We walked through the forest slowly.

  Sunlit patches slid over the moss, leaves rustled softly underfoot. The elder walked beside me, leaning on his staff, and as we talked he kept pointing at the map spread in my hands.

  — Here, — he said, tapping a marked point. — This is where the city will be.

  I looked.

  A wide steppe. Empty, open—as if it had been deliberately left untouched.

  — The mountain is about twenty kilometers from us, — the elder continued. — There are plenty of minerals in it. Stone, ore, rare veins. But hauling all of that over land… it’s slow and hard.

  He traced his finger farther.

  — A river flows out of the mountain. A good one, full and deep. But about ten kilometers from the future city, out of sheer spite toward common sense, it turns the other way.

  I already guessed what he was leading to.

  — So we have a grand plan, — the elder said calmly. — Turn the river toward the city. Widen the channel. In time, we’ll launch ships. That way we can transport metal and stone much faster.

  I lifted my eyes from the map.

  — Logical question, — I said. — Why don’t you just build closer to the mountain?

  The elder didn’t look surprised. He seemed to be waiting for it.

  — A centaur clan lives in the mountain, — he answered. — By treaty, they allowed mining. But they forbade any settlements within a fifteen-kilometer radius.

  — And you agreed.

  — Yes, — he nodded. — We don’t build cities where we’re tolerated through clenched teeth. We build where we can stay for a long time.

  I nodded slowly.

  Now it all fit.

  — Until the river is redirected, — the elder went on, — we’ll have to set up temporary camps. Wells. Huts. Housing for the workers.

  He sighed.

  — Elves. Humans. Even dwarves agreed to join the construction.

  — Wow, — I said honestly.

  This wasn’t a project anymore.

  It was the start of something big.

  — We’re not waiting for a miracle, Zenhald, — the elder said, looking me straight in the eyes. — We need help. Where it’s hard. Where it’s dangerous. Where ordinary strength won’t be enough.

  I folded the map.

  — I understand how I can help, — I said. — I’ll fly there.

  The elder nodded. Simple. No thanks.

  When I walked deeper into the forest, I called out:

  — Noxus!

  No answer.

  — Noxus? — louder.

  I stepped into a small clearing—and froze.

  Elves surrounded Noxus.

  Someone was stroking his neck.

  Someone was feeding him apples.

  Someone was arguing animatedly with him.

  Noxus stood in the middle, pleased as the host of a ball, and was explaining something with great enthusiasm, swishing his tail for emphasis.

  — …I’m telling you, — he was proclaiming, — if he hadn’t rushed in first, it would’ve ended faster. I told him right away—

  He noticed me and snorted irritably.

  — Tch… Zenhald’s calling, — he muttered. — We leaving already?

  The elves groaned in disappointment.

  — It’s fine, it’s fine, — Noxus said, stepping away from them. — Don’t worry. I’ll be back. You’re going to build a city anyway.

  He came up to me and dipped his head.

  — So, — he said quieter. — We’re building a city?

  I looked toward where the steppe began beyond the forest.

  — Yeah, — I answered. — Looks like we are.

  Noxus smirked.

  — Then I recommend starting with a good place for a stable.

  Cities without a proper stable don’t last long.

  I couldn’t help smiling.

  And we walked on—toward a place where nothing existed yet.

  But where the city had already begun.

  I sat on Noxus and thought.

  — Listen, — I said, staring ahead. — Your mother’s a pegasus, your father’s an ordinary horse…

  So you should have wings. Or are you not mature yet? Like a butterfly.

  Noxus snorted thoughtfully.

  — No idea, — he said. — I’m not a specialist in myself.

  Maybe later. Maybe never.

  — Maybe you need feeding, — I suggested. — So you’ll float up on fat?

  — Very funny, — he grumbled. — I’m a noble creature, by the way.

  — Sad, — I sighed.

  — Same, — he agreed.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I didn’t continue. I snapped my fingers—and a dragon appeared beside us. No extra shine, just a reliable body and powerful wings.

  We took off.

  We flew for a long time. Three hours at least. Fields stretched beneath us, rare roads, small villages. The distance was something you felt in your body, not in numbers.

  And then I saw it.

  The mountain.

  Huge, dark, as if it had grown into the earth itself.

  And at its foot—life.

