Jamie stood rooted to the spot, blinking in astonishment as he watched Maria descend and exit the tower. Her unexpected gesture left him speechless. 'What was that all about?' he wondered, his mind racing to decipher the meaning behind her actions. 'Was it a strategic play? A subtle message?' He found himself adrift in speculation and oblivious to the soldiers' and officers' glances and murmurs.

"What's that all about?" Knall asked, cutting through Jamie's reverie. The dwarven alchemist eyed him with amusement and disbelief.

Jamie shrugged. "Only the gods know," he replied, attempting to mask his own confusion.

Knall studied him for a lingering moment, incredulity etched across his weathered features. It baffled him that Jamie hadn't connected the dots. "Sometimes I wonder about you, lad," he muttered before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Seeking a distraction, Jamie made his way over to where Emyr was adjusting the cannon. Her fingers danced over the cannon's mechanisms, tightening bolts and fine-tuning the array of gears.

"Are we planning to sell this one?" Knall asked, approaching the cannon and running a calloused hand over its metal surface.

"No," Jamie answered, shaking his head. "This one's for testing and calibration. We need to ensure everything functions before we consider increasing production."

As they talked, the last of the soldiers and officers began to file out of the tower.

"Besides," Jamie continued, gazing at the cannon, "this model was custom-built. We'll need to construct new units that adhere to the base measurements."

"In that case, we have supplies for only one more," Knall concluded, stroking his braided beard.

Jamie sighed, crossing his arms. "We'll have to rely on the Hafenstadts. I've spoken with some suppliers, but it would take months."

"At least we can deliver one cannon." Knall tried to be positive.

Jamie nodded in agreement. "When can we start production?"

"Immediately," Knall said, dusting off his hands. "I'll head back to the workshop and begin preparing the components for the first unit." He adjusted the straps of his leather apron and began to make his way toward the staircase.

"Thank you, Knall," Jamie called after him.

The dwarf waved a dismissive hand without turning around. "No need for thanks. Make sure we have the materials we need."

Left alone with Emyr, Jamie watched as she completed the final adjustments.

"That should do it," she announced with a satisfied nod.

He glanced around the now-empty tower. "Shall we head back to the Golden Fiddle?"

--

The walk back to the tavern felt sad. The streets, once full of busy merchants and cheerful people, now looked dull. Though people still walked around, they seemed empty and tired. Their heads were down, eyes on the ground, and instead of smiles, there were only quiet sighs.

It felt like the city was losing its spirit. The constant rebuilding after each disaster had drained the people's energy. Every time they started to hope again, something would happen and ruin all their progress. The pain of losing homes and loved ones hung over them like a heavy, invisible blanket.

"At this rate, it won't survive," Jamie thought grimly, his gaze sweeping over the weary faces that passed him by. Hafenstadt was dying, not by the swift blow but by the slow erosion of despair.

"Without hope, they'll resign themselves to the attacks until nothing remains," he pondered. "Or until someone from the empire saves them."

Jay walked beside him in unusual silence. The magical cat, usually full of jokes and playful remarks, was also quiet. His glowing eyes saw the same sad sights as Jamie's.

The wall was almost repaired, but looked very different from the ruined city inside. Scaffolding hung from it like bony fingers, and workers moved like shadows as they fixed the damage. Still, even with the wall nearly finished, it couldn't protect people from losing hope.

Besides all the destruction within Hafenstadt, they also lost the village that once stood near its walls. Without the village, hundreds of people sought refuge in the city. Dozens of families slept on the streets and in the squares, dreaming of returning to their homes one day.

The Golden Fiddle loomed ahead. Jamie pushed open the heavy door, the creak of its hinges announcing his arrival. Inside, a few patrons lingered at tables, nursing mugs of ale or picking at simple meals.

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"We haven't been full in quite some time." Jamie reflected as he went to a vacant table in the corner.

Jamie still played on some nights, but he had focused more on the mercenaries since the city's safety had worsened. But tonight, he wanted things to be different.

Today, however, he felt a different calling.

Retrieving a quill and a stack of parchment from his satchel, Jamie spread them out on the table. He began to write, the quill scratching softly as words flowed onto the page.

"It's the best I can do," he thought, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Jay leapt onto the table, his paws barely disturbing the papers as he settled beside Jamie. Tilting his head, the cat's eyes scanned the words.

"What have we here?" Jay purred inquisitively. "It might work."

