The lumber arrived two days after the emergency council meeting, delivered in three massive cargo wagons pulled by teams of Sirl'en—the mountain breed of draft horses that looked more like shaggy bears than equines. Each wagon carried five hundred Tra'űlth logs, their bark still fresh enough to smell of mountain pine and elevation cold.
Misaki stood in the designated staging area near Stone's End's northern gate, watching workers unload the timber with practiced efficiency. Each log was approximately forty centimeters in diameter and twelve meters long—huge pieces of mountain tree that had taken decades to grow in the thin air and harsh conditions of the upper peaks.
The lead timber merchant, a mountain dwarf named Krel'than who'd spent two hundred years in the lumber trade, approached with transaction documents wrapped in oiled leather. His beard was braided with wooden beads carved from different tree species—a walking advertisement of his profession.
"Fifteen hundred logs as ordered," Krel'than announced, his voice carrying the particular satisfaction of someone who'd delivered on an aggressive timeline. "Tra'űlth quality, properly cured for load-bearing applications, cut to your specifications. Standard delivery rate applied despite the rush order." He pulled out a wax tablet showing itemized costs. "That comes to two gold, seven silver, eighty copper total."
Misaki pulled out his coin pouch and immediately noticed something confusing. His gold coins—large, heavy pieces minted in Ul'varh'mir—looked different from the gold coins other merchants were using in Stone's End's markets. The local currency seemed to come in multiple sizes, and he'd seen iron coins, copper, silver, and even what looked like mythril-based currency in high-value transactions.
"Before I pay," he said carefully, "can you explain Seleun'mhir's currency system? My coins are from Ul'varh'mir. I want to make sure I'm calculating the conversion correctly."
Krel'than's expression shifted to the patient look of someone who'd explained this to countless foreigners. "Ah. Different monetary standards. Let me clarify." He pulled out examples of various coins from his own purse, laying them on the wagon's tailgate.
"In Ul'varh'mir, you had three denominations: copper, silver, gold. Simple system. Five hundred copper equal one gold. One hundred copper equal one silver. Five silver equal one gold." He pointed to Misaki's larger gold coins. "These are what we'd call 'standard gold' or 'large gold' by Seleun'mhir's classification."
He arranged his own coins in neat rows. "Here in the mountain kingdoms, we use a more complex system because we trade with seven different nations regularly. Each metal comes in three sizes: small, medium, and large."
Krel'than pointed to the smallest coin—barely larger than Misaki's thumbnail. "Iron coins. Lowest denomination. Small iron is worth one unit. Medium iron is five units. Large iron is ten units." He moved to the next row. "Copper coins work the same way. Small copper equals ten large iron. Medium copper equals fifty large iron. Large copper equals one hundred large iron."
"So the size multiplies the base value," Misaki observed, his engineer's mind appreciating the systematic approach.
"Exactly. Silver follows the same pattern. Small silver equals ten large copper. Medium silver equals fifty large copper. Large silver equals one hundred large copper." Krel'than pointed to the gold coins. "Gold is where it gets interesting. Small gold equals ten large silver. Medium gold equals fifty large silver. Large gold—which is what you're carrying from Ul'varh'mir—equals one hundred large silver."
Misaki did rapid mental calculations. "So my Ul'varh'mir gold coins are actually worth more here because they're automatically classified as large gold?"
"Precisely. Ul'varh'mir's simplified system uses what we'd consider large denominations as standard currency. Your one gold from home equals one hundred large silver here, which equals ten thousand large copper, which equals one hundred thousand large iron." The merchant gestured at the massive conversion chain. "Your coins have significantly more purchasing power in Seleun'mhir than they did in your former kingdom."
"What about mythril coins?" Misaki asked, remembering seeing the distinctive silver-blue currency in a few high-value transactions.
"Mythril is reserved for international trade and major contracts. One mythril coin—only comes in standard size—equals ten large gold. Used primarily when nations are settling trade imbalances, purchasing large military equipment orders, or conducting diplomatic transactions where the amounts are too large for practical gold transport." Krel'than tucked his example coins away. "You won't need mythril for most civilian purposes. Even wealthy merchants rarely handle more than a few mythril pieces in their entire careers."
"So for this lumber purchase," Misaki calculated aloud, "two gold, seven silver, eighty copper in Seleun'mhir currency... if I'm paying with Ul'varh'mir large gold..."
