The sun had barely risen when the work began.
Morrigan had spent the previous evening dividing the village into squads based on a series of tests she administered with the same casual brutality she applied to everything. Strength assessments, knowledge checks, problem-solving exercises, even a bizarre task involving identifying poisonous plants blindfolded. Each test was designed to slot people into the roles where they would be most useful, and by midnight, every able-bodied villager had their assignment.
Grub landed on the trap and fortification squad alongside Orobas.
The assignment made sense. Between the two of them, they had enough knowledge of the surrounding terrain and its wildlife to turn the forest into a gauntlet. Orobas understood the landscape at an academic level, knowing which soil was loose or solid, which trees had roots that ran shallow enough to destabilize, and which animal trails channeled movement into predictable corridors.
Grub's contributions were different. He knew how enemies thought because he constantly planned around worst-case scenarios, and despite having lived in the area for a fraction of the time most villagers had, he already knew more about the surrounding terrain than half the Guardians. Weeks of obsessive note-taking, forest expeditions, and meticulous observation had filled his enchanted notebook with detailed maps, elevation sketches, and soil composition notes that even Orobas found impressive.
Truthfully it made sense.
Grub had also spent weeks wandering the wilderness and was experienced at building things He had constructed snares and deadfalls in the wilderness while he survived alone after leaving the others at the Ridge. He had built a camouflage suit from forest debris that fooled Lacert patrols for weeks. He had also rigged a Jangushut into a crude signal jammer using scavenged cables and a low tier gemeven if it turned out to be unnecessary. The boy had an engineer's instinct wrapped inside a survivalist's practicality, and Morrigan had identified that combination immediately during her assessments.
Luthiel, on the other hand, had been assigned to a defensive construction squad. That assignment lasted approximately forty minutes before it fell apart.
The problem wasn't Luthiel's willingness. She had shown up on time, ready to work, with Thi's crimson eyes burning and her sleeves rolled up. The problem was everyone else. Three of the four villagers assigned to her squad had quietly requested transfers. The fourth simply refused to show up. When Morrigan heard, her basin started churning and her staff hit the ground hard enough to crack stone.
She was seconds away from dragging every single one of them back by force when Luthiel had stepped forward.
"It's fine, Master." Lu's golden eyes carried a practiced smile that had absorbed this kind of rejection a thousand times before. "I'll help Sir Urgor instead. He could use an extra pair of hands with all the weapon orders coming in."
Morrigan stared at her for a long moment. The anger in her eyes fought against something softer and lost. She sighed heavily and nodded.
"Fine. But only because you asked."
Urgor took Luthiel in without a moment's hesitation, his stubby arms wrapping around her in a brief hug before immediately putting her to work hauling ore and stoking the forge.
While Luthiel hammered metal and Urgor shaped weapons, Grub sat at a desk in the planning room with Orobas, hunched over maps covered in annotations.
The old teacher scratched his horned head
"Now then." He unrolled another map. "Let's discuss where we should start."
"If we line the eastern approach with tripwires here and here," Grub said, tapping two points on the map, "anything coming through those trees will funnel toward this ridge. The slope is steep enough that anyone who trips will slide into the ravine."
Orobas leaned over the map, his blue irises bright against his black sclera. One clawed finger traced the terrain line Grub had indicated.
"The soil there is loose and mostly clay. Rain will have softened it further." He nodded slowly. "A falling body would gain significant momentum on that grade. Not bad, Grub."
They worked through the morning like that, debating placement and materials. Orobas contributed ecological knowledge that transformed simple traps into environmental hazards. Certain fungi released disorienting spores when crushed underfoot. A particular species of vine contracted when touched, potentially entangling anyone who brushed against it. The forest itself could become a weapon if they understood its components well enough.
By midday, Grub had a preliminary plan mapped out. He tucked the notebook into his coat and headed outside.
The village perimeter needed to be walked personally. Maps were useful but they couldn't capture the feel of terrain beneath your feet, the exact sightlines between trees, or the way sound traveled through different densities of foliage. Grub spent the next several hours circling the village outskirts with his notebook open, checking and rechecking every potential trap location.
The slight chill recently had not dulled. Small winds drifted through the trees and carried the scent of damp earth.
Ceasus had definitely arrived. Grub ignored the chill as he walked.
He tested soil firmness with his boot and measured distances between trees by counting his strides. Patiently, he noted which sections of the forest floor were covered in dry leaves that would crunch underfoot and which were padded with silent moss and identified natural chokepoints where the terrain funneled movement and marked open areas where the Lacerts would have clear lines of approach.
After making his rounds close to the village, he ventured further out for the more distant trap positions, placing markers where pit traps and deadfalls could slow any advance party before it reached the village perimeter. Out here, away from the Guardian patrol routes, the forest felt wilder and less tamed.
As he worked, a grudging thought surfaced that he had been trying to suppress. Grub scowled. He hated admitting it. Absolutely hated it. But the horned bastard's ability would be incredibly useful.
