The village was quiet, but not at peace.
Children still laughed between chores. Smoke still rose from cookfires. But something different had begun to thread through the air—a tension not from fear, but from fatigue.
Toren walked the perimeter at dusk and saw it in the eyes of every person he passed: shoulders sagged, tools dragged, greetings muted.
They were tired.
Not just physically.
Spiritually.
Mira met him outside the relay bay, arms folded, a grease smear across her cheek and frustration in her eyes.
"You see it too, right?" she said without preamble.
He didn't pretend.
"Yeah."
"They're stretched thin. They work when you ask. They build what you design. But you haven't told them where it ends."
Toren looked toward the rising tower, still gleaming faintly in the stormlight.
"It doesn't end."
"That's the problem."
He turned to her.
Mira didn't flinch.
"You're pushing them toward something big, Vale. Maybe important. But it's not clear. And people don't run on systems—they run on meaning."
Toren said nothing.
She stepped closer.
"You need to slow down. Or give them something they can hold onto. A vision. A reason."
The system pinged silently in his peripheral.
Morale Shift Detected: -4%Fatigue Factor RisingLeadership Load: +1
He looked at Mira.
Then nodded once.
"I'll give them something real."