By the third day, the fortress was buzzing with activity. The walls were reinforced with hastily gathered stone, and the gates were patched with wooden planks from dismantled carts. Arteja worked tirelessly alongside the others, her presence driving them to push harder.
But cracks began to form—not in the walls, but among the people.
Lirael approached Arteja late one evening, her expression grim. "I don't trust Dain," she said, her voice low.
Arteja glanced up from sharpening her spear. "Why?"
"He's been meeting with his men in secret," Lirael said. "And they've been asking too many questions about our supplies."
Arteja's jaw tightened. "Keep an eye on them. If they try anything, I'll deal with it."
That night, Arteja stayed awake, her spear resting across her knees. The fortress was quiet, but the tension in the air was palpable.
As the moon climbed higher, Arteja heard the faint sound of footsteps outside her quarters. She stood silently, slipping into the shadows as the door creaked open.
Dain entered, his movements cautious. He didn't see Arteja until the tip of her spear was at his throat.
"Looking for something?" she asked coldly.
Dain froze, his hands raised. "Relax. I wasn't going to steal anything."
"Then why are you here?"
He hesitated, his gaze darting toward the door. "To talk."
Arteja narrowed her eyes but didn't lower the spear. "You have one chance. Speak."
Dain sighed. "My people are nervous. They've lost everything, and they don't trust anyone—not even me. I needed to check on you, to make sure you're not leading us into another massacre."
Arteja studied him for a long moment before lowering her spear. "If you want to survive, you'll trust me. But if I catch you sneaking around again, I won't hesitate."
Dain nodded slowly. "Fair enough."
As he left, Arteja sat back down, her grip on the spear tightening. She knew trust would be hard to come by, but she also knew that without it, their fragile alliance wouldn't last.
And with the enemy drawing closer, they couldn't afford to fall apart.