Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.

Her eyes snapped open, the wind screaming around her as gravity yanked her downward with unrelenting force. She twisted mid-air, craning her neck to look up at the crack in the sky—a jagged, unnatural fissure. Beyond it, dark aqua and purples swirled like a storm trapped in a bottle, the edges of the rupture slowly knitting themselves back together after spitting her out.

She spun again, her descent quickening as the ground rushed up to meet her. The landscape came into sharper focus: an expanse of snow stretching in every direction, a partially frozen river carving a jagged path through the plains. In the distance, a towering mountain loomed, its white-capped peak standing sentinel over the terrain. A dense forest hugged the edges of the plains, and beyond that, the faint shimmer of an ocean caught the fading sunlight.

Arin’s gaze narrowed. The details were irrelevant for now. Survival came first.

She shifted her weight, angling herself downward, her body cutting through the frigid air like an arrow. The roar of the wind drowned out everything else as she braced for impact, filling her lungs with a deep, steadying breath.

The ice cracked beneath her with a deafening CRUNCH as she smashed into the river, the cold biting through her clothes like knives. She plunged through the shattered surface, water rushing in to claim her. Pain shot through her body, sharp and immediate—her left arm wrenched from its socket with a sickening pop.

Arin gritted her teeth, refusing to scream, her lungs burning as she clung to the air she had trapped inside. The current seized her, dragging her downstream, the icy water slamming her into submerged rocks. She flailed, struggling to regain control, her mind singularly focused: Get to the shore. Now.

Her hand shot out, fingers scraping against the riverbed until they found purchase on the fragile edge of ice. The thin sheet cracked beneath her weight as she heaved herself up, water pouring off her as she collapsed onto the frozen ground.

For a moment, she lay there, her chest heaving, her dislocated arm limp at her side. Snowflakes drifted lazily down from the overcast sky, melting on her exposed skin.

“Ow,” she said dryly, her voice flat against the silence of the wilderness.

With a groan, she rolled onto her side, pushing herself upright. Her gaze dropped to her arm, the pain a dull, familiar throb. Too many years behind her for something like this to stop her. She gripped the dislocated joint, braced herself, and forced it back into place with a sharp POP.

Arin flexed her fingers experimentally, her bloodied hand stiff but functional. The cuts on her knuckles, left from her encounter with the river rocks, had already healed. All that remained was the mess—the streaks of dried and flaking blood.

Her eyes swept over the landscape. It wasn’t the worst place she’d landed, but it wasn’t ideal either. A snow-covered expanse with no immediate shelter in sight. Her breath fogged the air as she turned toward the forest, her boots crunching through the ice-encrusted ground.

She moved with purpose, stripping bushes and shrubs of sticks and straw as she passed. Small logs and seeds found their way into her growing bundle. Every action was deliberate, her movements efficient despite the numbing cold biting at her skin.

“Order of business,” she muttered aloud. “Shelter before sundown. Renewable food source. Landscape is cold and snow-covered—need to see if that changes with time and adjust accordingly.”

She paused, glancing down at the materials in her arms, then continued.

“If not, alternatives to farming. Inefficient, but necessary. Fishing’s the best bet unless I find oak trees with apples. Those could be replanted for long-term sustainability. Animal husbandry... feasible, but feed stockpiles would take time.”

Her gaze shifted upward, studying the position of the sun through the gray haze of clouds. Its slow arc indicated she had plenty of time.

“Almost a full day. Good.”

She adjusted her grip on the bundle of materials and pressed on, her eyes fixed on the plains she’d glimpsed earlier. It would be easier to set up there—clear sightlines for planning, better visibility for spotting threats. The forest’s shadows gave way to open snowfields, the crisp air stinging her cheeks as she stepped into the open.

Arin paused, her gaze sweeping the empty expanse. “This will do.”

She set down her bundle and knelt in the snow, beginning to sort through her collected materials.

---

By the time the sun began its descent, painting the world in shades of gold and orange, Arin stood back to survey her work. Her wooden axe hung from her belt, dulled from use, and her hands were raw despite her gloves.

The small house she’d constructed was crude but functional. The walls were sturdy, made of rough-hewn logs fitted tightly together, and the roof slanted just enough to keep off the snow. The windows were still open holes, but they let in the fading light, casting long shadows across the interior.

Inside, the space was compact but efficient. A crafting bench sat against one wall, flanked by two large chests for storage. A furnace, modified with a carved stone grid over a hole in its top, doubled as a cooking stove. The simple adjustment had taken time, but Arin knew it would save her trouble later.

She stepped outside, her boots crunching over the freshly cleared ground. The stray wild grass that had once choked the field was gone, pulled up by hand and left in a neat pile to the side.

Her eyes drifted to the animal pen just beyond the house. It was small and hastily built with oak planks scavenged from the nearby forest, but it served its purpose. Inside, two sheep and a single pig meandered aimlessly, their hooves and snouts leaving faint trails in the snow.

She hadn’t planned on collecting them so soon, but the opportunity had presented itself. Finding them had been more luck than intent, and corralling them into the pen had been... tedious. She’d had no proper tools or leads, so she’d resorted to luring them with handfuls of wheat and wild carrots, dropping a trail of food as she nudged them along.

“Efficient enough,” she muttered to herself, brushing the dust and splinters from her hands.

