Silvercrest did not sleep after the attack.
It rebuilt.
Before the sun fully crested the eastern ridge, warriors were already hauling timber to replace the shattered watchtower supports. Smoke from the burned storehouse drifted upward in thin gray ribbons, a reminder rather than a wound. Healers moved briskly between cabins, checking injuries. Scouts doubled their patrol routes without being told.
No one spoke of fear.
But it lingered.
Aria stood at the highest ridge overlooking the outskirts, arms folded against the early morning chill. From here she could see the stretch of forest where the barrier had risen the night before. Nothing marked the ground now. No scar. No shadow.
But she remembered the sound it made when it shattered.
She remembered the moment of near-loss.
Leadershi
