The carriage hadn’t even fully stopped before Elaine was already striding across the packed dirt, skirts snapping around her ankles, two house guards trying and failing to keep pace. Her eyes cut through the morning haze like blades. Soldiers and laborers alike stepped aside without a word.

Ludger was at the wall, sleeves rolled up, mana still humming under his skin. He straightened as she approached, half in surprise, half in resignation.

“Mother,” he said.

Elaine stopped right in front of him, eyes raking him from head to toe. Dust-streaked clothes, faint lines of exhaustion, no blood, no bandages. She exhaled once, shoulders easing a fraction. “You’re unharmed,” she murmured. “Good.”

Then she pivoted on her heel toward Captain Darnell. The captain had been standing a few paces back, trying to give them space. He barely had time to brace before she crossed the distance in three quick steps.

The slap cracked across the worksite like a whip.

Darnell’s head snapped to the side. A perfect red handprint bloomed across his cheek, already glowing faintly from whatever Elaine had woven into the blow, probably enhanced by the Star Widow’s Wrath. It would sit there for hours as a mark of her displeasure.

“You get that much forgiveness,” she said coldly, voice low but cutting. “Only because my son is still breathing.”

Darnell didn’t raise his eyes. He just gave a single stiff nod, jaw tight, and murmured, “Understood.”

Elaine turned back to Ludger, the edge in her expression softening only slightly. “Come. We’re going to talk about what you’ve been doing out here.”

Behind her, the captain touched his cheek but said nothing, standing like a soldier under inspection as the glow of the handprint burned against his skin.

It wasn’t long before another familiar figure rode through the area. Arslan swung down from his horse with the casual ease of a man who’d spent half his life in the saddle. Dust streaked his cloak, his sword still strapped across his back. He didn’t even stop to greet anyone—he went straight to his son.

Ludger glanced up from the wall as his father approached. For a moment the two just looked at each other. Arslan’s sharp eyes scanned his boy from head to toe the same way Elaine had, searching for bruises, bandages, tremors. He found nothing but the same cool, steady expression Ludger always wore.

Arslan let out a slow breath, shoulders easing. “Serious, Luds… ” he muttered under his breath. “You’ve got balls of steel.”

“Let’s not talk about balls while Mom is around.” Ludger just gave a faint, crooked smile and turned back to the stone. “We can talk while I work,” he added.

Elaine’s eyes narrowed at that, the edge in her voice returning. “Ludger—”

But he only shrugged, palms pressed to the earth as another block rose and fused seamlessly into the growing wall. “Can’t let cowards slow the work down,” he said matter-of-factly.

The ground hummed softly under his touch, the wall stretching taller with each smooth gesture. Elaine’s serious gaze lingered on him, but the boy didn’t look away. Arslan folded his arms, half-proud, half-exasperated, and watched his son bend the earth as if nothing had happened at all.

Ludger brushed dust off his hands and stepped back from the wall long enough to glance at his father. “The reports said I should be fine,” he said evenly. “You should’ve heard the message from Lord Torvares by now.” His eyes flicked past Arslan toward the carriage. “I’m more surprised Viola didn’t come with you.”

Arslan’s mouth curved into a slow, tired smile. “She sent a message with us,” he said. “Said wannabe assassins wouldn’t be enough to take you down.” He gave a short chuckle. “Told me, ‘He can’t die before I beat him at least once.’”

Ludger huffed through his nose, something halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Sounds like her,” he muttered, turning back toward the next section of wall.

Elaine’s gaze stayed on him, still serious, but Arslan just shook his head, that small smile lingering. His son might have been standing ankle-deep in dust and sabotage, but he was still the same cool, maddeningly unflappable boy who treated assassination attempts like minor inconveniences on the way to his next project.

Ludger wiped his dusty palms on his trousers and turned fully toward his mother, the wall humming quietly behind him. His voice lost the edge it had when he spoke to the captain; it was steady but warmer, a rare softness creeping in.

“Mother,” he said, “you shouldn’t be here. I would be back home tomorrow. You’re pregnant, after all. Even if the town’s secure, the road isn’t. It’s not a trip you should be making right now.”

