The final working stonework of the Great Sluice rescue was complete. The days of solitary heroes, miraculous saviors, and autocratic summoners were buried forever beneath the mud of the turning basin. In their place stood a living community of field skill, distributed across five hundred yards of riverfront, bound together not by iron rings, but by mutual trust and shared responsibility.
Kel Dorr took his brass measuring tongs. Then he walked down to the First Gate station, his dispatch bag over his shoulder, his tin apprentice badge resting in the salvage crate. Corvin Hest took his measuring tongs and walked to the Second Gate station. His signed warrants were tucked securely into his breast pocket. Pella Rook sat at the Third Throat table, her measuring tongs in her hand, her mind clear, humble, and fully at peace.
Down on the cold western service ledge, Eren Tal and Sergeant Vane checked the heavy manila hawsers on the timber sled. The ash runners were greased. The screw-jack was secured with leather straps. The sheepskin blankets were ready for young Varo. Across the thirty-foot deep gap, Davin Sorell stood shivering in the rain. He grabbed an empty wheel in the center of a silent world.
