had lost half its roof, while the old armory opposite it remained mostly intact despite a sagging entrance.

One tower still stood at the southern corner. The northern tower had collapsed inward, covering part of the courtyard with stone and timber. A third tower built into the eastern wall had lost most of its upper level.

From the road, the keep had looked like a ruin close to complete failure. Inside, Weston saw that most of the foundations remained stable. The walls still followed their original lines, and much of the fallen stone could be reused.

Desmond entered several minutes later, still holding his knife.

“Is she gone?”

“For now.”

He surveyed the courtyard. “The Crown map made this place look larger.”

“The map included roofs.”

“Yes. I noticed.”

Weston approached the well and examined the cover. “The foundations are better than I expected.”

“You were nearly crushed outside, and you are already inspecting masonry.”

“The masonry did not try to eat me.”

Desmond gave him a tired look. “I was worried the Duskmaw had knocked the sense out of you. Apparently this is normal.”

Callum and Elara entered after the injury had been washed and wrapped. Elara had made a sling from part of her spare cloak, and Callum wore it with visible resentment.

He studied the northern breach. “The female used that opening?”

Weston nodded. “The trail continues north.”

“We should close it.”

“Tomorrow. First we need somewhere secure enough to survive the night.”

They began with the gatehouse.

Callum checked the alcoves and dark corners while Desmond dragged smaller bones into the courtyard. Elara washed blood and filth from the centre of the floor using controlled streams of water.

Weston examined what remained of the entrance. The wooden doors had rotted away. One iron hinge still clung to the wall, while the other lay beneath rubble. The old portcullis had collapsed inward, its bars bent and heavily corroded.

Restoring any of it would take more time than the fading daylight allowed.

Weston chose a fallen roof beam for a temporary crossbar. He placed both hands against the timber and began removing the decay. Rotten fibres separated and fell away while the usable mass compressed into a shorter, thicker beam. He aligned the grain and strengthened the centre where it would carry the most strain.

The work took several minutes and left him breathing harder than he expected.

Callum tested the finished beam with his good shoulder.

“It will slow something.”

“That is enough for tonight.”

They blocked the entrance and stacked bent pieces of iron against the crossbar. Anything large enough to force its way inside would bring the metal down with it.

Only then did they sit.

Their first meal inside Duskwatch consisted of hard bread, dried meat and water from their travel skins. Nobody trusted the well until they could inspect it in daylight.

The smell of blood continued drifting through the entrance.

The dead Duskmaw still lay across the road.

Callum looked toward it. “That cannot stay there.”

“It will bring scavengers,” Elara said.

Desmond glanced toward their nearly empty supply bags. “It may also contain more food than the cart.”

The others turned toward him.

“What?” he asked. “Border hunters eat beast meat. I have seen it sold in Ashcombe.”

“Some beasts,” Callum said.

“Is Duskmaw one of them?”

Callum considered it. “The companies eat it when they kill one far from a supply road. The meat is tough and smells stronger than venison. It is safe if the glands and damaged organs are removed.”

Elara stood and brushed dirt from her hands. “I can check for corruption.”

Weston looked from the carcass to the last of the daylight. “Then we use what we can.”

They reopened the gate.

Callum had learned basic field dressing during years on the frontier. He showed Weston where the Duskmaw’s scent glands lay and warned him not to cut them. Rupturing one would spoil a large section of meat.

Elara checked the carcass with magic before they began. Residual mana remained in the flesh, but it was the natural energy of a powerful beast rather than corruption.

“The meat should be safe,” she said. “The liver has dark patches. Leave it and anything touching it.”

They began with ordinary knives.

Weston could feel the dead hide and muscle respond faintly to his Calling, but the carcass contained too many unfamiliar structures. He understood wood, stone and metal. He did not yet understand how monster flesh, tendon and hide carried stress or retained mana.

Blindly transforming it would destroy much of its value.

