Three more days slipped by in what felt like a single breath, a fleeting stretch of time that left little room for grief to settle and no luxury for exhaustion to take root.
Greyvale City didn't pause to mourn the fallen or linger in the shock of the Guild's destruction; instead, it moved with a stubborn, almost defiant rhythm.
Hammers struck stone from dawn until well past dusk, chisels sang sharp metallic notes into the air, and the scent of fresh timber and mortar hung over the Adventurer Guild compound like a promise of renewal.
The once-ruined courtyard had transformed from a battlefield of shattered pride and broken ambition. Half of the main Guild Hall now stood upright again, scaffolding cradling its rising walls like skeletal arms rebuilding muscle and flesh.
The stables had been fully restored as well, their sturdy wooden frames polished and reinforced. Horses stamped with renewed vigor as if eager to erase memories of smoke and blood.
