The moment Asher gave the command, the trunks—scattered across the clearing like the corpses of felled giants—were engulfed in a golden beam of light.
It wasn't a sudden flash, but a curtain of golden brilliance that surged forward, sweeping past Asher and his warriors with a divine hush, like wind rustling through sacred banners. The light moved toward the village, thickening as it reached the perimeter. And then, it descended.
When the brilliance faded, it left behind a transformation.
Where there was once open ground, now stood a towering palisade—whitewood logs standing upright, each nearly nine meters tall, perfectly aligned, their bark stripped smooth and gleaming like polished bone. They were bound together with thick ropes, tighter than steel rivets, so seamlessly joined that not even air could pass between them.
Asher approached the wall, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. He raised a fist and slammed it against the wood.
Thud.