Grub's jaw tightened at the admission. The Guardian was a dangerous, impulsive killer who had tried to murder him in his own room. But his Calm was perhaps the most tactically significant Forte in the entire village when it came to defensive warfare. If Pazuzu positioned himself near the trap zones during the initial engagement, every Lacert soldier within his range would feel utterly unthreatened. Most traps only worked once. After seeing someone trigger a trap, soldiers naturally became cautious and watched their footing. They would check suspicious areas and advance carefully.
Pazuzu's ability destroyed that instinct. If the enemy lowered their guard, even briefly, then a trap remained effective long after it should have stopped working. It is a simple but valuable equation. The traps alone might catch a few careless soldiers. Combined with Pazuzu's aura, they could catch nearly all of them.
A soldier watches his friend disappear into a pit. Then steps into the next one himself.
It is totally ridiculous. Yet entirely possible.
Grub sighed. The realization annoyed him. Without question, Pazuzu would be one of the most important assets during the opening stages of the battle. The thought made Grub want to punch something.
Despite his negative feelings on the matter, he scribbled the thought in his notebook along with a rough diagram of optimal positioning, then headed back to the planning room.
Orobas listened to his full report, examined the field notes, and offered adjustments based on seasonal animal migration patterns that might interfere with certain trap placements. Then they discussed Pazuzu.
"His ability would certainly complement the fortification strategy," Orobas agreed, stroking his white beard thoughtfully. "Though convincing him to cooperate with you specifically may prove difficult."
"I know," Grub replied flatly. "But this isn't about him and me. It's about keeping people alive."
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the field. Grub worked alongside a small team of Guardians, digging pits, stringing tripwires, and rigging deadfalls from heavy branches and weighted stones. The physical labor was grueling but not harder than what he was used to, his body easily fell into patterns it had learned months ago in the wilderness.
He was deep in a concealed pit, packing the false floor with woven branches, when a shadow fell across the opening.
"Scribe."
Grub looked up. El stood at the edge of the pit, her blue-streaked bangs hanging over her hidden eyes. Her expression carried its usual total absence of emotion, though the slight dust on her dress and the faint smell of metal clinging to her hands suggested she had recently left the forge.
"What's up?" Grub asked, climbing out of the hole.
"Nothing of consequence. I requested a short break from the constant hammering and the blacksmith obliged." She stood beside him, surveying the half-constructed trap network stretching through the trees. "I wanted to see what you were working on."
She paused, then asked a question that carried more meaning than her flat delivery suggested.
"Why do you work so vigorously to protect us?"
Grub frowned. He wiped dirt from his hands and looked back toward the village, its rooftops barely visible through the canopy.
"I don't know," he said after a moment. The answer came honestly, which surprised him. "I like you guys. This place took me in, even if half of it wanted me dead at first."
He picked up a length of rope and began measuring it against the nearest tree trunk.
"But if I said my own hatred wasn't a big part of the reason, that would be a lie. The Lacerts chained me, threatened me, and tried to use me as a tool. I want to make them regret that with their final breaths."
El nodded. "I figured as much."
She sat down on a nearby stump and watched him work. Her hidden gaze followed his hands as he tied knots and tested tension, each movement he made was calculated and precise.
"What is this one designed to do?" she asked, gesturing at the mechanism taking shape between two trees.
Grub glanced at her, then launched into an explanation. He covered the trigger mechanism, the counterweight, the angle of the snare line, and the expected trajectory of anyone caught in it. He spoke with the same clinical enthusiasm he brought to Orobas's lessons, his voice warming slightly as he described the engineering behind each component.
El listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she gave a single nod.
"Efficient."
Coming from El, that was practically a standing ovation.
She sat with him for a while longer, asking the occasional quiet question about a trap component or a tactical decision, before eventually rising and brushing off her shorts.
"I should return. The blacksmith will begin to wonder if I have abandoned my post." She paused. "The weapons are progressing well. Sir Urgor believes several will be completed within the next two days."
"Good," Grub said flatly. "We'll need them."
El nodded and turned to leave. Then she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
"Do not overwork yourself, Scribe."
Then she walked back through the trees toward the village, leaving Grub alone with his rope and his notebook.
The rest of the day blurred into labor. By evening, the first ring of traps surrounding the village's eastern approach was complete. More would follow in the days ahead, layered deeper into the forest, each one designed to slow, confuse, and damage any force trying to push through.
Across the village, similar efforts were underway. Guardians drilled formations and practiced coordinated responses. Orobas organized evacuation routes for civilians. Morrigan moved between every squad like a conductor keeping an orchestra in time, correcting, coaching, and occasionally threatening anyone who slowed down.
The village of Anwansi was preparing for war. And despite the reality of what was coming, despite the uncertainty and the fear and the knowledge that not everyone might survive, there was something almost beautiful about watching an entire community pull together for a single purpose.
Grub noticed it from the edge of things, the way he always noticed things. He couldn't help but have a strange excitement about a strategy coming together. Deeper in that excitement was a darker exhilaration, the chance to see how his trap and experiments would effect his opponents.