Morning sunlight pierced the thin clouds overhead, casting a pale halo along the edge of the Red Tide Fief.
Geothermal steam rose silently through the cracks, mingling in the air until the entire stretch of land seemed veiled in a light haze.
More than a dozen semicircular timber frames, coated with a lightstone film, stood in an unbroken row like low hills.
This was the greenhouse complex, one of the foundations of Red Tide's efforts to save itself this winter.
Louis walked steadily into the bustling greenhouse district.
His guard knights followed like shadows, while Emily walked beside him, her light armor and cloak stirring gently in the breeze.
The air carried the damp heat of soil, timber, and water vapor. It was unlike winter's chill, yet not quite warmth either-it smelled of life.
The craftsmen building the new greenhouses noticed their lord's arrival and set down their hammers, chisels, and hoes, rising to bow.
The displaced people recruited for the reconstruction also looked back from the furrows and irrigation channels. They dared not approach, but their eyes held a complicated mixture of gratitude and something like unspoken awe.
Most of them had been ragged refugees fleeing for their lives just two months earlier.
Now they could work here, eat their fill, and have a patch of land on which to survive.
"It's Lord Louis," an older woman whispered, tugging at the clothes of the child beside her.
The little boy stared wide-eyed at the black-haired young man, his eyes shining.
Sensing the crowd's shifting attention, Emily turned slightly to look at Louis.
His expression remained calm, his pace unchanged, as though he had long since grown accustomed to the weight of those gazes. He said nothing, merely nodding in acknowledgment of their respect and hope.
As they approached the