The walls rose like a dream given weight—smooth gray stone, precise as if carved by unseen hands. Kai had not merely stacked blocks; he had woven purpose into them. Etched sigils traced their faces, curling like ivy in geometric spirals that gave the illusion of ancient craft. At intervals, watchtowers jutted out, square-shouldered and tall, their arrow slits staring like eyes into the horizon. The main gates, three in total, were grand arches reinforced with iron Kai had smelted himself, wide enough for caravans yet narrow enough to choke an invading force. These walls were not just barriers; they were symbols. To every villager who looked up at them, they were the declaration that Kai's settlement was no camp, no cluster of huts—it was a nation being born.
The innovation that underpinned this miracle was concrete. Kai had experimented endlessly, breaking down gravel, sand, and ash into their smallest fragments and recombining them with water. By cycling resonance through his tattoos, he forced the mixture into a hardened slurry, compressing time itself so that what should take weeks of curing became minutes. The world outside still stacked uneven stones with clay mortar, a technology barely past prehistory, while Kai conjured sleek, weatherproof walls and homes that rivaled anything even nobles could imagine. Concrete meant permanence. It meant roofs that would not collapse with rain, floors that stayed cool in summer, and houses that whispered of trade caravans and swelling populations yet to come.
The villagers' awe was raw and almost childlike. Goblins, used to reed huts that fell apart with the wind, pressed their faces against the cool walls, marveling at the lack of cracks. "Houses like mountains!" Misk shouted, his voice carrying down the street as he dragged his kin to see. Humans, hardened by years of timber work, tapped the seamless corners and muttered prayers, half afraid such unnatural things might offend their gods. Children ran their hands over the flat surfaces, already claiming them as home. For the first time in living memory, permanence was tangible.
One afternoon, Kai's whimsy took a gentler turn. He carved a chessboard. Polished stone formed its squares, each line sharp as a razor, and the pieces were born of copper and wood—simple shapes of kings, pawns, and rooks. When he set it in the village square, goblins tilted their heads at the odd ritual of war contained within sixty-four squares. Humans too gathered, confused yet intrigued. Soon, laughter bubbled as they invented rules, argued over strategy, and realized this was not just a game but a culture taking root. In that board, Kai was planting something as important as walls: a shared imagination.
But beyond the walls, envy festered. Other villages, still bound to mud and straw, whispered that Kai's rise was unnatural. Traditionalist elders muttered that he was warping the old balance, stealing fate from gods and kings. Merchants worried—if Kai could conjure copper pipes and bread that lasted, who would need their wares? Resentment grew in taverns and shadowy halls, the seeds of opposition sown in fear of being left behind.
That night, around a fire, unity glowed as brightly as the flames. Humans who had walked days to join, goblins who had once cowered in caves, all shared meat and flatbread. Daniel leaned back, his hair catching firelight, while goblins laughed at crude jokes and humans nodded with tired but hopeful smiles. Kai lifted his voice over the crackle: "We're joining the merchant to the capital. It's time we see what lies beyond—and bring back what we need for our nation." A hush followed, not of doubt, but of awe. For these people, travel had meant exile or war. Now it meant ambition.
The Crimson Road challenged them. Forest shadows closed like jaws, hills rose sharp and stony, and winds bit at exposed skin. The road itself bore scars of age—paved in patches of moss-covered stone where forgotten kingdoms once ruled, broken in others to muddy tracks. Wolves howled in the distance, and more than once Daniel's hand hovered over his weapon. Yet hardship forged camaraderie. Goblins pushed carts when wheels jammed, humans shared cloaks when rain turned icy, and together they became more than a band of travelers—they became a people on the march.
Vorath was no welcoming sight. The capital sprawled with reckless size, its heart a keep of salt-white stone that gleamed above filth-choked slums. A river bisected the city, black with sewage and industry, its stink thick enough to gag. On one bank, nobles reclined in gold-roofed palaces; on the other, peasants coughed and scowled from rotting huts. And threaded through it all was prejudice. Non-humans were stared at, spit at, shoved aside. To bring goblins here was to march them into a storm.