"You'd pay two of your gold coins plus I'd owe you change." Krel'than pulled out his calculation tablet. "Two large gold equals two hundred large silver. Subtract my cost of seven large silver... that's one hundred ninety-three large silver change. Which converts to nineteen medium gold, three large silver."
"That's extremely favorable exchange," Misaki said, surprised.
"Currency arbitrage." Krel'than's expression showed merchant's satisfaction at explaining economic reality. "Ul'varh'mir's collapsed economy means their gold is entering circulation at desperate rates. Refugees selling family heirlooms, nobles liquidating assets before fleeing, military pay being converted to portable wealth. Supply increases, value drops—but that's measured against other nations' currencies." He gestured at the lumber. "Here in Seleun'mhir, we maintain stable monetary policy. Our gold holds value because the Mountain Council doesn't inflate currency during crises. So your Ul'varh'mir gold trades at premium rates because it's being spent in a stable economy rather than a collapsing one."
Misaki handed over three of his large gold coins. Krel'than produced change with practiced efficiency—one large gold, nine medium silver, three large silver, counted twice to verify accuracy. Then he pulled out a wax tablet and stylus, inscribing the transaction details with the careful penmanship of someone who'd learned that documentation prevented disputes.
RECEIPT OF PURCHASE
Buyer: Misaki Haruto, Engineering Consultant, Stone's End Fortifications Project
Seller: Krel'than Lumber Operations, Licensed Timber Merchant
Goods: 1,500 Tra'űlth mountain pine logs, 40cm diameter, 12m length, load-bearing grade
Price: 2 large gold, 7 large silver, 80 large copper
Payment Received: 3 large gold Ul'varh'mir standard
Change Given: 1 large gold, 9 medium silver, 3 large silver Seleun'mhir standard
Date: 14th day of Krythod, Year 1247 Mountain Calendar
Witness: [Merchant seal impressed in wax]
Krel'than handed the tablet to Misaki. "Keep this for your project records. The fortification accounting office will require receipts for all material purchases over one gold value. Prevents fraud, ensures transparency in how government contracts spend public funds."
"Bureaucracy working as intended," Misaki observed.
"Bureaucracy keeping corrupt officials from stealing emergency defense budgets," Krel'than corrected with a slight smile. "Two hundred years in business teaches you the value of proper documentation."
The foundation marking took most of the morning. Misaki worked with a surveying team—three experienced Seleun'mhir military engineers who'd spent decades planning defensive infrastructure—using weighted strings, measuring rods, and carefully placed stakes to outline where the wooden palisade would rise.
The wooden wall needed to be positioned fifteen meters outside the current stone fortification construction, creating a buffer zone that would serve as killing field for defensive fire. But the terrain around Stone's End wasn't uniform—natural rock outcroppings, elevation changes, drainage channels. Every section required adjustment to the baseline plan.
"Here we'll need to excavate an extra meter," one of the engineers observed, pointing at a section where bedrock rose closer to the surface. "Otherwise the foundation depth is insufficient for log stability."
"Noted." Misaki marked the adjustment on his working plans. "We'll assign a specialized excavation crew to that segment. What about drainage?"
"Eastern approach has natural water flow from the upper peaks." Another engineer traced the terrain gradient. "Foundation trenches will need drain channels cut at twelve-degree angles to prevent water pooling during spring melt. Otherwise the logs rot from bottom up within five years."
They worked through each section systematically, marking with colored stakes: white for standard excavation, red for deep excavation, blue for drainage requirements, yellow for areas needing stone reinforcement under the logs. By mid-morning, the entire palisade circuit was marked—a two-kilometer perimeter of colored stakes showing exactly where two hundred workers would dig.
Sera had appointed herself tool distribution coordinator for the entire operation. The eight-year-old had organized the equipment with systematic efficiency that would have impressed professional quartermasters—shovels arranged by handle length, pickaxes grouped by head weight, measuring tools calibrated and ready for immediate deployment.
"Worker team one through twenty need standard excavation tools," she announced to Misaki with complete confidence, consulting the organizational chart she'd drawn up the previous evening. "That's teams on the western approach where soil is soft mountain dirt. Team twenty-one through forty need rock-breaking equipment for the northern face where we hit granite substrate. Teams forty-one through fifty are drainage specialists, so they get the angled cutting tools and—"
"Sera," Misaki interrupted gently. "You're eight. Where did you learn project logistics?"