  The steppe was boiling with movement: hundreds of wagons, tents, temporary structures. Creatures hurried back and forth like ants around a future anthill.

  I began to descend.

  But not to the camp.

  To the river.

  It flowed calmly, as if it had no idea that soon it would have to change direction.

  — So… — I muttered. — First the trench. Then the water.

  I jumped down onto the bank and looked around.

  — Just scatter the earth with magic… — I reasoned aloud. — Too slow.

  So we do it big.

  I estimated the scale.

  — If we’re doing it, we do it for the future.

  Width—about twenty-seven meters.

  Depth—five.

  I smirked.

  — Plenty of margin. Later we’ll widen the other half of the river too… but that’s later.

  I raised my hands.

  Golems began rising from the ground.

  Stocky, heavy, with huge flat palms like stone slabs. Not fighters—workers. They lined up along the line I’d marked.

  I started.

  First—earth magic.

  The soil lifted and scattered aside, forming a rough channel.

  Meter by meter.

  Slowly.

  I went about a hundred meters and stopped.

  — No… — I said aloud. — At this rate I’ll be digging till old age.

  I looked at the trench. Then at the line stretching into the distance.

  And a simple thought came.

  — Why dig… — I muttered, — if I can blast?

  I switched the spell.

  Not up.

  Not sideways.

  Down.

  — BOOM.

  The ground shuddered.

  The first magical charge detonated beneath the surface—like dynamite placed perfectly along the future trench. A slab of earth exploded upward and collapsed neatly to the sides.

  — BOOM.

  — BOOM.

  I walked forward, planting one blast after another.

  The thunder grew.

  The earth trembled, as if the steppe had decided to wake up.

  Clouds of dust rose into the sky, swallowing the horizon.

  By nightfall…

  I had covered almost nine kilometers.

  The trench was rough, uneven—but it existed.

  The golems marched behind me. They:

  shoveled the thrown earth,

  tossed away excess,

  packed the bottom,

  leveled the banks near the city.

  Work didn’t stop.

  I turned around.

  At the edge of the construction site stood hundreds of beings.

  Elves.

  Humans.

  Dwarves.

  They watched in silence.

  What would have taken them hundreds of workers and dozens of mages an entire year…

  took me nine hours.

  The golems were still far off—about five kilometers from the city—but they worked without pause.

  I sank to the ground.

  My clothes were mud-stained. My hair—dusty. I felt real exhaustion, heavy and honest.

  Three stepped out of the crowd.

  An elf.

  A human.

  A dwarf.

  — We’re responsible for the initial construction of the city, — the human said. — I handle placement of people and first necessities.

  — I handle resources, planning, and architecture, — the dwarf added.

  The elf studied me carefully.

  — And you handle the river. And overall planning.

  I nodded.

  — Understood.

  — The Council of Branches decided to include you, — he added.

  I didn’t answer.

  I just walked on.

  First I dropped to one knee and touched the ground.

  A well appeared in less than two minutes.

  Then a second.

  Clean water.

  I washed off mud and dust, exhaled.

  Then I raised a simple stone hut nearby—no decoration, no excess.

  I lay down right on the cold stone.

  And fell asleep.

  Because a city

  isn’t built in a day.

  I woke in the morning to the sound of water and voices.

  I crawled out of the stone hut and immediately understood—life had started.

  A line had already formed at my wells. People laughed, splashed, filled buckets. Someone even brought horses.

  I yawned and rubbed my face.

  — Not enough, — I grumbled.

  I walked a little farther. People parted, watching me with that same expression—a mix of gratitude and wary fear.

  I didn’t say a word. Just stomped my foot.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  The ground trembled, and five more wells burst up. The water ran clean and cold.

  — Enjoy, — I tossed over my shoulder and headed for the canal.

  The golems had worked all night.

  Before me lay the trench. Clean. Sharp.

  Twenty-five meters wide.

  Five deep.

  The bottom packed so tight it looked like you could drive a wagon down it. The walls smooth, no crumbling.

  — Not bad, — I nodded.

  One last kilometer remained, and a harbor.

  — Now the finale, — I told myself.

  Seven hundred meters went fast. I wasn’t thinking anymore—just working.

  — Boom.

  — Boom.

  — Boom.

  Blasts came in a chain. Earth flew, and the golems immediately shaped embankments, packed the floor, leveled the sides.