She turned back to the house, her gaze scanning the horizon one last time. The field stretched wide and open, its edges bordered by the dark line of the forest. The faint sound of wind rustling through the trees reached her ears, a low, steady hum against the quiet.

Arin stepped back inside, closing the makeshift door behind her. She placed her axe on the crafting bench and glanced at the furnace. Tomorrow, she’d need to gather more fuel and set traps for small game. Fishing might also be viable if the river’s ice wasn’t too thick.

For now, the house was enough.

She sat against the wall next to the door, beginning to mentally construct the next steps now that shelter was sorted.

---

The wind brushed against her cheeks, sharp and cold, but Emily barely noticed. Her breath caught as she stared at the forest around her, the sunlight filtering through the trees in golden streaks. Snow-covered branches glittered like something out of a storybook, and the distant hum of a river added a soothing undercurrent to the stillness.

“This place is beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the whispering wind. She ran her hand along the rough bark of a tree, marveling at the contrast of its warmth against the icy air.

For a moment, she let herself forget the sharp pang in her stomach, the ache in her legs, and the cold that had seeped into her gloves. Survival could wait. There was still so much to see, even after a year in this world. A year of traveling from place to place, answering the call of something just beyond the horizon.

Adjusting the strap of her pack, Emily started walking again, her boots crunching softly through the snow. She didn’t have a destination in mind—she rarely did—but that didn’t matter. The journey was enough.

As she walked, the faint sound of trickling water caught her attention. She paused, tilting her head, and turned toward the sound. After weaving through a cluster of pines, she found the source: a small spring nestled at the base of a rock outcrop, its waters bubbling up from underground and refusing to freeze despite the cold.

Emily knelt by the edge of the spring, pulling off her gloves to dip her hands into the icy water. The chill bit into her skin, but she gritted her teeth and splashed her face, letting the cold wake her senses. She leaned over the water, her breath creating faint ripples on the surface.

Her reflection stared back at her: blonde hair pulled into a loose braid that was already coming undone, verdant green eyes framed by lashes dusted with frost, and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her lips were chapped, and her face had taken on a pinkish hue from the cold, but the sight made her smile faintly.

“There she is,” she muttered. “Still kicking.”

She cupped her hands to drink a few sips of the crisp water, then stood, brushing her hands on her coat. After tugging her gloves back on, she turned and continued her journey, her spirits lifted.

The forest stretched on, the quiet broken only by the occasional crack of a branch underfoot. She paused every so often, studying the patterns of frost or the way light caught on icicles. It was during one of these moments that a flicker of movement caught her eye—a flash of white darting between the trees.

Emily stilled, tilting her head as her eyes scanned the underbrush. She crouched slightly, the cold pressing against her knees as she waited.

“Hello?” she called softly, her voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves.

The underbrush shifted again, and then it emerged: a snow hare, its ears twitching as it stared at her with wide, wary eyes. Its coat blended almost perfectly with the snow, save for faint gray smudges on its paws and nose.

Emily stayed perfectly still, letting the hare study her. Slowly, she reached into her pack, pulling out a small chunk of dried apple. She extended it toward the hare, her movements slow and deliberate.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t hurt you.”

The hare hesitated, sniffing the air. Then, with cautious steps, it crept closer, its nose twitching as it grabbed the apple with its teeth. Emily grinned as it hopped back a few paces to nibble on the treat.

“See? Not so scary.”

The hare stared at her for a moment longer before bounding off into the snow, its white coat vanishing into the frost-covered backdrop. Emily watched it go, a faint smile lingering on her lips.

Rising to her feet, she dusted the snow from her gloves and continued walking. The forest began to thin as she moved, the sunlight streaming more freely through the trees. Her boots crunched over fallen leaves hidden beneath the frost, and the air grew stiller as she crested a small rise.

As she descended the other side of the hill, she spotted something unexpected: a small cabin nestled among the trees. Or rather, what was left of one.

Emily approached cautiously, her footsteps slowing as she took in the scene. The roof had partially caved in, the walls sagging under the weight of snow and time. Shards of glass clung to the edges of a shattered window, and the remnants of a door hung crookedly on its hinges.

She crouched near the doorway, pulling her sketchbook from her pack. With quick, practiced movements, she began to draw, her charcoal capturing the structure’s fragile beauty. She wondered who had built it, how long ago, and what stories its walls had once held.

When she finished, she tucked the sketch away and stood, brushing the snow from her knees. The cabin had a melancholic charm, but it also reminded her of how transient things could be. With a final glance, she turned and continued on her way.

The trees began to open up again, and as she stepped into a clearing, the sight took her by surprise.

The ground ahead was blanketed in untouched snow, save for faint trails where animals had passed through. In the distance, a small herd of deer grazed near a cluster of bushes, their breath fogging the cold air.

Emily stopped at the edge of the clearing, her hand resting on the strap of her pack. The herd moved languidly, their heads dipping toward the snow-covered shrubs. One of them, a young buck with short antlers, raised its head, its ears swiveling as it caught sight of her.

“Don’t mind me,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.

The buck stamped its hoof, the sound muffled by the snow, but it didn’t flee. Emily smiled softly, lowering herself onto a fallen log at the clearing’s edge. She let her pack slide off her shoulder, reaching inside to retrieve her sketchbook.

She flipped to an empty page and began to draw. Her charcoal moved quickly, tracing the curve of the buck’s antlers and the gentle slope of its back. The rest of the herd grazed quietly, their muscles relaxing as they grew accustomed to her presence.