"Feya's geology textbooks have sections on mining operations." She said this as if it explained everything. "I read about how they organize crews in the mythril quarries. Same principles apply to any large excavation project. You just scale the tool allocation based on worker specialization and terrain variables."
Misaki looked at his eight-year-old sister who was casually applying advanced labor management theory to fortification construction and wondered when exactly she'd become terrifyingly competent.
The workers began arriving as Ulth'rk climbed toward its zenith—two hundred people drawn from Stone's End's diverse population. Perhaps eighty were M'lod refugees who'd spent the past year learning construction trades. Another sixty were native Seleun'mhir citizens working government contracts. The remaining sixty were refugees from other destroyed Ul'varh'mir settlements, people who'd fled the genocide and found their way to the mountain kingdom's border cities.
They formed up in their assigned teams with military precision, and Misaki noticed something interesting about the wage structure.
The native Seleun'mhir workers were being paid twelve large copper per day—standard rate for manual labor in the mining district. But the refugees were receiving only eight large copper per day for identical work.
One of the refugee workers—a middle-aged man named Gre'shon who'd survived the destruction of a village called Kal'mor—noticed Misaki's expression and offered quiet explanation during the initial tool distribution.
"It's standard practice," Gre'shon said, accepting his shovel from Sera's carefully organized inventory. "Refugees aren't citizens. We don't have voting rights, property ownership, or legal standing for contract disputes. So employers pay us less because they can—there's no citizen labor protection laws covering us."
"That's exploitative," Misaki observed flatly.
"That's economics." Gre'shon didn't sound bitter, just pragmatic. "Citizens demand twelve copper because they have guilds and collective bargaining. We accept eight copper because eight copper is better than zero copper, and zero copper is what we'd earn if we insisted on equal pay and got replaced by citizens willing to work for twelve."
He gestured at the construction site where refugees and citizens were working side-by-side. "But here's the interesting part—Stone's End's economy is actually booming because of refugee labor. Citizens are saving four copper per worker per day on every project. Those savings get invested in other things. New businesses. Equipment upgrades. Expanded construction contracts."
"The city's entire economic growth is built on paying refugees less than citizens," Misaki summarized.
"And everyone benefits except the refugees," Gre'shon agreed. "We're being exploited, certainly. But exploited labor that lets us eat and house our families is better than principled unemployment that lets us starve with dignity." He hefted his shovel. "Besides, Foreign Legion service offers accelerated citizenship after five years. I'm three years in. Two more years of accepting eight copper daily, then I become citizen earning twelve copper. That's the deal—accept temporary exploitation, gain permanent status."
It was the same calculation Vellin had made. Riyeak was pursuing. Probably thousands of other refugees were navigating.
Misaki watched the two hundred workers spread out along the marked perimeter, shovels biting into mountain soil, the first excavations beginning. The economic mathematics was ugly but functional. Refugee labor was rebuilding Stone's End's defensive infrastructure while simultaneously driving local economic expansion that benefited citizens disproportionately.
Classic wealth concentration through undervalued labor. Earth had a thousand historical examples. Apparently Vulcan followed the same patterns.
"Begin excavation!" he called out, and two hundred shovels moved in rough synchronization.
The training yard in the mining district had become familiar territory over the past year—that combination of industrial space and improvised gymnasium where off-shift workers maintained combat skills between ore hauling. Misaki arrived in mid-afternoon to find Riyeak already there, still wearing his work clothes from the quarry, his massive frame showing the accumulated grime of twelve-hour shift moving mythril ore.
"You're early," Misaki observed.
"Supervisor privileges." Riyeak set down the stone weights he'd been lifting—each probably weighing sixty kilograms, though he handled them like children's toys. "I can delegate the last hour of shift supervision to my assistant crew lead. Means I get out early for training." He grinned. "Benefits of being too valuable to replace."
Lyria arrived moments later, her healer's satchel slung across one shoulder and her expression showing the particular tiredness that came from long kitchen shifts. "Am I late?"
"You're exactly on time," Misaki assured her. "Which means we're all early by normal standards."