Elaine stopped, her hands instinctively moving to the small swell of her stomach. She had been ready to lecture him about danger and caution, but his words caught her off guard. For a heartbeat she just stared, eyes flicking over his dust-streaked face. “I was worried,” she said, her tone still firm but thinner now. “And I can still move just fine.”

Ludger gave a faint, lopsided smile that made him look older than his years. “I know you can,” he said quietly. “But I’m worried about you. And about my future sibling. I’d hate for something to happen because of one of your sudden, reckless decisions.”

Elaine blinked at him, taken aback. Her lips parted as if to argue, then closed again. For the first time since stepping out of the carriage, she looked less like a furious matriarch and more like a mother absorbing her son’s concern. A flicker of color touched her cheeks, and her gaze softened despite herself.

Behind her, Arslan let out a small breath and folded his arms, an amused glint in his eye at seeing the tables turned—his son, still dusty from work and assassination attempts, gently scolding his own mother.

Elaine straightened her shoulders, still regal but no longer quite so imperious. “I… suppose I didn’t think about it like that,” she admitted.

Ludger just turned back to the wall, smirk tugging at his mouth as mana flared at his fingertips again. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on finishing here quickly, and I want you both safe when I get back.”

The tension between them eased, replaced by a quiet understanding. Outside, the town buzzed with work; inside the small circle of family, for once, the boy’s cold pragmatism sounded like genuine care.

Later that morning, as Elaine and Arslan talked quietly near the carriage, Ludger dusted off his hands and walked over to where Captain Darnell stood with his ever-present scarred scowl.

“I’m taking a day off,” Ludger said flatly. “My parents came all the way out here. Be a waste to keep hammering at stone while they’re in town.”

For a heartbeat the captain just looked at him, weighing the boy’s expression. Then his scar twitched and he gave a slow nod. “A few days off won’t hurt,” he admitted. “The walls are coming up faster than any of us expected. Faster than my schedule by a mile.”

He glanced toward the towering new sections already locking together under Ludger’s magic, then back at the boy. “Rest. Be with your family. When you’re ready to come back to it, the work’ll still be here.”

Ludger gave a small nod in return, the closest thing to thanks he ever offered, and turned back toward his parents. For once, no dust on his hands, no mana humming under his skin—just a day off earned by the strength of his own work.

Ludger walked between his parents through the narrow main street, hands tucked into his belt as if he were just another apprentice. On either side, the town bustled with soldiers, carpenters, and merchants. But everywhere they went, they passed sections of wall that bore his fingerprints: seamless pillars, tightly fused seams, foundation stones set deep enough to hold back a siege. Dust still clung to the grooves of his work like faint scars.

Elaine and Arslan slowed at each stretch, eyes moving over the new cores and reinforced gates. They’d known Torvares had dismissed the hired earth-mages, but seeing the scope of Ludger’s repairs in person was different. This wasn’t patchwork—this was a fortress being sculpted out of clay.

“I knew you’d improved,” Elaine murmured, trailing her fingertips over one of the smooth stone seams. “But not like this.”

Arslan gave a low whistle and glanced at his son. “Lord Torvares sent the others away,” he said, “and you still managed to do the work of a crew in days.”

Ludger shrugged lightly, though his eyes stayed on the next section of wall. “Had to be done. With a bunch of mana potions at my use, I can improve even faster.”

Arslan’s expression turned more serious. “Torvares looked exhausted when we left,” he said quietly. “Like he hadn’t slept in days after hearing about the attack on you. He’s not as young as he once was.”

Ludger slowed a fraction, a faint crease appearing between his brows. The old man’s image flickered in his mind—sharp eyes, unshaven jaw, shoulders stooped a little lower each time they met. “His health’s been slipping for a while,” Ludger muttered. “If he keeps grinding himself down, this border won’t be the only thing collapsing. Just tell them not to feel guilty over this. Blame his cowardly enemies.”

He exhaled through his nose and forced a small smile for his parents’ sake. “All the more reason for me to finish fast,” he said. “The sooner it’s secure, the sooner he can stop burning himself out.”

