Laine arrived in Minas Tirith just as morning broke.
A sea breeze, tinged with salt and the distinct smell of dust from the construction site, billowed through the new, coarse-cloth clothes he had just been issued.
The sliver of superiority he had brought with him from Newly Town was crushed the moment he set foot in the fjord.
Unlike the refinement and prosperity of Newly Town, the construction site, centered around the City Hall, was more like a vast network of blood vessels.
Countless streams of people flowed out along the roads in a regular rhythm, only to return, their movements accompanied by a constant hum of hammering, work chants, and the rumble of cartwheels.
The foundation of the site had already been dug down two stories, with countless people moving like ants in the enormous pit, simultaneously excavating and working on the urban expansion.