Callum handled most of the cutting despite his wounded arm, using his good hand and directing the others when precision mattered. Elara washed the knives and exposed surfaces repeatedly. Weston helped separate the large muscles while Desmond carried the usable cuts into the courtyard.

The work was slow, wet and exhausting.

The smell made Desmond retch twice before he managed to control himself. Elara endured it longer but eventually stepped away to breathe near the wall. Even Callum’s face had gone pale by the time they finished the first side.

Night arrived before they had processed half the carcass.

“We cannot preserve all of this tonight,” Callum said. “We take the best cuts first.”

They sliced the shoulder, back and hindquarter meat into thin strips for smoking. A small portion was cut into cubes and cooked separately as a test meal. The rest of the usable meat remained in larger sections that Elara moved into the cold water near the eastern stream, sealed inside clean hide wrappings and weighted beneath the surface.

It would keep there briefly, not indefinitely.

“We will lose some,” Callum admitted.

“Then we finish the rest tomorrow,” Weston said.

“If nothing else reaches it first.”

They removed only part of the hide before exhaustion forced them to stop. The cleaned section was stretched across a simple frame in the courtyard. Teeth, claws and the longest accessible bones were stored separately. Several tendons were washed and hung for future bowstrings, bindings and heavy stitching.

The fat was kept for cooking, waterproofing, leather treatment and future soapmaking. Their travel lanterns still had enough oil for a few nights, but nobody suggested using monster fat for light unless they had no other option. The smell alone discouraged the idea.

The scent glands, damaged organs and contaminated tissue were buried beyond the eastern wall. Weston reshaped the soil and loose stone into a deep pit, and Elara washed the road before they closed the gate again.

By the time the crossbar returned to its place, all four of them smelled of smoke, blood and wet hide.

They cooked a small piece of Duskmaw meat over the fire.

Callum ate first.

He chewed slowly, swallowed and waited.

“Well?” Desmond asked.

“Tough.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“It tastes strong, but it is meat.”

Elara tried the next piece. Weston followed after she showed no reaction.

The flavour was gamey and almost bitter, but it was far better than starvation.

Desmond stared at his portion for several seconds before eating it.

By the end of the meal, no one had become sick.

“If we preserve the best cuts,” Callum said, “this gives us several weeks. Longer if we hunt and fish as well.”

Desmond looked toward the smoking rack. “That changes the supply count considerably.”

“It buys time,” Weston said. “It does not solve food permanently.”

“No, but I prefer counting weeks to counting days.”

After the tools had been cleaned, the conversation moved naturally toward Weston’s Calling.

Desmond sat across from him near the small fire. “How much did you know before today?”

“Very little.”

“You turned a cart rail into steel.”

“I tested four small objects after the Rite. A wooden stylus, a stone, a coin and a buckle.”

“You knew one material could become another.”

“I knew it worked while I was sitting safely in my room. I did not know whether the same transformation would finish quickly during a fight.”

Elara repaired the tear in her sleeve as she listened. “The spear formed almost immediately.”

“I understood the design. The road barrier was different. I tried to move too much stone without deciding exactly how it needed to carry the impact.”

Callum shifted his injured arm. “The second trap worked faster.”

“I only changed the shape. Keeping stone as stone requires less effort than turning it into metal.”

Desmond glanced around the gatehouse. “Could you transform this whole building?”

“Perhaps, given enough time. Turning the walls into steel would also make them contract. We would probably bring the roof down.”

“So the ability can create a metal fortress and destroy it in the same attempt.”

“Yes.”

“That sounds more like Ashcombe engineering than yours.”

Weston ignored the remark.

Callum asked, “Can it reach through the ground?”

“For a short distance. My control weakens the farther the change moves from my hand.”

“And living things?”

“They do not respond.”

Elara glanced toward the stretched hide. “Dead things do.”

“Yes, but I cannot improve material I do not understand. I could turn the hide into steel, but then it would no longer be Duskmaw hide.”