When she finished, Emily held the page up, studying her work. It wasn’t perfect, but it captured the moment well enough. She tore the page free and tucked it into her pack before standing carefully, not wanting to disturb the herd.

“Thanks for the pose,” she said quietly, giving the buck a nod before continuing on her way.

As she left the clearing, the trees began to close in again, their shadows lengthening as the sun dipped lower in the sky. She pulled her coat tighter around her, her breath forming faint clouds as the cold deepened.

It was then she saw it: a faint line of smoke curling upward in the distance.

Emily adjusted her pack as she stepped out of the forest and onto a snow-covered path leading toward the village. The scent of smoke mingled with the crisp winter air, and the faint murmur of voices grew louder with each step.

The first figure she encountered was a farmer, bent low over a hoe as he worked the frozen earth of a small field. His straw hat was dusted with snow, and the bundle of wheat strapped to his back rustled faintly as he straightened, his wary eyes landing on Emily.

“Hello,” she said, raising a hand in greeting.

The man hesitated, his fingers tightening on the hoe, but after a moment, he nodded toward the village center. “Elder Jonah’ll see you,” he said gruffly. “His house is the big one near the well.”

“Thank you,” Emily replied, offering a small smile before continuing on.

As she walked deeper into the village, the hum of activity surrounded her. A group of children chased each other near a fence, their laughter bright against the quiet. An older villager sat outside his home, mending a net with calloused hands. Nearby, a woman hung fresh linens on a line, the fabric fluttering in the cold breeze.

Emily couldn’t help but smile. There was something comforting about the rhythm of their lives, the way they worked together to keep the village running.

Her gaze caught on a towering figure slumped near the center of the square. As she approached, the shape resolved into a rusted Iron Golem, its massive frame leaning heavily against the edge of the well. Vines had curled around its joints, and snow had settled into the crevices of its once-shining surface.

Emily stopped, tilting her head as she studied it. “What happened to you?” she murmured.

The Golem’s head was tilted slightly to one side, its glowing eyes long extinguished. It looked more like a forgotten monument than a protector. A villager passing by noticed her interest and paused.

“Thing’s been broken for years,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “Used to guard us, back when it worked. Now it’s just... there.”

Emily nodded, running her fingers lightly over the rough surface of its arm. “It must’ve been incredible when it was active,” she said, stepping back.

The villager shrugged, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. “Elder Jonah will tell you more, if you’re curious. He’s seen it working.”

Emily thanked him and continued toward the Elder’s home, the largest structure in the village. Smoke curled from its chimney, and a soft glow spilled from the windows, inviting her inside. She knocked lightly on the door, which opened after a moment to reveal a man with graying hair and a deeply lined face.

“Traveler,” he greeted, his tone cautious but not unkind. “What brings you to our village?”

Emily dipped her head politely. “Just passing through,” she said. “I was hoping to rest here for the night before moving on.”

Jonah studied her for a long moment before nodding. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “But mind yourself—our nights aren’t as quiet as our days.”

Emily entered, setting her pack near the door as she glanced around the room. The Elder’s home was simple but well-kept, with a sturdy wooden table at its center and shelves lined with jars of preserved food. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Emily said, turning to face him. “And I’m familiar with the dangers of the night.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen them?”

Emily nodded. “Zombies, skeletons, spiders... I’ve had my share of run-ins.”

The Elder sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “They’ve been getting bolder,” he admitted. “Most nights, we hear them scratching at doors or see them lurking near the edge of the forest. That’s why we lock up tight after dark.”

He gestured toward the window, where the light was already fading. “If you plan to go out after sundown, I’d think twice. They’ll tear you apart if they catch you.”

Emily’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

Jonah studied her again, his expression thoughtful. “You seem... prepared for someone traveling alone.”

“I’ve been at this a while,” Emily replied simply.

The Elder didn’t press further, instead gesturing to the table. “You’re welcome to sit and warm yourself by the fire. We can talk more over supper, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, taking a seat. She leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire seep into her cold fingers.

Emily leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on the edge of the table. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have these attacks been happening so frequently?”

Jonah sighed, his gaze drifting toward the window as though he could see the darkening forest beyond. “It’s been about a year now. Before that, it was rare—maybe once or twice a year, if that. Back then, we hardly gave it much thought.”

He gestured vaguely toward the center of the village. “The Iron Golem you saw earlier used to handle anything that came too close. Kept us safe for years. But as time passed and the attacks stopped, we didn’t think we’d need it anymore. It broke down, and we didn’t have the resources—or the urgency—to fix it.”

Emily frowned, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “And then the attacks started again?”

Jonah nodded, his expression grim. “Not all at once, mind you. At first, it was just a stray zombie or a skeleton wandering too close. We’d chase them off or barricade ourselves inside until they moved on. But over the past year, it’s gotten worse. They come in groups now—zombies, skeletons, spiders. Sometimes even creepers.”

He paused, his voice dropping lower. “And they don’t leave anymore. They stay until dawn, clawing at the doors and windows like they’re hunting something.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s... unusual.”

Jonah glanced at her, his expression wary. “You sound like you know more about this than you’re letting on.”

“I’ve seen my fair share of monsters,” Emily said carefully. “But I’ve never heard of them acting like this—so focused, so... coordinated.”

