Kael woke before the light reached the tower.

  Not because of fear. Not because of sound. Just the habit of it his body knowing when enough rest had been taken. The stone floor beneath him was cold, familiar. He lay still for a moment, staring at the dark shape of the ceiling above, listening to the quiet.

  Ash slept nearby, curled tight but alert even in rest. His ears twitched once, then settled again.

  Across the tower, Elin lay on the bed they’d built for her. Straw packed thick beneath hides and cloth, raised just enough from the floor to keep the worst of the cold away. It wasn’t much, but it was deliberate. Kael watched her breathe for a moment, slow and steady, then looked away.

  When he finally stood, the scrape of his boots against stone woke her.

  “…Morning,” she said, blinking sleep from her eyes.

  “Morning.”

  She sat up slowly, pulling the hide closer around her shoulders. Her gaze flicked briefly to the floor where Kael had slept, then back to his face. “Did you rest?”

  “Enough.”

  She didn’t argue. She never did when he answered like that.

  Outside, the air was cool and damp. A thin mist clung low to the ground, softening the edges of the fence and the half-worked field beyond it. The planted rows were visible if you knew where to look dark lines cutting through lighter soil, uneven but intentional.

  Elin joined him at the doorway, squinting toward the field. “It held through the night.”

  Kael nodded. “Good.”

  They walked the boundary together, slow and quiet. The fence stood as it had the day before posts firm, rope taut where it mattered. No new signs along the line. No pressed earth. No marks that didn’t belong to them.

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  That, Kael thought, was a kind of success.

  They stopped at the edge of the field. The turned soil was darker here, looser where they’d worked hardest. Seeds lay hidden beneath it, scattered by careful hands rather than tools meant for the job. Plenty of ground still waited untouched.

  Elin crouched, brushing dirt from her fingers. “We only finished half.”

  “I know.”

  She hesitated. “Do you think it’s enough?”

  Kael considered the question longer than she expected. “It’s a start,” he said finally. “Plants don’t care if you finish in one day. They care if you come back.”

  She smiled faintly at that.

  They spent the morning on smaller things. Reinforcing loose rope where the knots had slackened. Packing straw more tightly into Elin’s mattress, layering old cloth over it to keep the warmth in. Kael wedged a fallen stone back into the tower wall where a draft had crept through, sealing it with mud and patience.

  None of it felt urgent.

  That mattered.

  At midday, they sat near the field and ate what little they’d brought berries, dried roots, water passed between them. Ash lay nearby, watching the fence more than the forest, as if memorizing the shape of the line.

  Elin broke the silence. “When the rest of the seeds go in… we’ll need to be careful with the water.”

  Kael nodded. “We’ll finish planting soon. Just not all at once.”

  She glanced at him. “You don’t rush things.”

  “I used to,” he said. Then, quieter, “It never helped.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant.

  In the afternoon, clouds drifted in, thin and gray, dulling the light. They didn’t bring rain, just the promise of it. Kael stood at the edge of the field again, studying the soil, the uneven rows, the work left undone.

  Not failure, he reminded himself. Sequence.

  Elin joined him, folding her arms against the cooling air. “Tomorrow,” she said. “We finish what we can.”

  “Yes.”

  “And after that?”

  Kael looked toward the tower, the fence, the quiet ruins beyond. “After that, we keep going.”

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  As evening settled in, they returned inside. Kael laid fresh straw where he usually slept, packing it flatter than before. Not a bed. Just less stone. Elin watched him do it but said nothing.

  When the fire burned low, the tower filled with the soft sounds of settling wood and distant wind. Ash took his place near the doorway again, half-asleep but aware.

  Elin spoke once more, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For… all of this.”

  Kael didn’t look at her. “It’s what needs doing.”

  She smiled anyway.

  When sleep came, it was light but steady. The field waited. The fence held. The seeds rested beneath the soil, unseen but present.

  Not everything had settled.

  But enough had.

  And for now, that was enough.