With the base's design in place, the soldiers and members of the Genesis Unit were the busiest. They had to make the route safe for the construction workers. But in this hazy apocalypse, who would be brave or crazy enough to help in the construction? Though no portals had appeared in the past hours, the dark chasm in the sky remained hanging above everyone's head like the Sword of Damocles.

While Derek was hesitating about what to buy with the remaining 3 million System Credits, his communication device rang. It was the mayor, the mayor had left to set up a meeting with the Construction workers.

" Mr. Derek, you might have to come here, none of the construction workers here want

The Paleview College Shelter was quieter than usual.

Generators hummed low beneath the concrete floor, their mana cores strained but functional. The shield barrier above flickered with a faint blue sheen, and outside, the sky remained stained by the rift—the Dark Chasm pulsing ever so subtly, like a second, motionless sun behind stormclouds.

Derek's boots tapped softly against the scorched tile inside the command room. He stood in front of the communication console, arms crossed. Maya was still resting in the med-room, surrounded by mana stones, and the latest scout report was tucked under his elbow, unread.

Yvalna stood a few feet behind him. Tall, composed, wrapped in a coat lined with mana-resistant thread. Wind whistled faintly around her boots, even indoors, a low breeze that shifted her silver-blonde hair just enough to remind you she wasn't from the same world as everyone else.

She was stronger. Faster. She could tear through a battalion of corrupted beasts without breaking stride.

But when Derek spoke, she listened.

The communication device buzzed.

"Mayor Harkland," Derek said, answering.

The line crackled. "Mr. Derek, you might have to come here yourself. None of the workers are... well, they're not exactly on board with this whole 'build a base in monster territory' thing."

Derek exhaled through his nose. "Send me the location."

"It's the South Civic Shelter, east wing conference room. We've got most of them gathered. Some soldiers, too. It's tense."

Derek ended the call without another word and turned toward the med-room.

He found Maya still seated, surrounded by a ring of softly glowing stones. Her breathing was steadier now, but the air around her shimmered faintly, like she was wrapped in invisible fire. The stones had dulled a little, evidence that she was making progress.

"Keep going," Derek said, his tone low but firm. "You're not done yet."

Maya's head tilted slightly. Not quite a nod, but close.

When Derek stepped back into the hallway, Yvalna was still there, standing just where she had been before.

"You heard all that?" he asked.

"I did."

"Want to stay here, keep an eye on the shelter? Or come with me?"

Yvalna tilted her head ever so slightly. "I will accompany you."

Derek gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgement and started toward the exit hatch.

But then the wind changed.

A sudden breeze swept through the corridor, despite no open windows or vents. Dust lifted. The air thickened. A rune flared to life beneath Yvalna's boots with a soft fsshhh, casting a swirling emerald glow.

Before Derek could ask, her hand lifted—not high, not commanding, just deliberate-and the air obeyed her like a loyal hound.

Lift him.

Wind coiled around Derek's boots, legs, chest—firm but smooth, like invisible hands supporting him. The sensation was foreign, yet strangely balanced. There was no jolt, no rocket-speed thrust—only steady, rising pressure. Controlled ascent.

Derek's feet left the ground.

He resisted the instinct to tense up, instead keeping his arms loose at his sides as the floor fell away beneath him. Yvalna floated beside him, her own body seemingly suspended by nothing. Mana sigils rotated gently around her waist and shoulders, each shift of her fingers adjusting their course.

Derek glanced at her—graceful, effortless, damn near smug in the air.

Show-off, he thought privately. If I had your flight magic, I'd never touch the ground again.

But he said nothing aloud.

Instead, he looked ahead, scanning the city ruins. From above, the damage was worse. Streets collapsed inward like old sinkholes. Debris formed jagged scars through the concrete. Dead husks of monsters lay where they'd been gunned down in earlier raids, slowly evaporating into mana ash.

Yvalna hovered to his left, her eyes closed briefly as she adjusted for wind currents and atmospheric turbulence. Even here, even now, she remained in control.