They began warmup exercises—the systematic stretching and joint preparation that prevented injury during actual combat practice. Lyria had been training with them for three months now, her healer's knowledge of anatomy making her surprisingly effective at defensive techniques even without warrior-class combat bonuses.
"So," Riyeak said during a water break, "I heard you got promoted. Engineering consultant to senior engineering consultant. Five copper raise."
"Five large copper," Misaki corrected. "Which is actually more significant than it sounds given Seleun'mhir's size-based currency system. That's equivalent to fifty medium copper or five hundred small copper daily increase."
"Show off," Riyeak said without heat. "I got promoted to senior crew supervisor last week. Ten copper raise. Twenty-five workers reporting to me now instead of twelve. Means I'm responsible for entire tunnel sections instead of just individual work faces."
"That's excellent," Lyria said, practicing her blocking forms against the training dummy. "Both of you advancing through your organizations. Very responsible."
"Very busy," Misaki corrected. "I see Riyeak maybe once per week now. Between his quarry work and my fortification projects, our schedules barely overlap."
Riyeak nodded, moving into sparring stance. "Different from M'lod, where we saw each other daily. But that's city living—specialized labor means separated schedules." He raised his shield. "Ready?"
They sparred for the next hour, the familiar rhythm developing naturally. Riyeak's overwhelming strength and defensive positioning versus Misaki's speed and precision strikes. The new curved blade performed beautifully—exactly as Torran had promised, the weapon felt like extension of his arm rather than separate tool.
During another water break, conversation turned toward the strategic situation. Misaki explained the tunnel deception, the accelerated palisade construction, the vulnerability window before stone walls reached completion.
"So we might be doing this again," Riyeak said quietly. "Another exodus. Another desperate flight north with enemy forces pursuing."
"Possibly." Misaki didn't sugarcoat it. "If Vel'koda'mir attacks during the vulnerable phase, Stone's End might not hold. The Mountain Council would likely order civilian evacuation to deeper mountain positions while military forces conduct defensive retreat."
"How far north?" Lyria asked.
"Deep enough that Vel'koda'mir's supply lines become unsustainable. Maybe three hundred kilometers into the mountain ranges where terrain makes invasion logistics impossible." Misaki pulled out his tactical maps—copies of the ones Captain Syvra used for strategic planning. "The Mountain Halls would be defensible. Ancient fortress complexes built by dwarven ancestors, carved directly from living mountain. Vel'koda'mir couldn't take those positions without casualties that would make victory meaningless."
"So we'd survive," Riyeak observed. "But lose everything again. Homes, stability, the lives we've built here."
"Yes."
They sat with that reality for a moment. The possibility that everything they'd rebuilt over the past year could collapse again. That refugee status might be permanent rather than temporary. That 'home' might always be somewhere they were fleeing toward rather than somewhere they actually lived.
"I'm being considered for future citizenship," Riyeak said finally. "Not accelerated Foreign Legion path—actual merit-based citizenship. Mining administration reviewed my work performance, noted the cost savings from my process improvements, recommended me to the Mountain Council for exceptional contribution status."
"That's incredible," Misaki said, genuinely pleased.
"That's pragmatic." Riyeak's tone was more complex. "I've saved the quarry operations approximately thirty gold over the past year through better crew coordination and strategic mineral extraction sequencing. The Mountain Council doesn't grant citizenship out of kindness—they grant it when the economic return on investment justifies giving refugees full legal rights."
"Still counts," Lyria observed. "Motivation doesn't invalidate achievement."
"True." Riyeak stood, stretching muscles that could lift ore blocks most workers needed three people to move. "But it means my future in Seleun'mhir is secured even if Stone's End falls. Citizens can relocate to other cities, maintain their status, continue their careers. If there's another exodus, I won't be refugee twice. I'll be citizen in temporary displacement."
It was the same calculation they all made—survival math that weighed impossible choices against unbearable alternatives. Riyeak had earned security through exceptional competence. Vellin through military service. Others through five years of accepting exploitation.
Misaki wondered what path Sera and Kyn would eventually take. They were too young for these calculations now, but eventually they'd need to navigate the same systems, make the same impossible choices about status and security and what price was acceptable for permanent belonging.
They trained for another hour, then parted as Ulth'rk descended toward the mountain peaks. Riyeak returning to his quarters in the mining district. Lyria heading toward the communal kitchens for evening meal preparation. Misaki walking the fortification perimeter to inspect the day's excavation progress.
