The war room smelled of ash and oil—like battle plans and desperation. I stood with my hands braced against the edge of the great table, shoulders stiff, eyes scanning the scattered reports. Flames still danced in my mind, licking across rooftops, devouring homes and children and hope. The scent of smoke clung to my skin no matter how many times I bathed. The child's eyes haunted me from behind my eyelids. This can't happen again.
Across from me, Elder MoonChild leaned over the map, her silver-red braid falling forward as she frowned. "We've reinforced the thatching in the northern towns, made the outer walls damp to slow burn—but it's all reactive," she muttered, voice hoarse from hours of tense discussion. "Even soaked stone crumbles in that kind of heat."
Fen stood off to the side, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "We can post more patrols in the outer territories. Get scouts up in the trees. Early detection could give us time to evacuate before it gets bad."