They walked on together, past a section of wall that gleamed like new steel in the sunlight, the boy who built it already thinking about the man who’d asked him to.

As they moved along the next stretch of wall, Arslan glanced down at his son. Ludger’s expression was flat, eyes scanning the stonework like he was already planning the next improvement. No smirk. No dry jab. Just a quiet, focused stare.

Arslan tilted his head. “Why so serious?” he asked. “Where’s that crooked little smirk of yours? And your sarcasm? Usually by now you’ve made at least one smart remark about the guards.”

Ludger only gave a loose shrug, eyes still on the wall. “Can’t help it if the guys around here don’t understand great humor,” he muttered.

Arslan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Fair enough,” he said, but his eyes softened a little.

Ludger finally looked up at him with a faint, almost invisible flicker of a smile. Then he turned back to the stone, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but his mind still running two steps ahead.

Elaine kept pace beside him, one hand resting lightly on her stomach as they walked the perimeter. Her eyes slid from the new walls to her son’s face, reading every little twitch. Finally she spoke, voice softer than it had been since she arrived.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Not just today—this whole time. All this work, all this pressure… Are you eating enough? Sleeping?”

Ludger glanced at her briefly, then back at the stonework ahead. “I’m fine,” he said evenly. “The job’s what matters while I am here. Everything else is just noise.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? No dizziness, no pain?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he replied. “Walls are coming up faster than planned. Town’s safer every day. That’s all I need to think about right now.”

For a moment she just studied him, the dusty boots, the steady voice, the way his eyes kept scanning for weak spots even as they talked. Then she sighed and gave a small, resigned nod.

“You sound just like your father, when he isn’t goofing at home,” she murmured.

Ludger’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but he didn’t answer. He just kept walking, eyes on the fortress he was building piece by piece.

Ludger led them back across the camp to the canvas tent that had become his headquarters. Two of Darnell’s handpicked guards shifted aside to let them pass, eyes flicking respectfully to Elaine and Arslan. Inside, the air smelled faintly of stone dust and boiled herbs.

He shut the flap behind them and went straight to the washbasin in the corner, stripping off his dust-streaked gloves and splashing cold water over his face and arms until the grit ran clear. The tension bled out of his shoulders as he scrubbed at the dried earth clinging to his tunic.

“Give me a second,” he muttered, toweling off. “I’ve been working since sunrise.”

When he turned back, he’d already set out a battered wooden tray on the low table — a few loaves of bread, slices of dried meat, a small crock of butter, and a jug of water he’d fetched from the quartermaster’s stash. He poured them each a tin cup and slid them across.

“The variety still needs work,” he said dryly, sitting opposite them. “But this is a military post, not a tavern. Can’t exactly expect a feast out here.”

Elaine and Arslan exchanged a small look at the understatement. Ludger, though, looked perfectly at home in the spartan tent, dust on his boots and a fortress rising outside.

Elaine sipped from the tin cup, her eyes never leaving her son. After a few quiet seconds she set it down and leaned forward, fingers laced over her knee.

“What exactly are you planning, Ludger?” she asked, voice low but direct. “You wouldn’t be camped out here for days just to get a few favors for Lord Torvares.”

Ludger glanced at her from under his lashes, then back to the bread he was tearing. He’d been hoping to keep her worries at bay a little longer. Let her think he was just shoring up a wall, nothing more. But if he stayed silent, she’d hunt for answers anyway—and what she’d find would be half-truths and tavern rumors. Lies dressed up as whispers.

He chewed once, swallowed, then set the bread down. “I wanted to spare you some of it,” he said quietly. “But keeping you in the dark while you’re looking for information is worse. You’ll hear all kinds of stories, and most of them will be wrong.”

Elaine’s gaze sharpened, but she didn’t interrupt.

Ludger leaned back slightly, eyes on her now. “So I’ll tell you myself. Straight. No rumors.”

The tent fell quiet, the hum of the camp fading to a dull murmur beyond the canvas walls. For once, the boy who usually deflected with smirks and sarcasm was looking at his mother like someone about to hand over a piece of a plan he’d been guarding.

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