Weston stopped there. The others needed practical knowledge, not a lecture covering every possibility.

Callum looked toward the blocked entrance. “Who else knows?”

“No one at Ashcombe.”

“Your mother?”

“She knows the Calling is unusual. I did not show her.”

Callum considered that. “Roland would try to bring you back.”

“He would call it correcting an error.”

“And if you refused?”

Desmond answered before Weston did. “Then someone at Duskwatch would be accused of manipulating him.”

Elara tied off the repaired sleeve. “The secret remains here.”

Callum nodded. “Agreed.”

No one made a speech about loyalty. They were too tired, and the decision required nothing more.

They divided the night into watches.

Weston took the first because he knew he would not sleep. He sat near the gate while the smoking meat filled the courtyard with a heavy scent.

Nothing approached.

After the others settled, he began testing the Calling with materials already inside the gatehouse.

He repaired a split block of timber first. The grain aligned beneath his hands, weak fibres compressed and the crack disappeared. The finished wood resisted Miriel’s knife far better than ordinary pine.

Next, he changed a stone fragment into a steel chisel. The object shrank as it became denser, but the metal emerged clean and strong.

He made a small hinge from rusted iron taken from the fallen gate. Its leaves and pin fitted together correctly.

Then he attempted a chain.

The first fifteen links formed without difficulty. By the seventeenth, the pressure behind his eyes had begun to build. One side of the link emerged thinner than the other.

Weston noticed and continued anyway.

The nineteenth formed at an angle. The twenty-first failed to close.

When he tested the chain, the seventeenth link snapped and struck his knuckles.

Weston hissed and dropped it.

His mana reserve remained deep. His concentration had failed long before his energy did.

He cleaned the small cut and placed the broken chain beside the hinge.

The travel lantern stood near his knee. Its flame flickered behind cloudy glass, and less than half the oil remained.

Ethan Cole remembered electric bulbs, copper wiring, generators and batteries. None of those ideas helped without a source of current. A glass bulb and a filament did nothing by themselves.

Weston picked up a smooth stone and changed it into a clear glass sphere. He formed a thin metal lattice inside, following the basic shape of a filament.

The object remained dark.

He touched it again and pushed mana through the lattice.

A faint glow appeared, but it vanished the moment he removed his hand.

Weston tried several adjustments. The second lattice cracked. The third produced light but became hot enough to burn his fingers.

He set it aside and worked more slowly.

The Calling could imprint a physical pattern into material, but it did not grant the object a magical function for free. The internal design needed to carry mana the way a wire carried electricity.

Weston altered the lattice into a wider network that spread energy through the glass instead of concentrating it in one heated point.

When he touched the sphere again, soft white light filled the gatehouse.

The glow remained only while his mana flowed into it.

That was enough for the first night.

Weston did not immediately solve the rest. His concentration had already failed once, and the painful pulse behind his eyes warned him to stop.

When Callum woke for the second watch, he found Weston holding the glowing sphere.

“What is that?”

“A light.”

“I can see that.”

“It has no flame.”

Callum approached carefully. “How long does it last?”

“While I touch it.”

“That seems inconvenient.”

“It is the first attempt.”

“Does it burn?”

“The earlier version did.”

Callum looked at the discarded sphere with the darkened centre. “And this one?”

“Not enough to matter.”

Callum sat near the entrance. “Sleep before you make one that explodes.”

Weston left the sphere beside him. It went dark the moment he removed his hand.

Morning revealed the keep in greater detail.

Brush grew between the courtyard stones, and years of rain had stained the walls beneath broken gutters. The partially butchered Duskmaw remained outside, covered with hide and branches to discourage smaller scavengers. They would have to finish processing it before midday.

The well became their first priority.

Desmond removed the cover while Elara drew water upward with a narrow magical current. The first bucket came up clear but carried sediment from the shaft.

“There is no magical corruption,” she said.

“We still boil it,” Weston replied.