"Who let a cat in here?" a voice exclaimed, breaking the quiet. One of the serving girls stood a few feet away, hands on her hips and a mock sternness in her eyes. "Shoo! We can't have animals tracking in mud."

--

Even late at night, the Golden Fiddle didn't feel lively. People sat at tables with drinks and food, but the mood was heavy. The air felt sad, and the usual loud conversations had faded to whispers. The tavern's old energy was missing.

Even the bards seemed dispirited. Their melodies lacked enthusiasm, and their fingers moved sluggishly over strings.

"I think I'll head back north," one bard sighed, his voice barely audible over the clinking of mugs.

"The roads are too dangerous," another cautioned.

"It's that or I leave the empire altogether. I can't make a living in Hafenstadt anymore."

Jamie sat at a nearby table, his ears attuned to the disheartened conversation. He knew they weren't alone with those thoughts. If the roads weren't so dangerous, countless others might have ventured elsewhere.

With polite applause, the bard on stage concluded his performance and stepped down, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Sensing an opportunity, Jamie rose from his seat and went to the small, wooden stage.

He carried his fiddle with him. But instead of tucking it beneath his chin as he did, he set it aside. In its place, he retrieved a small tambourine.

"You all know me best for my fiddle," Jamie began, his voice resonating through the quiet room. "But tonight, I'd like to offer something different."

Curiosity sparked in the faces turned toward him. Even the tavern's staff paused in their duties, their gazes drawn to the stage.

He positioned the tambourine between his knees, settling into a steady rhythm. The beats were firm and deliberate, echoing like the cadence of a war march. The sound filled the tavern, wrapping around the weary souls gathered within.

'I cannot give them hope,' Jamie thought, his hands guiding the rhythm. 'But perhaps I can give them a cause.'

He began to sing, his voice strong and imbued with a subtle fervor:

"Lift and lay, the dawn is near,

Swing the blade, we show no fear.

Monsters howl, but we don't run—

We build beneath the southern sun."

At the first verse, heads lifted. The downcast eyes of the patrons now fixed upon him, drawn by the words that seemed to pierce their hopelessness.

"We work, we rise, we don't let go—

Hope is forged in every blow.

Proud we stand, and strong we stay,

Hands to sky, we pave the way."

As the second verse filled the tavern, the mood started to change. The tambourine's beat was joined by tankards hitting tables and feet stomping on the floor.

"Lift and lay, and rise once more—

South-born hearts, forever roar."

Jamie wasn't born in Hafenstadt, nor even in this world, but the city had become his home. He had poured his sweat and blood into its streets, sharing in its struggles and triumphs. He refused to let hopelessness erode what he and so many others had built.

With the final refrain, the tavern echoed with a newfound vitality. The patrons joined in, their voices rising in unison.

As the last note faded, Jamie looked out over the crowd. Faces that had been etched with fatigue now shone with a flicker of light. He allowed himself a small smile.

"I call it the 'Hafenstadt Anthem,'" he shared simply.

He stepped down from the stage, leaving the room behind. People were chatting excitedly, and even the other bards looked inspired.

Jamie had offered them not a song but a rallying cry—a reminder of their strength and a reason to fight.

[The Goddess of Ambition finds your performance intriguing]

[The God of Mischief remarks that he has told her many times to watch you]

Jamie smiled as he stepped out of the warm embrace of the Golden Fiddle and into the crisp night air.

He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the cool breeze carrying the faint scent of the nearby sea. He took a deep breath, allowing the fresh air to clear his mind.

From behind, the tavern door creaked open once more. Footsteps approached. Jamie glanced over his shoulder to see Aldwin, the half-elf, emerging from the tavern. His usually relaxed demeanor was filled with an unusual seriousness.

"Boss," Aldwin called, falling into step beside Jamie. "Are you heading off to rest?"

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Not immediately," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

Aldwin hesitated for the briefest moment. "Would you come with me? There's something I need to show you."

Jamie studied his companion's face. Aldwin was not one to mince words or exaggerate trivial matters. If he deemed something important, it likely was. "Can't it wait until morning?" Jamie asked. "It's late, and we've had a long day."

Aldwin shook his head. "I'm afraid it can't. It needs to be now."

The weight in Aldwin's voice dispelled any lingering hesitation Jamie might have had. He gave a curt nod. "Very well. Where are we going?"

Aldwin glanced around before replying. "To the sewers."

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