The first chill of autumn whispered through the City of Beginning, painting the leaves gold and sending villagers to market with heavier cloaks. The city itself—once a handful of mud huts and stone circles—now hummed with the cadence of civilization: smiths' hammers on iron, children's laughter from the Academy yards, and the endless bustle of markets at dawn. Yet beneath the surface, a quiet tension was growing.
For weeks, rumors of spirit beasts on the move had drifted through the city like smoke. Hunters returned with stories of vanished prey and new, monstrous tracks in the mud. Caravans arrived spooked, swearing they'd seen packs of razor-backed wolves shadowing their wagons in the dusk. Even the children noticed the change—pet dogs barking at the night, cats refusing to leave the warmth of their hearths.
When the Adventure Guild sent a runner with news that a host of beasts had been spotted circling the outlying fields, it was as if a thunderclap had shaken the city awake. Within hours, every association leader, guild master, and council elder received my summons: "Urgent council at dawn. All must attend. The future of the city hangs in the balance."
I hardly slept that night. Instead, I walked the city, watching torches flicker against the new stone buildings. The walls rose higher every week, but they were still unfinished, and the sight of raw earth at their base made my heart clench. Was it enough? Was anything enough, against the wild tide?
Dawn broke, and the council hall filled with the city's leaders. There was Tie Lao, the blacksmith's president, with hands still streaked with ash; Old Mu, the farmer's association head, carrying a basket of winter root for the kitchen staff; Elder Yao from the Healers' Hall, her white hair tied with a strip of indigo cloth; Lian, the young but fierce commander of the City Guard; the presidents of the Builders', Merchants', and Tailors' Guilds; and so many more—dozens of voices, old and young, seasoned and fresh.
The Adventure Guild's chief, Hu Shan, a scarred veteran whose every step limped from an old beast wound, began with his report. He stood in the circle's center, voice rough but clear:"We have scouts at every edge of the forest. The signs are clear. Spirit beasts—too many to count, many of them large. Some are gathering in groups, and we're seeing new kinds we haven't catalogued before. In the northeast, a bear as tall as two men has taken over an old den. In the southwest, horned wolves run in packs. There are more birds, too—big, clever ones, already watching us."
The murmurs began at once. Old Mu shook his head, fingers tight around his walking stick. "In my grandfather's time, we lost everything in the beast wave. Fields burned. Not a soul was left living in three villages west of here."
Tie Lao slammed her palm on the table. "We are not our grandfathers, Old Mu. Our forges burn hotter than ever. We can arm every family, if we have the time and ore. What we need is a plan—and a way to keep those beasts from the gates."
Elder Yao's voice cut through the noise. "And what of the wounded, the sick? The last wave brought disease as well as claws. My healers must have supplies. Water, clean bandages, salves for poison and fever."
Lian, the commander, spoke next, her eyes sharp as a hawk's: "Our guard has grown. We have Second and Third Realm evolvers now, and elementalists who can hold the walls. But the city is bigger. We need more hands trained—more drills, and a way to rally the people if the outer gates fall."
The debates rolled on. Every leader brought a piece of the puzzle—a need, a worry, a solution. I listened, scribbling notes, my mind whirling.
As the council argued and strategized, I felt a knot tightening in my chest. For years, the city had looked to me for guidance and invention. I had given them numbers, clocks, cultivation, even cement, but could I truly protect them from the fury of nature itself?
There was a moment, as Lian described the guard's nightly patrols, when I caught myself staring at my own hands—still slender, still more scholar's than warrior's, but now brimming with the power of four realms and every element. I had come so far from the child lost in a new world. But would it be enough? Had I done enough to prepare them, or had my own faith in "progress" blinded me to the dangers at our gates?
Yet there was no turning back. The city needed more than a hero; it needed unity, preparation, and hope.
Tie Lao pointed at me, her voice like a hammer on the anvil:"Ye Caiqian, you built this city. You've brought us farther than anyone dreamed. But you called us here for more than fear. What is your plan?"