Jonah rubbed a hand over his face, the lines of his expression deepening. “Neither have we. It’s been hard on the village. We’ve had to rebuild homes, replace tools, fortify the fences. The strain is starting to show, and the longer this goes on...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Emily leaned back in her chair, her mind working through the details. Something about this didn’t sit right. Monsters were dangerous, but they weren’t supposed to be this persistent.

“Have you noticed anything else unusual?” she asked after a moment. “Anything that changed around the time the attacks started?”

Jonah frowned, his brows knitting together in thought. “Can’t say for certain. Some of the farmers mentioned their crops have been growing slower, and the animals seem... jittery, like they’re on edge. A few of the younger ones claimed they saw strange lights in the forest, but you know how kids are. Could be their imaginations running wild.”

Emily’s gaze flicked toward the window, her lips pressing into a thin line. Strange lights. Persistent attacks. Something was happening here, and it wasn’t just bad luck.

Jonah sighed again, standing up and placing a hand on the back of his chair. “We’ve been managing so far, but I don’t know how much longer we can keep it up. If those creatures ever break through...” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the weight of it hung heavy in the air.

Emily nodded slowly. “Thank you for telling me. It’s always better to know what to expect.”

Jonah studied her for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “You’re not like most travelers,” he said. “You seem... prepared. And curious.”

She offered a faint smile. “I’ve learned the hard way that it pays to be both.” She hummed out before clearing her throat and moving to stand. "I should let you get some rest, the suns almost in bed too." She said politely

The older villager hurmed in response before standing up. Jonah opened the door, letting the cold night air seep into the warmth of the house. He stood with one hand on the frame, the other gripping a heavy lantern that was hung up beside the door.

“Be careful out there,” he said, his voice steady but laced with concern. “And if you hear anything... unusual, don’t wait to find out what it is. Just get inside.”

Emily stepped onto the porch, pulling her coat tighter around her. She glanced back at the Elder and offered a small smile. “I appreciate the warning, but I’ve handled worse.”

Jonah gave a soft grunt, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “We’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case.”

“Goodnight, Elder.” She nodded, her breath fogging in the cold as she turned and began walking toward the edge of the village. Behind her, she heard the door creak shut and the faint clatter of the latch sliding into place.

The streets were quiet now. Most of the villagers had retreated into their homes, their windows glowing faintly from the fires inside. She passed the Iron Golem again, its rusted form looming over the square like a forgotten sentinel. For a brief moment, she considered staying near it—it would provide some cover, at least—but something about the edges of the forest drew her attention.

Her boots crunched softly over the snow as she made her way to the main entrance of the village, a gap in the wooden palisade reinforced with makeshift barricades. She stopped just beyond the last house, the cold wind brushing against her cheeks as she unsheathed her sword. The familiar weight of it in her hand brought a sense of focus, her mind narrowing to the task ahead.

Emily planted herself firmly at the village’s edge, her stance relaxed but ready. Her eyes scanned the shadows beyond the fence, the forest a tangle of dark branches and shifting moonlight. She breathed steadily, her senses sharp, every creak of the trees or rustle of the wind setting her on edge.

For a long time, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the night and the faint glow of the moon on the snow.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it again—a faint glimmer of purple, deep and unnatural, flickering between the trees. Her breath caught, her head snapping toward the source. The glow was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the shadows of the forest.

Emily tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, her lips pressing into a thin line. Whatever it was, it had moved silently, impossibly so.

She forced herself to exhale slowly, her breath misting in the cold air. “Not tonight,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a quiet promise to herself and the village behind her.

The forest remained still, but Emily didn’t let her guard down. She held her position, her eyes never leaving the treeline, ready for whatever the night might bring.

---

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the snow-covered landscape as Arin walked the well-trodden path toward her residence. Her pack, heavier than usual, clinked faintly with every step, filled with the spoils of her latest expedition.

The abandoned mineshaft had been a stroke of luck. Hidden deep within the forest, it had yielded a trove of old redstone gadgets, rails, and even a dismantled minecart. The iron ore alone—left in neat crates that had never made it to their destination—had been worth the trouble.

Arin’s pace was steady, unhurried. She moved with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before, her mind already turning over her next tasks. The equipment she had salvaged would need sorting and repair, and she’d have to prepare another shipment for her secondary base across the water.

The path widened as she approached the outskirts of a small town. The faint hum of life reached her ears: villagers tending to chores, the occasional bark of a dog, the creak of a wooden gate swinging shut. Arin didn’t look up.

Her route took her directly through the center of the town, past the fenced fields and simple homes. The defenses were rudimentary but sufficient—wooden palisades and a scattering of lanterns to light the perimeter. Functional, if not particularly elegant.

It wasn’t until she reached the town square that she paused, her gaze snagging on the hulking figure slumped near the well. A Iron Golem.

Arin stopped, tilting her head slightly as she studied the machine. Its rusted frame leaned heavily to one side, and vines curled around its joints, frozen in place by the cold. The sight of it—a piece of machinery abandoned to decay—grated against something deep within her.

For a moment, she considered walking on. It wasn’t her problem, after all. The town’s defenses were its own responsibility, and she had more than enough on her plate.

But the longer she looked at it, the more the sight irritated her. The thought of leaving a functional machine to rot was... Wasteful.

Without a word, Arin shrugged her pack from her shoulders and knelt beside the Golem. She ignored the curious stares of passing villagers, her hands already working as she opened one of her pack’s side compartments.

