The braced trench still holds, just as Ankura Anura demanded. Packed stone and clay lock the seam together while the camp settles into work again beneath the bright ruin of the sky.
Far above, the night deepens instead of fading, stars multiplying until the crater seems to sit in a bowl of fire and ice. Long shadows stretch from carts, picks, and stacked ore.
The Stone-Lieutenant
It holds. For now, the trench holds.
The Miner
The stones are packed tight, but the old brace still groans if you listen close.
Ankura Anura works at the trench edge with the others, and the camp answers with quieter, steadier hands. Dust sifts down in thin veils, but nothing gives way.
Varkas
That is a hard-won shape for a camp. Keep it, and the night may pass without taking more.
Then a fresh meteor flare whitens the horizon, distant but close enough to make every worker look up at once. The trench remains standing, and the next impact draws near.