The South Civic Shelter's rooftop buzzed with movement.
Just hours after the impromptu speech, construction was already underway. Trucks gutted from old military stockpiles rolled in with supplies. Mana welders hissed, scaffold frames clanged, and workers moved like they hadn't just been on the brink of walking out. There was no laughter—just grit, urgency, and a strange undercurrent of hope.
Derek watched from a makeshift overlook—an old water tower with a partially collapsed railing, now reinforced with steel bars and reinforced metals. From up here, he saw them: the welders, the fabricators, and all sorts of specialists repurposing decommissioned drones. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't fast.
But it was happening.
Yvalna stood beside him, arms folded. Her coat flared gently in the wind, yet she was a still point amidst the chaos.
"You surprised me, you don't look the type," she said quietly.
"Didn't know I had it in me?" Derek replied, eyes still on the workers.