"Over there," Derek said, pointing.

The South Civic Shelter came into view, half-collapsed but still fortified. A new makeshift flag fluttered from its rooftop—blue with a white stripe, the symbol of the emergency union.

He directed Yvalna lower, and the air obeyed.

They descended steadily, landing atop the structure with only the faintest rustle of displaced wind. Derek's boots tapped the rooftop again, and the breeze died instantly. Yvalna floated a moment longer, then let her boots touch down beside him, her magic fading without ceremony.

A soldier opened the hatch door, saluting without hesitation.

Derek nodded and strode inside, Yvalna falling in a silent step behind.

As they entered the conference room, the murmur of worried voices dropped. The room was full—over a hundred construction workers, most in flak jackets or salvaged armour pieces. Several soldiers stood near the doors, uneasy but alert.

Mayor Harkland turned toward Derek with visible relief.

"Thank god."

Derek looked around the room slowly, letting the silence settle again. Eyes were on him. Some suspicious. Some desperate. But most—most remembered him.

The guy who dragged people out of collapsed buildings. The guy who fought beasts barehanded. The guy who stood where the military sometimes didn't.

Derek took a slow step forward.

The workers parted like oil on water. Not out of fear—most of them had dirt under their nails and calluses that told stories—but out of respect. The kind that's earned when someone stands their ground when the world is burning.

He stopped at the centre of the room. No microphone. No stage. Just him.

The silence was thick enough to taste.

"I know what you're thinking," Derek began, voice low and steady. "You didn't sign up to build castles in hell."

A few chuckles. Dry, bitter. But it cracked the wall.

"I wouldn't blame you for walking out right now. Hell, I'd half expect it."

He turned, locking eyes with a man near the back—missing two fingers, a burn scar on his cheek. Then another—an older woman with a prosthetic leg and a steel rod supporting her spine. They'd all lived through the apocalypse. They had every right to run.

"But if we don't build now," Derek said, voice rising a little, "then we never will."

He paused, letting that hang.

"This isn't about some government plan or some idealistic dream. This is survival. A wall to keep out the things that turned our cities into tombs. A roof to shelter kids who still cry when the sky flashes red."

A murmur.

He kept going.

"I know most of you lost someone. Parents. Siblings. Friends. Maybe you've got no one left. Maybe this whole damn thing seems pointless now."

His voice lowered again. Just enough to make them lean in.

"But I promise you this: no one who works on this base will die under my watch. And if anyone does come for us... I'll be the one to go out there first. I'll take the hit. I'll be the shield."

He clenched a fist at his side—not theatrically, just a quiet symbol of conviction.

"You'll be given status—first-class citizens when this base is done. Your names will go in the books. Not just as workers... but as the people who rebuilt humanity's first stronghold."

Yvalna's eyes flicked toward him briefly. Approval, silent and subtle.

Derek took a step closer to the crowd.

"You're not just pouring concrete or welding metal. You're building hope. And if we don't do this, if we don't hold the line now, then the next generation doesn't get a chance. Not even a chance."

Silence again. Then a voice from the side:

"My son's only eight," a man muttered. "He asks me every night if the monsters will break through."

Derek looked at him. "Then let's make damn sure the answer is 'no.'"

Someone else stepped forward. A woman in a dusty hard hat. "You said first-class citizens?"

"That's right," Derek nodded. "First to get food, medicine, housing. Your families get priority placement in the safe zones. No red tape."

Another voice. "And if we help... you'll protect us?"

"I don't make empty promises," Derek said. "You've seen what I do out there. I'm still standing. And I'll make sure you are too."

A pause. Then a worker snorted, stepping forward.

"Well, shit. I always wanted to be in a history book."

Another followed. "Guess if we're building the future, might as well use my own hands."

Then more. Nods. Shuffles. Quiet determination spreading like fire on dry leaves.

Mayor Harkland exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. "Derek... you just signed up a damn army of builders."

Derek didn't smile. But there was something hard and proud in his eyes.

"Then let's get to work."

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