Tools and materials spilled out: iron ingots, wrenches, spare bolts, a few iron sheets. Arin worked in silence, her movements precise and methodical. She pulled away the vines, tightened screws, replaced rusted joints, and polished the Golem’s chest plate until it caught the light again.

Occasionally, a villager approached, their hesitant voices breaking the quiet. “Are you... fixing it?” one asked.

Arin didn’t respond, her focus unbroken. The villager shuffled awkwardly before retreating. Others watched from a distance, their whispers growing louder as the repairs neared completion.

With a final adjustment, the Golem stirred. Its eyes flickered to life, glowing faintly as it straightened to its full height. It's internals clicking into place like a clockwork gadget, it's head shifted, it's eyes twitched from side to side before looking down toward Arin. The villagers gasped, a mix of awe and excitement rippling through the square.

Arin stood, brushing snow from her knees as she packed her tools away. She gave the Golem a single command without looking at it: “Patrol the perimeter. Protect the town.”

The machine turned with a creak of metal, its massive frame lumbering toward the edge of the village, the ground grumbling with each step. The crowd parted quickly, watching it go with wide eyes.

Arin hoisted her pack onto her shoulders and continued on her way without a glance at the villagers.

Her thoughts had already shifted elsewhere, to the shipment she needed to organize and the logistics of moving her equipment to her second base across the water. It would take time, but it would be worth the effort to fully transition operations there.

The village faded behind her as she walked, the cold wind tugging at her coat. In her mind, the repairs were already a distant task checked off a never-ending list of things to do.

---

The sun was dipping low as Emily approached the village, her steps light despite the weight of her pack. The faint scent of smoke reached her nose, mingling with the crisp winter air. She adjusted her grip on her sword, the blade still flecked with ash and soot from the Pillager camp she’d left in ruins.

It had been a productive trip. The camp had been small—barely a dozen Pillagers—but too close to the village for comfort. Emily had handled it quickly and efficiently, ensuring none would return. Along the way, she’d even managed to scavenge a few odds and ends: scraps of fabric, polished stones, and carved wooden figurines left behind in the Pillagers’ loot.

A grin tugged at her lips as she thought of the children. They would love the trinkets. Emily had learned early on that even small things could bring joy, and she always tried to return with something for them.

As she crossed the outer fence, a familiar face greeted her.

“Emily!” called Farmer Wilfred, waving from his field. The old man leaned heavily on his hoe, his weathered face lighting up at the sight of her. “You’re back already?”

“Wilfred!” Emily called back, waving as she approached. “Did you miss me?”

The farmer chuckled. “The little ones sure did. They’ve been running circles around the square all day. What’s in the pack this time?”

Emily tapped the side of her bag with a wink. “You’ll see soon enough. I’ll tell everyone all about it tonight.”

Wilfred smiled warmly and gave a knowing nod. “Good to have you back.”

Emily returned the smile and continued toward the square, her boots crunching over the snow. As she entered the center of the village, a group of children spotted her and ran over, their excited shouts filling the air.

“Emily! Did you get them? Did you get the bad guys?”

“Were there lots of them?”

“Did you find anything cool?”

Laughing, Emily crouched to meet them, pulling her pack from her shoulders. “I did,” she said, unbuckling the straps. “And I brought something back for all of you.”

She handed out the small trinkets, grinning as the children’s eyes lit up. The carved wooden animals were a hit, and the polished stones had them comparing colors and shapes with glee.

“Now, now,” she said, raising her hands to quiet their chatter. “I’ll tell you the whole story tonight, once everyone’s settled. Deal?”

“Deal!” the children chorused, scattering back to their games.

Still smiling, Emily stood and dusted off her hands, glancing around the square. Her gaze landed on the Iron Golem meandering along the edge of the palisade, its glowing eyes scanning the perimeter.

Her smile froze.

She blinked, her brow furrowing as she watched the Golem lumber past, its heavy footsteps leaving faint imprints in the snow. It moved smoothly, with none of the rusted creaks or halting steps she’d expected to see in its broken state.

“When did...?” Emily murmured, trailing off.

She turned toward the Elder’s house, her pack swinging against her back as she approached and knocked on the door. It opened moments later to reveal Jonah, his face breaking into a tired but genuine smile.

“Emily,” he greeted. “Back already?”

“I am,” she replied, her voice careful. “And it looks like I missed something while I was gone.”

Jonah tilted his head, following her gaze toward the Golem in the square. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “The Golem. Impressive work, isn’t it?”

“You finally had someone fix it?” Emily asked, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “About time.”

Jonah frowned slightly, his brow creasing. “Not exactly. It wasn’t us who fixed it.”

Emily blinked. “What do you mean?”

“An Outlander came through while you were out,” Jonah explained, his tone quiet and thoughtful. “Didn’t say much—just started working on it. Took them hours, but they didn’t stop until it was done. Then they packed up and left, just like that.”

“An Outlander." Emily parroted back her attention fully on Jonah

Jonah nodded. “A quiet one. She looked... different. Brown hair, dark as the soil, and eyes even darker—almost black unless the light caught them just right. Tanned skin. She worked like she’d done it a hundred times before.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Finally, she managed a quiet, “Which way did she go?”

“West,” Jonah replied, gesturing toward the mountains beyond the forest. “Didn’t even stay the night.”