Desmond dropped a small stone and counted before the splash. “Deep enough for a dry season.”

While the water heated, Weston showed them the light sphere.

He placed both hands around it and released a little mana. Soft white light spread through the glass.

Desmond stared. “You made that last night?”

“Yes.”

“What powers it?”

“At the moment, me.”

Elara held one hand close to the surface. “Almost no heat.”

“The third design spreads the mana better.”

“Third?”

“The first stayed dark. The second became too hot.”

Callum looked toward the cracked sphere near Weston’s pack. “He left that detail out.”

Weston removed his hands, and the light faded.

“It is not ready to replace anything,” he said. “I need a way for it to draw mana without continuous contact.”

“Can it do that?” Elara asked.

“I think so. The keep is full of ambient mana. The pattern needs a way to collect it slowly.”

Desmond turned the sphere over after Weston handed it to him. “Even if it only works while touched, this would be useful underground.”

“For a few minutes. Feeding it constantly still tires the user.”

They kept the oil lanterns.

The light sphere returned to Weston’s pack until he could test it properly.

They spent the next several hours finishing the Duskmaw.

The second day of butchering was no cleaner than the first, but the work moved faster. Callum directed them while keeping his injured arm in the sling. Elara washed the meat and checked anything suspicious. Desmond cut and carried once he stopped reacting to the smell.

They saved as much meat as the racks and cold stream could hold. Several portions had already begun warming near the centre of the carcass and were discarded rather than risk illness.

They completed the hide, leaving the damaged shoulder section separate. The full skin was too heavy for one person to move, even after scraping.

The skull, claws, teeth and several major bones were stored in the old armory. Tendons and smaller strips of hide were hung to dry. The remaining waste went into the sealed pit.

The Duskmaw did not provide endless supplies, but it gave them food, leather, bone and valuable monster materials that could be traded later.

Callum followed the female’s trail after the work was finished.

He returned through the northern breach before midday.

“She continued north. The cubs stayed with her.”

“Did she turn back?” Weston asked.

“No.”

“Then we leave her.”

Callum looked toward the forest. “If she returns, she will remember us.”

“She also remembers what happened to her mate.”

“That could make her avoid the keep or attack it.”

“We cannot chase every danger that might return.”

Callum marked the direction on Desmond’s map.

They never saw the female or her cubs again.

The barracks contained the remains of the previous garrison.

Half the roof had collapsed over the sleeping area. Rotted bedframes stood beneath the debris, along with torn blankets and broken equipment.

Desmond found part of a supply manifest beneath a fallen shelf.

He carried the brittle page into the courtyard.

“Forty-one people entered with the last posting,” he said. “Six horses. Two months of grain, dried meat and lamp oil.”

“The Crown report said the garrison lasted almost six months,” Callum replied.

“The entries stop after the fifth week.”

Elara looked toward the collapsed roof. “The rest may be buried.”

The missing pages lay beneath two fallen beams.

Weston created a support from the remains of a bedframe. He removed the rot, joined the usable mass and compressed the centre before shaping the ends to fit beneath the load.

Callum examined it.

“This will hold?”

“It should.”

Callum gave him a long look. “Test it first.”

They placed heavy stones on the brace in the courtyard. It held.

Only then did they move it inside.

The first beam lifted without difficulty. The second shifted while they cleared debris from beneath it.

Weston heard the wood creak.

He reached toward the brace and tried to strengthen it while the full weight of the roof was already pressing down.

The transformation moved too slowly.

A crack opened along the centre.

“Out!” Callum shouted.

They abandoned the room moments before the support split. The beam dropped and dragged part of the remaining roof down with it.

Dust filled the barracks.

When it settled, several pieces of salvageable furniture had been crushed beneath the new collapse.

No one was hurt, but the mistake cost them hours and destroyed material they could have used.

Weston examined the broken brace outside. He had compressed one side more heavily than the other. It looked strong on the surface, but the uneven internal stress created a weak line through the centre.