The foundation trenches were taking shape—two hundred workers had excavated approximately eighteen percent of the total circuit. Not bad for first day. The drainage channels were properly angled. The depth measurements checked out. Sera's tool organization had prevented the bottlenecks that usually plagued large projects.
They'd make the five-month deadline. Probably with time to spare.
As darkness approached, Misaki headed to the communal kitchens where Sera and Kyn waited with Feya. The industrial cooking space was preparing evening meal for eight thousand people—massive cauldrons bubbling with stew, bread ovens producing hundreds of loaves, the organized chaos of professional food service at scale.
Millia worked one of the main cooking stations, her experienced hands managing multiple dishes simultaneously with the casual competence of someone who'd spent thirty-something years mastering culinary logistics.
"Mountain hog stew tonight," she announced, ladling generous portions into serving bowls. "Hunters brought down a bull hog yesterday in the upper peaks. Four hundred kilograms dressed weight, enough meat to feed half the city."
The stew smelled incredible—rich meat braised with mountain root vegetables, seasoned with Sha'ku'shuk herbs, thickened with Tra'űlth mushroom stock. Mountain hogs were massive creatures, standing nearly two meters at the shoulder, covered in thick fur and armored hide that made them nearly impossible to bring down without coordinated hunter teams.
"How many hunters?" Misaki asked, accepting his bowl.
"Twelve," Millia replied. "Plus tracking dogs and coordinated chakra strikes to penetrate the hide. Mountain hogs are dangerous—aggressive when threatened, fast despite their size, smart enough to recognize ambush tactics. The hunters spent three days tracking this one through the upper elevation forests before finding opportunity for clean kill."
Sera was already eating, her eight-year-old appetite apparently bottomless after spending all day organizing tools for two hundred workers. Kyn sat in his high chair, enthusiastically destroying a piece of bread while Feya tried to teach him proper eating technique—a losing battle against toddler efficiency.
"Ba-sha-gu!" Kyn declared, pointing at his bowl.
"Mountain hog," Feya translated. "He's learning food names. Yesterday he learned 'bread' and 'water.' Today we're working on 'stew' but he keeps saying 'ba-sha-gu' instead."
"Close enough," Misaki decided, settling beside them.
They ate together in the communal kitchen's organized chaos—eight thousand people cycling through meal service, conversations overlapping in six different languages, the particular energy that came from feeding an entire city's population in efficient rotation.
Outside, two hundred workers continued excavating foundation trenches by lamplight, the first day of five-month construction timeline grinding forward with patient determination.
Somewhere twelve kilometers away, Vel'koda'mir soldiers maintained their theatrical tunnel operation, carefully producing exactly eight cubic meters of displaced soil per shift, following rotation schedules with mechanical precision, creating perfect fiction designed to waste enemy resources.
Information asymmetry. Strategic deception. Economic exploitation driving defensive preparation.
All the machinery of survival operating exactly as designed.
Misaki finished his mountain hog stew—the meat rich and complex, the vegetables perfectly cooked, the seasoning showing Millia's decades of culinary expertise—and thought about currency systems that measured value in increasingly complex subdivisions.
Small, medium, large. Iron, copper, silver, gold, mythril.
Every denomination designed to facilitate transactions at different scales. Every size modification creating new exchange ratios. The entire system built on the fundamental principle that value was relative, contextual, dependent on who was trading what in which economic environment.
His Ul'varh'mir gold was worth more in Seleun'mhir because one economy had collapsed while the other maintained stability. Refugee labor was worth less than citizen labor because legal status determined negotiating power. Mountain hog meat was worth the coordinated effort of twelve hunters and three days of tracking because the risk and difficulty of acquisition determined price.
Everything was exchange rate. Everything was arbitrage. Everything was the mathematics of who had what and who needed what and what each party was willing to accept.
"Deep thoughts?" Lyria asked, noticing his expression.
"Economic philosophy," Misaki replied. "Wondering if there's any system that doesn't concentrate wealth by undervaluing someone's labor."
"Probably not," she said pragmatically. "But the stew is good, your siblings are healthy, and the walls are going up. Sometimes that has to be enough."
She was right, of course.
Sometimes survival was its own form of wealth.