Groundbreaking Day

Strange. The granite was colder than Marvek expected. Not just cold from the unusually chill air of the previous night, but cold in the way that old things are cold. Cold as in... No, that thought was too dangerous. Not yet.

Marvek adjusted his tools and his gloves, the pin declaring him Master Builder of the Argent Compact shone in the budding light. Fifty years it had taken him to earn that honor, fifty years of scars and sweat, despair and hope. Despite his long, and arguably brilliant career, this moment right here was one he'd never grown used to. It was special, intimate, fragile.

Around him, the pulsing energy of leylines tore at the edge of his mind and bones. If he closed his eyes and focused, it was almost like standing in the middle of a hurricane. White chalk lines marked the center of the future spire, perfect and confident against the gray stone.

Behind him, boots crunched on loose grit, followed by the faint huff of someone trying not to be out of breath from the climb.

"You're staring at it like it's going to buck you off," Jessa said.

He just smiled.

"Maybe it will. Wouldn't surprise me. This place feels alive enough."

Jessa snorted as she stepped beside him, her own hands already dusted white with survey powder. Dashian stonecaller gloves; thick, layered with runic thread, designed for shaping earth instead of ink. She flexed her fingers, like a musician warming up before a performance. Jessa was a geotamer and one of the best, he'd heard, though her youthful face could put doubt in anyone's mind.

“So this is it,” she mused, wonder creeping into her voice. “The grand beginning. Thought there would be more pomp."

"Tomorrow. Today, it is just us and the wind."

"Hm."

Marvek turned to her, finally looking at her. The light was playing in her hair like a halo of fire, but it was the slight frown that caught his eye.

“Be grateful," he said at last, turning back to the empty space filled with promises and visions. "Last time I broke ground, three barons brought poets and a legion of celebrants. My ears still haven’t recovered.”

She laughed. A real laugh, not the polite court kind he’d gotten used to since arriving under Queen Ivelae’s patronage. He liked that about her. She didn’t care that this project carried royal hopes or that Theron of House Saelwyn himself had approved the designs. To her, it was just a massive piece of stone that needed convincing.

“So,” she said, stepping into the marked circle, “you ready to insult a broken mountain?”

“You make it sound rude.”

“Stone have long memories. If you’re going to dig into its heart, you should at least be polite first.”

Marvek watched as she placed her gloved palm on the rock and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, barely audible, murmuring a Dashian earth-cant. Not commanding. Asking.

He’d seen the work of her likes before, of course, but never on this scale. He found himself holding his breath. As the sun rose higher and higher, his team started gathering around the perimeter: enchanters with crystal rods, Couralian architects consulting shimmering scale-models, Akati artificers unpacking brass frameworks that ticked and whirred softly like waking insects.

All of it, for his vision, his dream, his spire. He found himself moving to the center of the circle himself, where the storm in his bones settles.

“You ever think about what it’ll be like?” he asked quietly.

Jessa opened her eyes but didn’t remove her hand.

“Cold. Windy. Full of people acting important,” she said. “And you stressing yourself mad over load distributions.”

He chuckled. “I mean after it’s finished.”

She finally lifted her palm, and his heart skipped. The stone beneath it looked slightly softer, like warmed wax. Malleable. Suddenly, it was as if a massive weight had lifted off his chest. Was he becoming a believer in ancient earth magic in his older days?

“Oh,” she said. “That.”

“Yes. That.”

She stepped back beside him. The wind tugged at her braid, lifting fine dust across the empty circle. “They say scholars will come from all corners of Avaleen just to look at it. Students. Pilgrims. Ta-Veryn mystics trying to map their dreams. Maybe even those silver-robed Veil-watchers from the southern isles.”

“That’s if it works.”

“It will work,” she said, without hesitation.

“You’re very sure for someone about to let us punch a hole in her homeland,” he said.

She glanced at him. “You think I’m doing this because I trust the plans?”

“… A little?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m doing it because I want to see what happens when traditions stop arguing and finally build something together.”

Again, he found himself at a loss and deeply touched. This groundbreaking day was not like the others. Something truly remarkable was about to unfold here. He could feel it. Before he could respond, one of the Couralian enchanters raised a hand. “Head Builder! We’re aligned on the central current. The harmonic anchors are ready.”

Jessa flexed her fingers again. “The earth’s listening, builder Marvek. Try not to shout.”

Marvek stepped forward into the circle. The air felt tighter here. Nimble fingers unfastened his trusted hammer from the heavy belt. He caught Jessa’s eye as he hefted its weight.

“Last chance to run,” he said.

She grinned. “You first.”

He raised the hammer. For a moment, everything went silent. No tools. No wind. No murmurs. Just granite and sky and the held breath of a thousand future possibilities.

He brought the hammer down.

The impact rang out across the plateau — clean, bright, alive. Then a tremor shook the ground beneath them. A low vibration bloomed like the first note of a song no one had heard before.

Jessa’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” she breathed. “It recognized us.”

Marvek laughed, the sound carrying into the open air.

“That’s good,” he said. “I’d hate to build a tower somewhere that didn’t want to be known.”

“And it will be known,” she replied, looking out across the Mirathen expanse. “From the deserts of Dashia to the towers of Thal-Veryn. A needle in the sky.”

“A bridge,” he corrected. “Not just between lands. Between what we know and what we’re brave enough to find.”

Her eyes followed his, tracing the imaginary lines of a future made of moonglass, skyiron, and basalt.

“You really think we’ll touch the Veil someday?”

“I think,” Marvek said, planting the hammer back into the chalk-marked stone, “that one day people will stand where we are and argue about whether we were mad or brilliant.”

She smirked. “Both, probably.”

“Good. That means we did something worth remembering.”

And beneath their feet, the land hummed — not in warning, not yet — but in anticipation. It was time for the storm caused by the Lunar Solstice to find its anchor once more.