Desmond coughed dust from his lungs. “You tested it.”

“Not under the same kind of load.”

Callum picked up one half of the brace. “You also tried to alter it after the weight shifted.”

“I thought I had time.”

“You did not.”

Weston accepted the criticism. There was nothing useful to argue.

The second attempt used two simpler supports instead of one complicated brace. Each was tested beneath gradually increasing weight, with Callum checking the angles before anyone re-entered the room.

This time, the beams held.

The recovered pages explained the garrison’s end.

Desmond read the final entries in the courtyard.

“Twenty-two remain. The southern road has not seen a Crown wagon in eleven weeks. Four requests have been sent to Hollowmark. No answer has returned.”

He turned the page.

The final lines had been written in an unsteady hand.

“If this record reaches anyone, tell them the Reach did not defeat us. We held the beasts and kept the gate. Hunger did what claws could not. Tell my wife I stayed until there was no one left who could travel.”

Desmond lowered the page.

Callum looked toward the ruined barracks. “The official account blamed a winter surge.”

“There may have been one,” Desmond said. “By then, the garrison would already have been starving.”

Weston studied the ration figures. Every allowance had been crossed out and replaced by a smaller one.

“We cannot depend on Crown wagons.”

Callum glanced toward the smoking Duskmaw meat. “We have more food than yesterday. That is not the same as producing our own.”

“Then food remains the first problem. Repairs follow. After that, tools and the road.”

Elara studied the roofs around them. “You are planning to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Even after that nearly buried us?”

Weston looked toward the fresh collapse. “Especially after that.”

Desmond folded the manifest and placed it inside his map case.

“If I am managing supplies, I need the authority to stop work that wastes them.”

“You have it.”

Desmond seemed surprised. “You did not even argue.”

“You know the stores better than I do.”

“That has never mattered much at Ashcombe.”

“This is not Ashcombe.”

Callum leaned against the well. “We will discover whether that remains true the first time he tells you no.”

“We probably will.”

Desmond nodded. “Fine.”

Weston looked toward Callum and Elara. “The same applies to both of you. Callum decides whether a defence plan can be held. Elara decides what her magic can safely do. I will ask questions, but I will not order either of you to promise something impossible.”

Callum’s expression remained guarded. “We’ll see.”

That was enough for now.

Food was no longer an immediate crisis, but it still required variety and long-term planning.

Callum and Elara searched the eastern grounds while Weston and Desmond inspected the remaining buildings. Rabbit tracks crossed the old drainage ditch, and deer had passed near the stream.

Callum set snares using wire from the cart. Elara used narrow strikes of water to stun fish without frightening the whole school.

They returned before midday with two rabbits and three fish.

Desmond looked from the catch to the smoking Duskmaw meat. “For the first time, we may have more food than people.”

“For the moment,” Callum said.

Elara placed the fish near the preparation table. “He carried both rabbits with the arm I told him not to use.”

“The other hand held the bow.”

“You could have made two trips.”

“I could also have stayed in the forest long enough to attract something larger.”

Elara stared at him.

Callum walked toward the gate before she answered.

The officer’s quarters showed that families had once lived at Duskwatch.

Tally marks covered the wall beside the narrow bed. Desmond first mistook them for a count of days, but the groups matched the reductions in the ration records.

Three horizontal lines had been carved into the doorframe at increasing heights. A date appeared beside each.

“A child lived here,” Elara said.

The highest mark was more than a year old. No later one followed it.

Beneath the bed, Callum found a locked chest.

The mechanism had rusted solid. Weston restored the internal pieces without changing the original metal, and the lid opened with a quiet click.

Inside lay a tarnished signet ring, a braided ribbon and a small wooden bird. One wing had been worn smooth by years of handling.

Callum lifted the ring. “This may identify the Warden.”

Elara picked up the bird, studied it and returned it beside the ribbon. “Keep everything together.”