Emily nodded absently, her thoughts spinning. Another Outlander. It didn’t seem possible. It couldn't be. But Jonah wouldn't lie, centuries of wandering and she had only ever heard whispers, stories from years before her first steps across the worlds.

But if it was true and another was so...close. She had to find them didn't she?

“I see,” she murmured. “Thank you, Jonah.”

The Elder gave her a long, searching look. “You all right, Emily?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Jonah didn’t press further, stepping back into his house as Emily turned away, her gaze drifting westward.

The mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks sharp against the twilight sky.

Chapter Text

Arin lifted her goggles, her eyes blinking a few times as they readjusted to the non-tinted light of the large workshop. She stepped back from the locomotive her hands covered by thick rubber gloves as she stared at her work.

It was large, but standard as the rest of the network went, This one however, was set for a long range route passing around to the far side of the mountain to keep a steady rotation of food coming into the fourth project she had started, this time back on the initial continent she had landed on almost a hundred fifty three years ago.

She would have kept to the new continent but with the expanding of multiple projects, the demand for sources of food was growing to the point that it became prudent that she set up a supply line from across the water to the main project area to be distributed to the rest of the projects.

"Arin?" Arin blinked once as she turned her head to stare at the Villager who had taken to being her assistant, he was the four generations removed from the original assistant. The family had been quick to pick up her work, faster than others who had attempted it at least.

"Yes." She answered, her voice plain lacking any form of inflection, the villager flinched before bringing a hand up to scratch at his brow. "Well. Everything's ready for your trip, everyone's also ready to say goodbye for now."

Arin blinked slowly at him. "Why would they need to say goodbye, I am only going to be gone for a year at the most. Perhaps two. The systems here will last fifty times that." She reached into her satchel and turned back to the train, digging out her link controller, watching as large hooks slowly lowered from the ceiling and latched onto the train lifting it over to the proper track that will take it down to the dock where it would be loaded up onto the relatively small cargo ship she put together twenty odd years ago.

"...Well, you provide alot for the people here, and elsewhere." He said exasperated.

"A byproduct, only sustainable because I've a surplus of materials and supplies. It also helps that many of your people handle menial jobs and tasks I have no desire to handle myself as they would take time from projects." She said over her shoulder without looking away from the train, slowly and carefully maneuvering the workshops cranes.

Arin’s hands moved with practiced precision, her gloved fingers steady on the link controller’s dials. She watched as the locomotive settled into place with a faint metallic groan, the cranes retracting smoothly back to their resting positions. The faint smell of grease and ozone lingered in the air, a familiar scent that brought a momentary flicker of satisfaction to her otherwise neutral expression.

“Arin,” the villager spoke again, hesitantly. “It’s just... people appreciate you. Even if you don’t see it that way.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze still fixed on the train as she ran a final diagnostic through the link controller. “Appreciation is immaterial to the process,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “What matters is that the network functions as intended, and that your people benefit from its operation. Sentiment has no bearing on outcomes.”

The villager shifted uncomfortably, his wooden shoes scuffing against the metal floor. Arin’s eyes flicked to the movement, registering it, but her focus returned immediately to the readout in her hands. Numbers and icons danced across the display, confirming what she already knew: everything was as it should be.

“I’ll be departing at dawn,” she added, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the workshop. “Inform the others that there is no need for formalities. I will return when the new routes are established.”

The assistant hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Miss Arin. But, uh... if they insist, should I stop them?”

Arin finally turned to face him fully, her sharp eyes narrowing in faint confusion. “Why would they insist on something unnecessary? My departure will not alter the operations already in place.”

The villager opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly grappling with how to respond. After a moment, he simply bowed his head slightly and murmured, “I’ll let them know.”

She watched him leave, his footsteps fading into the cacophony of the village beyond. The faint sound of a bell echoed in the distance, signaling the end of the day’s work. Arin stood alone in the workshop, the soft orange light of the setting sun filtering through the high windows and casting long shadows across the floor.

For a moment, she stood still, her hands resting on the link controller. Her eyes roved across the workshop, cataloging every tool, every machine, every project in various stages of completion. Everything was in order, as it always was.

Her gaze landed on the train, now fully prepared for transport. Its dark steel exterior gleamed dully in the fading light, a testament to her precision and planning. Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the journey ahead. There was nothing uncertain about it—her preparations ensured that. Still, the idea of leaving the familiarity of her projects, even temporarily, stirred a faint, inexplicable tension in her chest.

She dismissed it almost immediately, her mind shifting to the checklist she would complete before morning. Supplies, tools, backup systems—everything had to be accounted for.

Satisfied, she turned and began to methodically clean her gloves and tools, every motion deliberate and exacting. The workshop fell silent save for the faint clink of metal against metal and the low hum of machinery idling in the background.

After an additional thirty minutes, she was stepping out of the workshop into the afternoon sun. The hilltop, carefully chosen years ago, offered an unobstructed view of her prized project: the city below, sprawling and meticulously arranged, every street and structure placed with deliberate intent.

Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, both residential and industrial, mixing with the faint hiss of steam from pipes that lined the streets and buildings. Gear-driven mechanisms turned steadily in the distance, their rhythmic clatter underscoring the city’s industrious heart. The central plaza stood as a testament to her precision, its towering clock gleaming with brass accents, each tick a perfectly calibrated moment in time.

This was the third city she had built, a culmination of everything she had learned from the first two. The streets formed a perfect grid, designed to balance efficiency with accessibility. Wide avenues supported both foot traffic and the intricate machinery that powered much of the city’s functionality. Above, elevated railways crisscrossed between buildings, carrying cargo and passengers alike.

