I walked away, thinking about what came next.

  Houses — yes.

  Fields — done.

  Water — secured.

  But honestly… underfoot it was still just earth.

  Clay. Dust. Steppe.

  In a week, the first barge would arrive, stone would start coming in, real construction would begin. But what were they going to build all of it on?

  I went to those responsible for development.

  “What else is needed?” I asked.

  The elf shook his head.

  “You’ve already done the hardest part,” he said. “The support of the land. Without it, we wouldn’t have even begun.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  The dwarf snorted.

  “By decision of the Council of Branches…” he hesitated, “…the city will be built upward. Five stories.”

  I grabbed my head.

  “Five?!” I blurted out. “Are you out of your minds? Buildings like that only exist in the capital!”

  “We know,” the elf nodded. “That’s why we came to you. For this, we need a perfect base. At least a stone floor.”

  I exhaled.

  “Alright,” I said. “Got it.”

  I looked down at the ground.

  “Then we turn the steppe into land that can support a city.”

  Steppe soil is deceptive.

  Dry — it’s solid.

  Wet — it turns into sludge.

  I started with golems.

  But not the ones that dug canals.

  I created compactors.

  Massive. Heavy. With wide feet and palms, as if made specifically to press downward.

  “Walk,” I ordered. “Slowly. Deep.”

  They moved.

  Each step sent vibrations downward — meters deep. Air was forced out of the soil. Excess moisture displaced. The ground settled, compacted, becoming dense like an old, well-trodden road.

  At the same time, I cut drainage channels along the perimeter of the future construction area.

  “Rain goes here,” I said. “Not under the houses.”

  If a downpour came, the water would drain away instead of undermining the foundation.

  Now — the main part.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I took the city layout map.

  Load-bearing walls.

  Supports.

  Corners.

  I walked along the lines of the future buildings.

  With each step, the ground beneath me changed.

  I didn’t lift it or tear it out. I compressed it.

  Clay, dust, small stone — all of it was compressed and petrified under my feet. Not on the surface, but deep — two, three meters down.

  Where walls would stand, invisible stone bands and pillars formed.

  As if I were stitching the earth from the inside.

  “Now hold,” I said quietly.

  From the outside it looked strange: I was simply walking, and the steppe was freezing in place, as if a wave had passed through it.

  When the supports were ready, I did what the builders had asked.

  The entire area between them was leveled.

  I used local stone, clay, gravel — everything at hand — and created a single stone slab.

  A floor.

  A foundation.

  A base.

  “Don’t dig anymore,” I told those watching. “Everything below this must not be touched.”

  And immediately, before anyone could start reworking things:

  “Sewage — now.”

  I cut a system of channels beneath the slab. Gradient. Drainage. Outlets to the river. Not pretty — but permanent.

  “You’ll thank me later,” I muttered.

  When I finished, the sun was already leaning toward sunset.

  Underfoot was no longer steppe.

  It was the foundation of a city.

  I sat directly on the stone and exhaled.

  The work was heavy. Not flashy. Not heroic.

  But this is what cities stand on.

  Chapter: “Enough”

  I sat on the edge of the stone slab and began to calculate.

  No pathos.

  No magic.

  Just numbers.

  If you give each person at least ten square meters — not luxury, just so they’re not living on top of each other…

  Five stories.

  One building — about a hundred people.

  I recalculated.

  “So… at least twenty buildings,” I said quietly.

  Twenty five-story blocks.

  With margin — for growth, families, those who come later.

  I looked at the cleared area.

  “Alright,” I exhaled. “I’ll prepare the foundations.”

  “The rest is up to you.”

  I stood up.

  The work was clear, almost mechanical.

  I marked plots — one after another.

  Walked the lines of future buildings and did what I’d already done before:

  Turned loose steppe into load-bearing ground.

  Stone bands under walls.

  Depth.

  Rigidity.

  No decoration.

  No excess force.

  Just so it stands.

  And stands for a long time.

  When I finished the last plot, the same three approached me — the elf, the human, and the dwarf.

  “Will this be enough?” the human asked.

  I nodded.

  “More than enough.

  I don’t recommend going higher.

  Lower — you can.”

  The dwarf ran his hand over the stone, knocked on it, listened.

  “You could put a tower on this,” he muttered.

  “No need for towers,” I replied. “People don’t live well in them.”

  I turned away.

  “Everything else is your concern.

  Walls, roofs, stairs, life inside — that’s no longer my job.”

  They didn’t argue.

  I walked off, feeling a strange calm.

  I had done enough.

  No more.

  No less.

  Sometimes,

  that’s enough.

  Chapter: “Escort”

  I went back to my hut and simply lay down.

  No thoughts.

  No plans.

  The stone beneath me was cold, but even. Sleep came quickly.

  Or so it seemed.

  I must have been lying there until morning when I felt movement.

  Someone’s fingers were gently scratching my head.

  Slowly.

  Calmly.

  I almost… purred.

  Then I realized.

  “What are you doing?!” I said sharply, swatting her hand away.

  The elven woman was sitting beside me again.

  She laughed — quietly, lightly — and jumped to her feet.

  “Go back to sleep,” she tossed over her shoulder and ran outside.

  I sat up.

  “Is she insane…?” I muttered, staring into emptiness.

  No answer, of course.

  I stepped out of the hut.

  The sun was already high. Half the field was plowed — even, dark strips of soil stretching into the distance. The golems worked without pause. Where yesterday there had been steppe, today there was already a future.

  The house foundations were ready.

  I looked around and suddenly realized — I had nothing to do.

  Not because there was no work.

  But because my work here was done for now.

  I stood there until the same three approached me again.

  The elf.

  The human.

  The dwarf.

  “We wanted to find you,” the human said. “The first scouting party leaves today.”

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “To the caves near the mountain,” the dwarf replied. “We need to check passages, stability, possible dangers.”

  The elf hesitated, then added:

  “A legendary warrior will go with them. But…” he looked at me, “…we’d feel calmer with you.”

  I thought for a moment.

  Not out of politeness.

  Out of fatigue.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll go.”

  They visibly relaxed.

  I looked toward the mountain.

  The city would manage without me for now.

  And I…

  I needed somewhere to go.