The sun had breached the horizon when Ash Company began to stir.
Dawn was upon the sky, and the courtyard of the abandoned fortress clattered with activity. Boots scraped on stone, low voices passed orders and names, and the steady thump of golem footsteps echoed like distant thunder. In the crisp morning air, the scent of forge smoke mingled with that of dry earth and steel polish.
"Move the preservation crates first!" Martin's voice sliced through the background noise. "Don't load them with the children's shelter! They need air, not grain!"
At the courtyard's center, the newly finished transport box stood like a silent promise. It was massive—larger than a supply wagon, reinforced with blacksteel bands and thick panels of treated wood. It sat atop four sturdy wheels the size of millstones, each fitted with shock-absorbing joints. Chains trailed from the front like reins meant for a god.
Peter and his engineers had worked through the night, pausing only for brief snatches of water and warmth. Kindling, the designated hauler, stood beside the box—still in its dormant posture, waiting for its handler's signal. Even at rest, the golem looked like a siege weapon ready to be unleashed.
"Wheel test clear!" Peter shouted, shielding his eyes from the glare as sunlight caught on Kindling's shoulder plates. "No warping under weight. Load continues."
Martin jogged past Roa, breath misting in the air. "We're packing the grain bins last—quick access on the march. Water barrels are already bound to Aegis-1's side pods."
"Medical satchels?" Roa asked without looking up.
"Inside the shelter box. Left wall, latched but reachable. I've included extra bindings, just in case."
"Good," Roa said, her voice sharp and precise. She turned her gaze toward the gates.
"You're late," she added as Fornos appeared, quiet as ever.
"I was busy."
"Eavesdropping?"
"Planning."
He walked to Kindling and placed a gloved hand on its armored shin. The golem shifted slightly, responding to the familiar connection. The faint humming of mana alignment vibrated through the cobblestones.
Fornos turned toward Peter.
"Did you add shock dampeners beneath the floorboards?"
"Yes," Peter replied. "Spring weave reinforced with bonewood. It'll rock a little, but not enough to jostle the kids."
"And the axle housing?"
"Double-locked, with layered enchantments. We tried both friction and float anchors. I trust it'll hold."
Fornos nodded slowly. "It better. If this box breaks on the road, we might lose more than children."
There was a pause. The air grew still.
Peter dropped his gaze. "We'll keep it intact."
Martin stepped forward, brushing soot from his sleeves. "Route is planned. First leg follows the old river path—should be clear of Relict traces. But I want scouts out ahead."
"I'll send a team," Roa replied, already eyeing her runners. "Varen and Lila—gear up. You're on point."
Fornos turned to the pair of handlers lounging by the supply crates. "Mary. Ross."
"Yes!" they replied in unison, standing a bit too quickly.
"In posi—what happened? You two look wrecked."
"It's because they spent the night together, forgetting that we have to depart early," Roa said dryly.
"You could've just indicated," Fornos replied.
"Why? Embarrassed?"
"No. But now you will have to explain to them." He pointed to a small group of children watching nearby, wide-eyed and silent.
Mary and Ross flushed, but quickly fell into their professional roles. With silent gestures and deliberate movement, they summoned their respective golems. Aegis-1 and Aegis-2 stirred from stillness and began to move with slow, heavy grace, the enchantments engraved into their joints flaring faintly.
Their steps shook dust from the old stones.
The rest of the handlers followed suit. One by one, the remaining golems activated—twenty-five in total. Each bore its own mark of the battlefield: Thornjaw with its jagged bone crown, Craterhoof dragging reinforced limbs thick as tree trunks, Kindling now fully awake, its exhaust ports exhaling pale vapor.
Each was a monument to a different philosophy of war.
"Is this everything?" Fornos asked as he surveyed the gathering line.
Peter nodded. "Fort's cleared. Supplies counted twice."
"Three times," Martin added.
Fornos stepped back and looked toward the horizon. "Then we march."
The gates opened.
Wind swept through the courtyard, lifting canvas flaps and fluttering cloak hems. The children were gently led into the box by a group of older engineers and handlers. No one cried. They had learned better.
Roa signaled her squad. Thirty combatants moved to the front and flanks, weapons checked and spells bound to gauntlets. Park and Mark, ever silent, moved with their units, guiding the handlers with invisible threads of coordination. Somehow, everyone still understood them.
Peter climbed up onto the rear platform of the shelter box, checking the weight distribution.
Martin took one last glance at the fort.
And Fornos, standing at the center of it all, raised a single hand.
Kindling pulled.
The chains tightened. The wheels creaked. The massive box lurched forward.
The Ash Company began its march to the coast.
Behind them, the fortress slowly vanished into the morning fog.
Ahead, ten days of open land. Ten days of risk, of hunger, of Relict shadows. Ten days of keeping the children alive.
But they moved together—golem and human, silence and steel.
And for now, that was enough.