Arin’s eyes scanned the streets below, noting the steady movement of villagers. From this height, they were small and indistinct, but she could still make out the patterns in their movements. The market district was alive with activity, the clamor of trade blending with the low hum of machines. The industrial sector, a dense arrangement of workshops and factories, operated with unerring precision. Conveyor belts, presses, and water-powered systems worked in perfect harmony—a reflection of her relentless pursuit of order and efficiency.

Beyond the city, her gaze settled on the coastline where another of her projects was taking shape. A sprawling dockyard extended into the ocean, its cranes and warehouses preparing to support the latest addition to her network: the cargo ship she had designed decades ago. It had been retrofitted recently to accommodate the steady flow of goods that would soon come from the continent she first landed on.

Her plans for that land had been years in the making. Once a wild, untamed stretch of terrain, it was now destined to become an agricultural hub—acres of farmland devoted to sustaining the cities she had built. The train she had prepared would form the critical link in this chain, carrying food from the farmland to the dock, where it would be loaded onto the ship for transport. It was a long-term solution, designed to eliminate inefficiencies in the existing supply lines and ensure that every city, every project, could grow without limitation.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, satisfaction flickering across her otherwise stoic expression. Everything was falling into place. The rail line’s construction had been a challenge, its route carefully plotted to bypass mountain ranges and natural obstacles, but now the pieces were ready. The train’s journey across the ocean would mark the next step in her vision—a network that spanned continents, as enduring as the cities it served.

The faint sound of bells ringing from the clocktower brought her attention back to the city. The shift change was beginning in the industrial district, the workers moving in practiced unison. It was a system she had refined over decades, balancing productivity with sustainability to ensure that nothing—and no one—was wasted.

Arin turned her gaze toward the distant horizon, where the mountains framed the blue expanse of the ocean. Her thoughts lingered on the farmland she would establish and the logistical challenges she had already anticipated. The train, the cargo ship, the cities—they were all part of a singular vision, one that valued function over sentiment and results over recognition.

Turning away from the view, she began her descent from the hill, her steps measured and deliberate. There was still much to do before her departure. Efficiency demanded precision, and she would allow for nothing less.

By the early morning, Arin was making her way toward the dock, her backpack securely fastened and packed with enough supplies to last her a year with careful rationing. Additional provisions, enough to extend her journey another nine months if necessary, had already been loaded onto the cargo ship the night before. Everything was accounted for, every contingency planned.

Yet, as she approached the dock, she noticed an unusual gathering in the soft, pale light of dawn. A small crowd of villagers had assembled, their voices a low murmur that carried across the still air. The sight gave her pause—not because it disrupted her plans, but because it simply did not make sense. They should have been at their posts by now, tending to the tasks she had assigned to ensure the city’s continued efficiency. Instead, they stood there, their gazes fixed on her approach.

Her pace slowed, her boots crunching against the gravel path as she regarded them with a mix of curiosity and faint irritation. A few villagers stepped forward as she neared, offering hesitant smiles or quiet nods. Among them, she recognized her assistant from the workshop, standing at the forefront with his hands clasped nervously.

“Arin,” he began, his voice uncertain but warm, “we… we wanted to see you off.”

Arin blinked, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the straps of her backpack. “I made it clear that farewells were unnecessary,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “My absence will not affect your routines or the systems in place. There is no logical reason to delay your tasks.”

The assistant flinched slightly but held his ground. “It’s not about logic,” he said carefully. “You’ve done so much for us—for all of us. We just wanted to say thank you. And… safe travels.”

Arin’s gaze swept across the group, her sharp eyes taking in their expressions. Gratitude, concern, even a hint of sadness—emotions she could recognize but not fully comprehend. She shifted her weight slightly, her mind flicking through possible responses, though none felt particularly necessary. The systems would function. Their lives would continue. Her presence was not integral to their survival, only their comfort.

“It is inefficient,” she replied at last, her tone matter-of-fact. “Your time would be better spent ensuring the day’s work begins on schedule.”

A faint murmur ran through the group, but no one moved to leave. Instead, they simply stood there, their collective gaze unwavering. It struck her as odd—this insistence on sentiment, this attachment to her as an individual rather than her contributions. She had encountered it before, of course, but it always left her feeling slightly… disoriented.

Her assistant cleared his throat, stepping forward again. “We know you don’t see it the way we do,” he said, his voice softer now. “But to us, you’re more than just the systems you’ve built. You’ve given us a home—a future. That matters.”

Arin tilted her head, processing his words. To her, the city was a project, a solution to inefficiency, not an expression of altruism. If they benefited from her work, it was a byproduct, not the purpose. Yet their words suggested something else entirely, a perspective she had neither considered nor sought.

“I see,” she said finally, though her tone made it clear she didn’t, not entirely. She shifted her focus back to the dock, where the cargo ship waited, its engines idling softly. “Your gratitude is noted. Return to your tasks. I will depart shortly.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then, as if prompted by some unspoken agreement, the group began to disperse, offering quiet farewells as they returned to the city. Her assistant lingered a moment longer, his expression uncertain, before giving her a respectful nod and hurrying after the others.

