At first light, the barrier lamps burned steadily along the ridge.
The seam had closed. The surviving creatures were gone, though fragments of dark shell still lay in the trenches. The soldiers gathered their hooked chains and checked that no blue light remained beneath the stones. Han walked the line with Sella, marking each damaged section of the wall with a strip of red cloth.
“The central arch is sound,” Sella reported. “The north ward needs a proper ceramic brace. The paving at the south platform is cracked through.”
“Can the arch carry another wave?”
“It can carry the ward. I wouldn’t send a loaded cart across the broken paving.”
Han handed her the map. “Mark the restricted path. We’ll set a watch there until the stones are replaced.”
Yan came down from the ridge with his hammer in one hand. His forearm was wrapped, and the bruises along his side and back made him move more carefully than usual. He could still carry a block, but the external blows had left their mark. Blood Ignition had filled him with vitality during the fight; it had not softened stone.
“I can bring blocks from the quarry road,” he said.
