The next day, I did get up.

  But only formally.

  I was lying in the hut again, staring at the ceiling, as if yesterday had simply continued. My thoughts were sluggish, thick. I didn’t want anything.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Three entered.

  An elf.

  A human.

  A dwarf.

  The same ones responsible for the city.

  “Mr. Zenhald,” the human began cautiously. “What are your plans?”

  I didn’t even understand the question right away.

  “I don’t know,” I answered quietly.

  They exchanged glances.

  “Are you… unwell?” the elf asked.

  I exhaled.

  “What I did—it was pointless.

  We could have just negotiated with the centaurs.

  Built the city closer to the mountain.

  Not done this… circus with the river.”

  I fell silent.

  They didn’t argue. Didn’t try to comfort me. They just nodded quietly and left.

  By evening, I was still sitting in the same place.

  Another knock.

  I didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway.

  An elven woman entered.

  I didn’t know her.

  She sat down beside me calmly, as if we’d known each other for a long time. Without asking permission. Without looking around.

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  I said nothing.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she continued. “And today I saw your power.”

  She looked straight at me.

  “It’s incredible. Probably no one except you and your sister is capable of something like that.”

  I didn’t react.

  Then her hand touched my palm.

  I understood immediately.

  Psychomagic.

  Warmth.

  Calm.

  An attempt to give hope, joy, meaning.

  But inside, there was emptiness.

  Her magic simply… drowned.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She frowned and touched my head, gently, almost uncertainly. She began to stroke my hair.

  “Hey,” I said sharply, pulling her hand away. “What are you doing?”

  She giggled.

  “Checking,” she replied as she stood up. “So you’re still alive.”

  And she left.

  I remained sitting.

  It was… strange.

  For some reason, I liked being petted.

  I didn’t know why.

  Only Mira did that. Sometimes my parents. And even then—rarely.

  And here… a stranger.

  I stepped out of the hut, but she was already gone.

  The city remained.

  I saw houses being built.

  Saw that there were more people than on the day I arrived.

  Saw the first smeltery rising.

  Dwarves, elves, and humans were building a barge together.

  I walked closer.

  Blueprints lay on the ground.

  “Hm…” I muttered, crouching. “The barge is fine. Maximum load—about two tons, no more.”

  I looked closer.

  “A wheel inside… for better traction?” I nodded. “Interesting.”

  An elf and a dwarf were standing nearby. They were arguing, almost shouting.

  When they noticed me, they fell silent.

  I pointed at the blueprint.

  “You need to split the wheel in two,” I said. “So they can rotate independently. It’ll be easier to turn and maneuver.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  Then the dwarf suddenly grabbed a piece of charcoal.

  “Wait…” he muttered. “If we do that…”

  The elf was already sketching beside him.

  “Then the load will distribute…”

  They forgot about me.

  Completely.

  I stood up and stepped away.

  And only then did I realize:

  I helped.

  Without magic.

  Without explosions.

  Without rivers.

  I just… thought.

  I looked at the construction site.

  And for the first time in two days,

  it felt a little lighter in my chest.

  Chapter: “The Field”

  I wandered through the city.

  Hundreds of temporary huts stood around—crooked, different, but alive. Children ran between them, adults carried boards and argued. In the distance, the first real house was rising—with a foundation, walls, a roof.

  Everyone was working.

  Not because they were ordered to.

  But because there was no other way.

  I watched it all and thought about what I should even be doing.

  Then I saw the field.

  Or rather—the place where the field was supposed to be.

  Hundreds of people stood knee-deep in turf. The ground was hard, tangled with roots, stones, and a dense top layer. They were just starting the hardest stage—making a field from scratch.

  I grimaced.

  What was the Council of Branches even thinking…

  Turf is the hardest part.

  If you don’t manage it now—you won’t sow in time.

  If you don’t sow—there will be no food.

  And there were already crowds of people here.

  They needed a huge field. And fast.

  “Alright…” I muttered. “They won’t manage without me.”

  I walked closer and crouched, looking at the ground.

  “So,” I said to myself. “We need a plow. But not an ordinary one.”

  I stood up and began creating golems.

  First—one.

  Large. Slow. Heavy.

  I embedded a massive sharpened wedge into its body—stone, hardened like a blade. It angled forward and downward.

  “Go straight,” I ordered. “Don’t stop.”

  The golem moved.

  Each step made the ground tremble.

  The wedge cut into the turf, slicing it open and turning layers of earth outward.

  “Like that…” I nodded.

  Behind it, I created dozens of smaller golems.

  “You—follow it,” I said.

  “Stones. Roots. Remove everything unnecessary.”

  They got to work immediately.

  I looked at the field and started calculating.

  How many hectares would be needed to feed such a crowd…

  With reserves…

  A lot.

  Very much.

  I lifted my gaze and saw the residents already digging a narrow channel from my main canal—toward the field and drinking sources.

  “At least they figured that out,” I muttered.

  I sighed.

  “Alright.”

  I created more golems. Many more.

  “Task,” I said.

  “Two thousand hectares.”

  They didn’t respond. They just started working.

  I turned around and went to sleep.

  The next day, I came back to the field again.

  I looked around.

  “Two hundred hectares…” I estimated. “Not enough.”

  At this pace, they’d be at it for more than two weeks. And there wasn’t time.

  I stood there, thought, and nodded.

  “We need more.”

  I created four more teams of golems. Divided the field into sectors, gave each a direction.

  “Work,” I said.

  Now things moved faster.

  If everything went the same way—

  the field would be ready in five days.

  By then, they’d bring in the water.

  I looked at the people, at the even strips of plowed land, at the working golems.

  And suddenly I understood one simple thing:

  I was no longer breaking the world.

  I was supporting it.

  I turned around and walked back.

  There was still a lot of work to do.