  An hour later I stood by the city.

  — Harbor… — I muttered.

  I measured with my eyes.

  — Round. About a hundred meters across. Big.

  So we wouldn’t regret it later.

  Here I had to put in effort. I blasted a massive pit, then made the golems not just pack the walls, but fuse stone into clay, creating a hard quay.

  A giant empty bowl.

  Ready to take water.

  I straightened.

  — And now… the hardest part.

  I lifted into the air on the dragon and flew to the start of the canal—where it had to join the river.

  Landed. Looked.

  The canal was… a monster.

  And the river—pathetic.

  Five meters wide. Some places nine. Depth—waist-high, in pools—up to the chest.

  — Yeah… — I exhaled.

  I flew farther, toward the mountain.

  And then it became clear.

  A powerful river flowed into the mountain.

  And out came a thin stream.

  — Karst… — I muttered. — Something collapsed somewhere.

  Perfect.

  I returned to the outlet and blocked the old stream. Completely.

  — We wait, — I told myself.

  After a while the flow weakened, the soil dried.

  I opened a new exit—toward the canal.

  The water surged.

  But now the real work started.

  The earth was heavy. Clay, silt, stone.

  I had to make the blasts powerful—so loud the roar rolled across the entire valley.

  The golems didn’t stop.

  By evening I had widened about five kilometers of the old channel.

  — Five more… — I thought tiredly, rising into the air. — And it’ll be done.

  I was returning to the camp when someone called out.

  — Hey… mage!

  I turned.

  A dwarf came running. Behind him—two more, with boards, charcoal, and rulers.

  — We… did the math, — he said, out of breath. — Just for curiosity.

  — Well? — I asked.

  The dwarf swallowed.

  — You dug out… and moved… — he checked his notes, — over two million cubic meters of earth.

  I blinked.

  — Roughly, — I shrugged.

  The dwarf laughed—short, almost hysterical.

  — We’d be digging that… — he trailed off, calculating. — A year. With a thousand workers.

  He looked at me with a kind of sacred horror.

  — We’re so lucky you’re here… you don’t even understand how much.

  I looked at the canal, the harbor, the people.

  — This isn’t luck, — I said. — This is the beginning.

  The dwarf nodded slowly.

  I walked on.

  Because tomorrow

  the water had to come.

  The next morning I woke before the camp got loud.

  The sky was gray, heavy, as if it was waiting too. I stepped out of the stone hut without a word and went straight to the canal.

  The work still wasn’t finished.

  About five kilometers remained.

  I didn’t invent anything new. I just continued—step by step, blast by blast. The earth already knew what was being done to it, and it yielded faster. The golems followed, packing the bottom, smoothing the banks, asking no questions.

  By noon the mountain rose ahead.

  There it was.

  I walked closer and immediately knew—something was wrong.

  The canal was ready. The harbor waited.

  But the water…

  was too weak.

  For something this huge—almost nothing.

  I lifted on the dragon and flew to the source, straight to the mountain. Inside it was cool and damp. The stone here was old, eaten by time. I went deeper—and saw it.

  A collapse.

  Massive, long-standing. Rocks blocked the path, leaving only a narrow crack through which the pathetic trickle escaped.

  — There you are… — I said quietly.

  I went back outside and looked at the canal.

  Too early.

  I waited.

  An hour.

  Exactly an hour—until the golems finished packing the bed, until the banks fully held their shape. I could feel the earth—it was ready.

  The moment came.

  I went back into the mountain.

  I didn’t blast everything at once. One precise strike.

  Short. Hard.

  Stone cracked.

  The collapse gave way.

  And in the next second the mountain roared.

  A powerful surge of water burst out, struck the new channel, and rushed forward, as if it had been waiting for permission.

  I stepped out of the mountain and looked down.

  The water spread.

  Filled.

  Lived.

  The canal slowly came alive, gaining strength.

  — Now… we wait, — I told myself.

  I raised my hands and looked at the sky.

  — Faster.

  Clouds closed in.

  A downpour fell like a wall—heavy, thick, real.

  The earth drank greedily, the river swelled before my eyes.

  I didn’t watch longer.

  I went back to camp. Lay down.

  Closed my eyes.

  Because big things

  aren’t made by staring.

  And if everything goes right—

  tomorrow there will be a river.