They moved the chest to a dry corner of the southern tower.

Weston claimed the old armory as a workshop.

The forge had been removed or destroyed, leaving only a cracked base and an opening where the chimney had once stood. Empty racks remained along the walls.

They sorted the debris into piles of stone, wood, iron, hide, bone and materials Weston did not yet understand.

The Duskmaw hide occupied an entire section of the courtyard. Callum and Elara stretched it across a stronger frame while Weston shaped smooth pegs from the monster’s ribs.

“You could turn all this rubble into tools,” Desmond said.

“Yes.”

“Then why spend half the morning sorting it?”

“Because changing something twice wastes time. Wood should stay wood if we need a handle. Iron should stay iron if it only requires repair. The hide may be worth more than any ordinary material I could create from it.”

Desmond glanced toward the barracks. “You sound more cautious today.”

“The roof helped.”

They made basic tools first: hammers, chisels, hooks, nails and a saw.

Weston transformed selected stone fragments into compact steel billets, then reshaped those billets into finished objects. Working in two stages took longer, but it allowed him to inspect the metal before creating anything complicated.

The saw blade required the most concentration.

He stopped twice while forming the teeth and rested until the pressure behind his eyes faded. The finished saw cut through ordinary timber with little resistance.

At night, Weston returned to the light sphere.

He could already make it glow while touching it. The next problem was keeping it lit without continuously feeding it his own mana.

He experimented with a larger internal lattice that reached the glass in several places. Elara helped by showing him how ambient mana moved through the air around the courtyard. It did not flow like wind or water, but it gathered more strongly near stone that had absorbed magic over many years.

Weston altered the lattice to collect that background energy.

The first attempt glowed for several seconds after he removed his hand, then faded.

The second lasted nearly a minute.

The third continued for more than an hour before the pattern destabilized and the light began flickering.

He did not install it anywhere.

For three nights, the sphere remained on a stone table in the gatehouse while they watched for heat, cracks or dangerous mana buildup.

Nothing happened beyond the occasional flicker.

Weston refined the pattern again, lowering the amount of mana it drew and spreading the energy more evenly through the glass.

The light became steady.

Only then did he add a simple metal switch along the base. Pressing it opened or closed part of the mana pathway. It was not intelligent and did not truly understand commands. It functioned because the physical pattern changed when the switch moved.

Desmond tested it repeatedly.

“It needs no oil?”

“No.”

“No candle?”

“No.”

“How long will it work?”

“I don’t know. The internal metal may eventually degrade, or the pattern may drift.”

“How long before that happens?”

“I still don’t know.”

Desmond held the glowing sphere beneath his face. “You have created a permanent light and seem determined to sound disappointed.”

“I created one light that has survived three days.”

“And if it survives three years?”

“Then it becomes important.”

Desmond looked toward the dark gatehouse beyond its glow. “It is already important here.”

Weston made three more after the design remained stable for another night.

One was placed inside the gatehouse, one in the workshop and one in the southern tower. The fourth stayed on the workbench for continued testing.

They kept the lanterns and remaining oil in storage.

Depending entirely on an invention less than a week old would have been foolish.

The main gate required two days.

The old portcullis bars were too corroded to restore at their original size. Weston collected stone from the collapsed northern tower and transformed it into additional steel.

Each large conversion took nearly twenty minutes.

The stone darkened and contracted beneath his hands until a compact metal billet remained. Sweat gathered beneath Weston’s clothes despite the cold air.

During the second billet, his concentration began to slip.

Elara noticed the change in his breathing.

“Stop.”

“I’m nearly finished.”

“You said that before the roof moved.”

Weston removed his hands.

A pale line ran through the half-finished billet where the transformation had not fully completed. Continuing would have left a hidden weakness inside the metal.

He sat, drank water and waited until the pressure behind his eyes faded.

Only then did he finish the work.

They used the steel for hinge plates, braces and a locking mechanism.

The doors themselves were wood.