The storm broke quickly. A wagon barreled down the street, and kippers—tiny, fragile folk with limbs like sticks and ears like leaves—scattered in panic. Their shrill cries rose above the din, and then the wheel caught one, crushing bone and life in an instant. The world froze, horror painted in every witness's eyes. Kai moved before thought, hand striking the ground, tattoos flaring. A stone wall erupted, halting the wagon and saving the rest. Dust settled. The kippers clung to each other, eyes wide as saucers, voices trembling. "Oh… giant one… thank you!" one squeaked, tears streaking its face. Kai knelt, lowering himself to their height. "You're safe now. Come with us. We're building a place where everyone belongs." Fear warred with hope in their eyes, but desperation won. They clasped hands and nodded. A broken people had found a new home.
Kai realized that their windows had wooden shutters but nothing stopping someone jumping through.
It was crazy!
The merchant who had guided them could only gape. "You built all this in weeks? Concrete homes, castles, bread that feeds more than it costs—and now you save kippers? Malakai, you're a miracle!" Kai shook his head. "There's more to come. Call me Kai." The man's awe was not just personal; it was the beginning of legend, a story to be told down the road and across borders.
Back in the village, Kai unleashed the culmination of his vision: a castle. Four tons of stone shaped into perfect bricks, each one humming with resonance, rose into towers that brushed the sky. Turrets bristled like spears, parapets crowned the walls, and a great hall stretched wide enough to host every villager and more. It was not merely a fortress. It was a promise of unity and endurance. When the last brick locked into place, the crowd erupted, goblins cheering, humans crying, kippers squeaking in delight.
Flicker's sly voice wound through Kai's mind. 'You've built walls, homes, even games. What's next? Festivals? Sports? Maybe a theater?' Kai laughed aloud, startling those nearest. But the thought took root. He imagined fields where children—green, pale, or tiny—could run, tournaments that sharpened strength without bloodshed, festivals that filled the streets with music and bread. Culture was more than survival. It was joy. It was the thread that could bind a nation stronger than any wall. And with the Crimson Road beneath their feet, that joy could spread like fire through a waiting world.
The kippers huddled close to Kai, trembling but refusing to let go of his offered safety. Their cries had drawn more than pity; peasants from Vorath's gutters began to gather, thin shadows in threadbare rags, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of hunger and awe. A mother with two little ones clinging to her legs edged forward, but when Kai's gaze lifted, he immediately dropped it, focusing instead on the dusty hem of her dress. To meet her eyes would have been to undo her courage—sleep would have taken her, and that was not what she needed. His voice had to carry what his eyes could not.
"You'll be safe," he said softly, the words directed into the air between them. His tattoos pulsed faintly beneath his sleeves, the glow spilling across his hands instead of his stare. "If you wish to leave this place, come with us."
The woman hesitated only a breath before nodding, her children tugging at her hands. Around her, others stepped forward: beggars, laborers, kippers clutching bundles no bigger than scraps. They didn't need his eyes to see the truth of him; they felt it in the weight of his promise, in the strange steadiness of a man who built walls like mountains and saved children in the streets.
The wagon was already groaning with goods, its horses straining. Kai pressed a palm to the trunk of a nearby tree, his tattoos flaring. The bark writhed, fibers unraveling as the tree dissolved into a storm of gray light. In its place, a cart shaped itself—planks straight, wheels perfect, joints locked as though carved by unseen artisans. He lashed it to the wagon's back with alchemically hardened rope.
The horses stamped and snorted, muscles straining as the cart loaded with desperate passengers. Daniel grunted, watching them stumble aboard. "This is too much weight," he warned, his eyes flicking to Kai.
Kai didn't look at him, either. He never could. Instead, he ran a hand along the rim of the new cart, silent, thoughts racing far faster than hooves could carry. This cart was crude. The wheels splintered at every stone, the horses strained to drag it an inch. But what if there were no horses? What if wheels could turn themselves, engines could drink fire and move faster than any beast? Cars. Even beyond that—what if the skies were not for birds alone? What if men could rise in wings of iron? Planes.
The idea hit him with a weight greater than stone walls or castles. He had so much work to do.
Behind him, peasants whispered, their voices raw with hope. "He builds homes that stand like cliffs." "He makes bread that fills." "He saves the little ones." Every word fanned the fragile spark of belief. Even without looking at them, Kai could feel it settling into their bones. They weren't just leaving Vorath. They were stepping into the first pages of something larger—his nation, their nation.
Flicker's sly voice wound through his thoughts like smoke. 'Hah. So now you dream of rolling thunder and flying mountains. Careful, Kai—your people already think you're a miracle. What happens when you become a god?'
Kai's mouth curved into a half-smile, eyes fixed on the Crimson Road stretching ahead. "Then the world will have to keep up."