All eyes turned to me. I stood, steadying my breath."I will not lie to you," I began. "This will be the greatest test our city has ever faced. The beasts will come, and they will not stop at the gates. But we are not powerless, and we are not alone."
I nodded to the Adventure Guild. "Your scouts will be our eyes. Keep tracking every movement. The sooner we know where the largest groups are, the more time we buy. With the council's approval, the Adventure Guild will also launch preemptive strikes against the dens nearest the city, thinning their numbers before the main attack."
Tie Lao broke in, "The forges are ready. We'll ramp up production day and night. Weapons, armor, even traps—spikes, snares, and flame throwers for the walls. But we'll need more ore, more coal, more hands to work the bellows."
Lian, the guard commander: "We'll drill every able-bodied person in the city. Form squads, not just guards, but farmers, smiths, teachers—everyone. We practice evacuation drills every week. The Academy can teach the basics—how to hold a spear, how to use the element you have, or just how to get your neighbors to safety. No one panics if they know the plan."
Old Mu, worry in his eyes: "And food? If the beasts surround us for months, what will we eat?"
A merchant piped up, "We can trade for grain, salt, dried fish. Hide stockpiles in different quarters, so if one is lost, the rest survive."
Elder Yao: "And my healers?"
I nodded, "You will have what you need. The Academy's Hall of Water will help you purify, treat, and tend. We'll train new apprentices in basic medicine, and elementalists will be assigned to aid the wounded."
A builder—Tan, master of the Earth Hall—stood. "About the walls. We need more than stone and timber. We need cement—your invention, Ye Caiqian. But we don't have the right material. Send out expeditions, adventure teams, hunters—find limestone, clay, gypsum, anything that will work."
The discussion raged on, solution after solution:—Tailors would make uniforms and protective gear from new, tougher fabrics;—The Merchant Guild would keep the markets running, even during crisis, to prevent panic;—The Air Hall would organize runners and messengers, trained to relay orders across the city during a siege.
By the end of the first day, we had the outline of a plan. By the second, we were arguing over details—placement of traps, design of watchtowers, how to integrate elementalist squads with regular guards. The third day was spent allocating resources: how to distribute food, who would train new militia, how to care for orphans and the elderly if the walls were breached.
Every argument mattered. At one point, Lian and Tie Lao nearly came to blows over whether the guard or the blacksmiths would control the distribution of new weapons. I stepped in, reminding them:"We are one city, and we will stand or fall as one. Assign trusted members from both sides to manage the armory together. Trust, but verify."
By the fourth day, we were exhausted—but the plan was complete. We had mapped every street, marked every safe house, drafted every able body into training, and built a timetable for the next eight months.
In the weeks that followed, the city transformed before my eyes. I saw children, wooden spears in hand, drilling in the squares under the watchful gaze of retired soldiers. I saw blacksmiths sleeping beside their forges, hands blistered but spirits high. The smell of baking bread and melting metal filled the air at dawn; at night, groups huddled around the fire, retelling stories of heroism and warning one another not to stray outside the walls.
Mothers taught daughters how to bind wounds; sons learned to carry grain, stack sandbags, or clear a field for archers' lines of fire. The Air Hall's messengers practiced running rooftop to rooftop, leaping like swallows in the dawn. Earth users, many of them former miners, practiced raising short walls from the ground and guiding their apprentices in how to feel for tunnels or weak spots.
Every association became a hive of activity. Tailors mended old armor and fashioned new banners, each bearing the sigil of their guild. Healers mixed herbal salves with water-users to create stronger medicines. Builders mapped escape routes, and the Adventure Guild held public demonstrations of how to identify beast tracks and avoid ambush.
The Academy itself buzzed like never before. I found myself in constant motion—teaching, planning, writing new manuals for beast defense, and reminding everyone that unity and calm were as vital as any wall or weapon.
Eight months, the elders said, by the turning of our new calendar. Eight months to prepare, or the City of Beginning would join the ghost towns of ages past.
But this time, we would not let history repeat.
This was our home.
This was our destiny.