Weston removed rot from the best surviving roof beams, joined the usable mass and shaped it into thick interlocking planks. He aligned the grain along the directions that would carry the greatest force and formed internal supports as part of the structure.

Callum tested one unfinished plank with his sword.

The blade cut less than an inch.

“This is still wood?”

“Yes.”

“A normal axe?”

“It will damage it eventually.”

“A quillfang?”

“It should hold.”

“A Duskmaw?”

Weston looked toward the stretched hide in the courtyard. “For several impacts, perhaps. The steel braces are there so we never need the exact number.”

They added metal reinforcement to the inner face and fitted the doors to the restored hinges.

Callum pushed one closed.

It moved smoothly through the stone arch and settled against the frame without scraping.

Fresh timber now showed against the old walls. Smoke rose from the meat racks, and a steady white light shone from the southern tower after sunset.

The keep no longer looked empty from the road.

The unknown observers appeared on the third evening.

Desmond noticed them from the tower while Weston and Elara fitted a new cover over the well.

“There are people on the southern ridge.”

Callum reached the stairs first.

Six figures stood beyond bow range where the old road curved down from the hill. They wore travel cloaks and carried packs. At least two held bows.

A thin line of smoke rose farther south.

“Bandits?” Elara asked.

“Possibly,” Callum said.

“They are making no effort to hide,” Desmond replied.

“That does not make them friendly.”

The travellers remained on the ridge. One stood apart from the others and leaned heavily on a staff.

Elara noticed. “Someone is hurt.”

“Or wants us to think so,” Callum said.

Weston studied the distance between the ridge and the repaired gate.

“Close the doors.”

Desmond looked at him. “They already know we are here.”

“They can see the smoke and tower light. They do not need an open path into the courtyard.”

Callum nodded. “Agreed.”

They closed the gate and set the reinforced crossbar in place. The light in the tower remained visible, making no attempt to conceal that Duskwatch was occupied.

The strangers watched until dusk, then disappeared beyond the ridge.

Callum took the first watch. Weston relieved him near midnight.

Nothing moved on the road.

Shortly before dawn, Weston heard metal strike stone outside the gate.

The sound came once.

He woke the others before climbing the tower.

No one stood on the road.

When daylight strengthened, Callum and Weston opened the gate while Elara watched from above.

An object had been placed in the centre of the road about fifty yards away.

It was a broken hunting spear wrapped in white cloth.

Dark blood stained the fabric.

Desmond joined them at the entrance. “That was not there last night.”

Callum said nothing and moved forward carefully.

The spearhead had snapped near its base. Teeth marks scored the wooden shaft, and several black metallic bristles had been tied beneath the cloth.

Quillfang bristles.

A message had been scratched into the wood.

SIX ALIVE. THREE WOUNDED. PACK FOLLOWING.

A rough arrow pointed south.

Callum read the words twice. “It could be bait.”

“Yes,” Weston said.

Elara came down from the tower. “It could also be six people who will not survive another attack.”

Desmond examined the tracks around the spear. Only one person had approached during the night. The prints were uneven, and one foot had dragged through the dirt.

“The person who left this was injured.”

“Unless they prepared the tracks,” Callum said.

Weston picked up the broken spear.

Taking wounded strangers into the keep would consume food, medicine and time. The Duskmaw meat meant they could feed more people now, but the roofs remained damaged and four defenders were barely enough for the walls they already held.

Leaving the strangers outside would carry its own cost.

Duskwatch could not become a settlement if everyone who approached it learned that its gate opened only for the healthy and useful.

“Desmond, count the food and prepare the safest part of the barracks for wounded people. Elara, gather what you need for treatment. Callum, choose a meeting point that does not lead directly back to the gate.”

Callum looked south. “You have decided to go.”

“I have decided to verify the message.”

“And if the pack is real?”

Weston examined the black bristles tied beneath the cloth.

“Then we choose the ground before it reaches us.”