With hope for the future still burning in their hearts, the returning scouting parties gathered in the clearing near the Thing.
"So," the same short, bald man from before asked, voice rough and weary, "what did everyone find?"
It was clear he'd lost people too.
Lyra stepped forward first. "We went northwest. Found some dry blue water — weird, but it didn't soak us. We also encountered a creature. Attacked us, but Marra killed it."
A younger man with a squeaky voice chimed in, "We found these huge mushrooms growing south. Barely any trees around, just tall grass."
Then a woman stepped up, her wrist bearing the mark of a short-sword. "Killed a big wolf-thing northeast. Forest looked like birch — black and white bark."
The debriefs continued for nearly an hour.
Scouts spoke of rivers, new plant life, strange terrain — and of course, the ever-present fear. Some groups traveled far, others barely made it out before turning back. Slowly, a debate began to take shape. Directions. Priorities. Safety.
Then came the tension.
A split formed.
Three groups — each favoring a different path. Some wanted to head south toward the mushrooms and flatlands. Others preferred the dense forests east, where rivers were plentiful. But one direction was avoided by nearly all:
North.
Where the dragon had gone.
After the fire, only around eighty of us remained — nearly a third gone. Most who stayed to fight or defend the camp were dead. Especially fighters. Scanning the clearing, I counted only about fifty men left.
As the arguing grew louder — friends pulling away from friends — I stepped up onto a nearby boulder.
I had to act before chaos took root.
"Group three is heading north — toward the mountain, and yes, toward the dragon," I said, projecting my voice. "We don't plan to fight it… but if it comes to us, we won't run either. We're going to establish a home — a real one. I'm a builder. I create. If you want shelter, security, and something better than ashes, then come with us."
I stepped down, not waiting for a reply. I turned to Marra and Lyra.
"Let's go. If they come, they come."
And we walked. North — toward the dragon, toward the mountains.
There was no longer a pull from the Thing. Our compasses were still. This path we walked now… we chose.
At first, it was just the three of us.
Then four.
Then six.
Ten.
Twenty.
By the time we passed through the pine forest, we were a group of forty strong.
The others — smaller groups of around ten each — splintered off south and east. We wished them luck. One even shouted it back as we passed the giant mushrooms the squeaky-voiced scout had mentioned.
Eventually, the trees thinned, and we reached a wide green plateau. Climbing to the top, we stood and stared.
Gasps. Whispers.
"Wow…"
Below us, the world unfolded — surreal and vibrant. Red grass, blue leaves, winding rivers, odd-colored forests, small lakes, and distant hills. But above all…
The mountain.
It loomed like a god. Three times the height of anything near it. Too far. Too difficult for a tired group of hungry survivors to reach now.
So we moved past the plateau and descended. It was midday when we stopped for lunch and planned our next steps.
Marra took charge. "Pathfinders and fighters — pair up. Six hunting parties. Anything that moves, kill it. If it looks edible, take it."
With twelve out hunting, twenty-eight remained.
Of those, we had:
• 5 female builders
• 3 female pathfinders
• 4 female fighters
• The rest were men, split between fighters and pathfinders and me a builder
• The other male builder? He went south.
That left me in charge.
"Do what you want for now," I said to the remaining group. "Just… don't burn down the forest."
Honestly, I didn't care about leading.
My hands itched to create.
I pulled out my chisel and went searching until I found a large log. With the scimitar from the goblin, I hacked away the branches. I rolled the log back to camp, catching my breath as I studied it.
What should I make?
Something useful?
Something symbolic?
Then a voice behind me:
"Whatcha gonna do with that big ol' log?"
I turned.
A girl — maybe fifteen or sixteen — watched me with wide, curious eyes. Her gaze shifted to the chisel in my hand.
"Thinking about carving it," I said. "Not sure what into yet."
She stared at the log. "You should make a huge bowl. Might be good for storing stuff."
I blinked. "Not a bad idea, actually."
Her eyes lit up. "Can I help?"
She held up a tool — a small, rounded hammer.
"Mallet," I said, grinning. "Works well with a chisel."
She grinned back.
"Alright. I'll hold the chisel. You hit it."
We worked in sync, carving out the center of the log. I envisioned the bowl in my head like a blueprint. We didn't need to talk — just moved together, every strike meeting purpose.
We had nearly finished when noise erupted nearby.
The hunting parties returned — and with food.
Marra had a massive boar slung over her shoulder. "Snuck up and killed it before it made a sound," she said, clearly proud.
Other groups brought birds, berries. Some had nothing. But they all returned.
I barely noticed. I just wanted to finish the bowl.
I walked back to the girl. "What's your name?"
She smiled. "Name's Mira. Yours?"
"Kairo. Good to meet you."
We bumped fists awkwardly.
Then, without a word, went right back to carving
*
We finished the bowl.
It was a little rough—unfinished, unpolished—but solid. You needed two hands to carry it. Big enough to matter.
Mira and I hoisted it together and brought it down to the fire pit, where the others had gathered.
Someone had fashioned a makeshift spit. The boar was suspended over a roaring flame, slowly turning, its skin crackling, juices hissing as they dripped into the fire. The smell alone made my mouth water.
We set the bowl down near the fire, and Mira drifted off without a word.
Lyra approached, eyeing the bowl. "Did you make that?"
"With some help," I said, glancing at Mira.
She gave me a thumbs up and sat down on a log by the fire, her expression more relaxed than I'd seen in days.
"Meat's done cookin'!" Marra called, eyes locked on the boar. She hoisted it off the fire with impressive strength, laid it on a flat stone that someone had rinsed with water, and readied her short sword.
I stepped forward, setting the bowl beside her. "Here. Use this to pass the meat around."
She looked at me, surprised, then smiled. "Thanks."
With practiced hands, she began slicing the roasted boar into thick, juicy strips. The pieces hissed as they hit the bowl, steam curling into the night air.
When the bowl was full, we passed it around in a wide circle around the fire. Each person took a piece, then handed it to the next. Quiet murmurs of appreciation filled the silence.
When it reached me, I pulled out a slice. Smoky. Tender. Slightly charred at the edges. The first real meal in… I didn't even know how long. It was perfect.
Marra carved the second half of the boar, and the bowl made another round.
By the end of the night, the meat was gone—just bones and scraps left behind. The air was thick with warmth and conversation. For a brief moment, things felt normal.
One of the female builders approached with something in her hands. A rough leather strap. "Made this from the hide," she said, handing it to me. "Thanks for the bowl."
"Thanks," I said, genuinely touched.
I poured some water into the greasy bowl, swirled it around, then dumped it. Clean enough.
Using my chisel, I carved two holes across the rim and threaded the strap through, tying it into a loop. Now I could carry it on my shoulder.
Bellies full. Spirits lifted.
We set off again, moving toward the mountain.