The attic ladder groaned as Kael pulled it down, dust spilling from its hinges in a thin, drifting curtain. The sound echoed through the tower, hollow and tired, as if the wood itself protested being disturbed after so many quiet years.

  Ash sat below, head tilted, watching with focused curiosity. His ears flicked at each creak, but he didn’t retreat.

  Elin lingered near the wall, arms folded loosely at her chest. Her eyes followed Kael not the ladder. She watched the way he tested each rung with his foot before trusting it, the way his shoulders tensed before he climbed.

  Kael ascended slowly.

  Each rung creaked under his weight. The air grew stale the higher he went, thick with dust and age. The attic was low and cramped, the roof sloping inward on both sides, forcing him to crouch. Narrow gaps in the wooden boards let thin blades of gray light cut through the gloom, illuminating drifting motes of dust that hung suspended in the air.

  It smelled of dry wood and old things left behind.

  Forgotten hands.

  At first, it looked like nothing just shapes swallowed by shadow, corners softened by years of neglect. But as his eyes adjusted, details emerged.

  A stack of warped boards leaned against the far wall. Kael ran his hand over one rough, splintered, but still solid beneath the damage. Some were cracked beyond use, others merely weathered. Enough to matter.

  Beside them sat a shallow wooden box, its lid half-rotted. Inside lay a small pile of rusted nails. Their heads were dull, edges eaten by time, but when Kael tested one between his fingers, it bent only slightly before holding.

  Not useless.

  Not yet.

  He shifted farther in.

  A wooden mallet lay half-buried beneath cloth that had once been linen. The fabric crumbled to dust when he touched it, but the mallet remained intact, its handle worn smooth by long use. Someone had held this often. Someone had built things here.

  Nearby, a broken basket held scraps of rope brittle, frayed, but salvageable in parts. Kael gathered them carefully, already thinking of knots, bindings, ways to make things hold together just a little longer.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then he noticed the pouch.

  It was tucked behind a beam, small and carefully tied, hidden with intent. As if whoever placed it there meant to return.

  Kael untied it slowly.

  Seeds spilled into his palm.

  Small. Pale. Rough-skinned.

  He frowned, rolling them between his fingers. He didn’t know their name not in this world but he knew them all the same. He knew them from hunger. From memory. From lessons learned when food meant survival, not comfort.

  His chest tightened.

  He climbed down carefully and held the pouch out.

  “Elin.”

  She took it with both hands, her expression sharpening as she examined the contents. Her fingers trembled slightly not from fear this time, but recognition.

  “…Potatoes,” she said quietly.

  Kael released a breath through his nose. “Thought so.”

  “They’re old,” she added, then hesitated, weighing one in her palm. “But… not dead. Maybe.”

  Maybe was enough.

  Kael laid everything out on the table nails, mallet, boards, rope. He stepped back and looked at the small collection. It wasn’t much.

  But it was more than yesterday.

  More than hope alone.

  He walked to the doorway and looked outside.

  The tower stood on a slight rise, its stone foundation still solid despite the ruin around it. Beyond, the land sloped gently toward the river. Open. Exposed. Dangerous. The kind of space where things could approach unseen if you weren’t careful.

  Kael crouched and pressed his hand into the dirt just beyond the threshold.

  Dry on top.

  Firmer beneath.

  He dragged his fingers slowly across the ground, carving a line.

  Not a fence.

  Not yet.

  Just a boundary.

  “If we plant,” he said at last, voice low, “it has to be close.”

  Elin looked up. “Close?”

  “So we can see it. Hear it.” He drew another line, intersecting the first. “So nothing walks in without us knowing.”

  She followed his movements, understanding forming slowly. “You mean… around the tower.”

  “Around us,” Kael corrected.

  Ash padded forward and sat directly on one of the lines Kael had drawn, tail curling neatly around his paws. Kael let out a short breath not quite a laugh.

  Elin knelt beside the markings, careful not to smudge them. “A fence won’t stop everything.”

  “I know.” Kael stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “It just needs to slow them down.”

  She nodded. No argument. Just acceptance.

  “I know a little about farming,” she said after a moment. “Not much. Enough to ruin soil if I’m careless.”

  Kael glanced at her. “You tell me when not to dig.”

  She hesitated.

  Then she smiled small, uncertain, but real.

  The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the ruined village. Kael erased the lines with his boot before going inside not because the idea was gone, but because it wasn’t ready to exist yet.

  Inside the tower, Elin spread fresh straw near the fire pit, careful and deliberate. Kael handed her a piece, and she hesitated before taking it, their fingers brushing briefly.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Kael nodded and turned away, settling near the doorway with his spear within reach.

  Ash curled up between them, tail flicking once before going still.

  Outside, the forest whispered.

  Inside, the tower held.

  And in the dirt just beyond the door though no marks remained the lines had already been drawn.