The sea breeze, carrying the salty tang and humid heat, blew across the newborn land.
Jon wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, squinting at the magnificent structure rising from the sea. It formed a perfect arc, holding back the once-turbulent waters and enclosing a calm inner lake.
The surface of the grayish-white wall still bore the tangled texture of plants, and it was as hard as mountain rock. A few days ago, he had been just another refugee in Golden Thread Province, destined to either die of sickness or starvation. Now, he stood on this miraculous land, a mason's trowel in hand.
Not far away, a deafening roar interrupted his thoughts.
Ola stood beside a huge machine, his reddish-brown beard trembling with his bellows. "Put your backs into it! Are you goblins from the surface? That Blood Crystal isn't for you to nap with!"