Arin exhaled slowly, her gaze following them as they receded into the distance. Their actions puzzled her, but she filed the encounter away, categorizing it as an anomaly—an inefficiency born of sentimentality. It would not disrupt her plans, and therefore, it was inconsequential.

With that, she turned and made her way toward the ship, her steps measured and purposeful. The morning light glinted off the water as the dock creaked faintly beneath her boots. By the time she reached the cargo ship, she had already shifted her thoughts back to the journey ahead, the villagers’ farewell fading into the background of her mind like the sound of the retreating waves.

---

The morning sun filtered through the wide, arched windows of Emily’s home, casting soft rays across the cluttered wooden table in the center of the room. A pile of maps, handwritten notes, and small trinkets spilled across its surface, evidence of her restless wanderings. She stood by the open window, a gentle breeze tugging at the loose strands of her dark hair as she tied it back with practiced ease.

The city outside was alive with activity, its stone streets bustling with merchants setting up their stalls and children darting through the crowds with playful shouts. From her perch on the upper floor of the modest stone house she called home, Emily could see the spires of the central temple rising above the rooftops, its bells ringing out the hour in a familiar, comforting melody.

She smiled faintly as her gaze swept the streets below, picking out familiar faces among the crowd. There was Harold, the grizzled blacksmith with arms like tree trunks, already hammering away at his forge. Across from him, old Marigold was setting up her flower stand, her gnarled hands moving deftly as she arranged blooms into vibrant bouquets. Every corner of the city held a memory, every face a name she had long since committed to heart.

It had been her home for well over a century now, and while her wanderer’s spirit often pulled her toward the horizon, she always returned. Unlike the sprawling, mechanical efficiency of other cities she’d heard about—one in particular, whispered about by travelers—this place was alive, breathing with the rhythm of its people. It was messy, imperfect, and utterly human.

But today, her focus was elsewhere. A small satchel rested by the door, already packed with supplies for the journey ahead. She was heading to one of the smaller villages on the outskirts, a place she hadn’t visited in some time but had fond memories of. Word had reached her that they were in need of help—a lingering illness had spread among the livestock, and though the villagers were managing, it wouldn’t hurt to have another set of hands to assist.

Emily slipped her boots on and slung the satchel over her shoulder, her steps light as she descended the creaking wooden stairs to the main level of her home. As she reached the door, a knock sounded, and she opened it to find a young girl standing there, clutching a bundle of wildflowers.

“Miss Emily!” the girl chirped, holding the flowers out to her. “Mama said you’re going away for a bit, so we picked these for you.”

Emily crouched down to accept the flowers, her smile warm. “Thank you, Lilly. They’re beautiful. Tell your mama I’ll bring back something nice for you, alright?”

The girl beamed, nodding vigorously before darting off toward the marketplace. Emily stood, tucking the flowers into the strap of her satchel before stepping out into the bustling street. She moved through the crowd with an easy grace, pausing now and then to greet those she passed. A baker offered her a freshly baked roll, which she accepted with a grateful nod, while a tailor waved her over to show off his latest wares.

By the time she reached the city gates, her heart felt lighter than the satchel on her back. She loved this city and its people, but the prospect of venturing out again, of seeing the familiar faces in the village and finding new ways to lend a hand, filled her with a quiet excitement.

The road ahead was well-worn, winding through fields of golden wheat and groves of ancient oaks. It would take her most of the day to reach the village, but she didn’t mind. The journey was part of the joy, a chance to let her mind wander and her feet carry her where they would.

Unbidden her mind drifted to the village she had left behind all but what felt like yesterday to her, something that developed early on after waking up for the first time. Her sense of time was on a larger scale than anyone she's met could understand. She was thousands of years old by now yet never aged a day beyond what she assumed to be her early twenties. Yesterday to her was decades to anyone else.

It was a lonely life, even when surrounded by people. She loved the villagers she knew, they were friends. Family even. Yet they were fleeting and she would miss them for centuries after they finally passed on. She let out a soft sigh as she peered up at the sky continuing her leisurely walk. She had looked across the mountain for the other outlander, only to fine a long cold campsite and a very well put together house, she had hoped that maybe she'd have someone who understood what it was like.

To be long-lasting like this. She shook her head once as she opted to think about something more lighthearted. She fiddled around in her bag before producing a flute, one of a hundred hobbies she took up to fill her eternity with, she loved music just as much as she loved sketching, drawing. Licking her lips she brought the instrument up to her mouth beginning to fill the air with distracting and happy music.

The melody from Emily’s flute carried through the fields, weaving between the rustling wheat and the gentle sway of the oaks. It was light and carefree, a tune she had crafted over countless walks like this one. The act of playing filled her chest with warmth, a reminder of the simple beauty that the world still held, even after centuries.

Her feet moved in time with the music, the notes tumbling out with a natural ease born from years of practice. She let her thoughts drift, her eyes scanning the horizon where the faint outline of the village slowly emerged—a collection of cozy thatched roofs nestled against the tree line. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, a sign of life and industry even at this early hour.

The sight brought a smile to her lips. She hadn’t been to this village in over a decade—yesterday, by her own reckoning. Some faces would be new, others familiar, though weathered by the passage of time. The children she remembered would be adults now, with children of their own. The cycle continued, unchanged, while she remained an unaging constant.

As the sun climbed higher, the road dipped into a small valley, and the village came fully into view. Her music faded as she lowered the flute, tucking it carefully back into her bag. Something about the scene ahead gave her pause—a crowd of villagers, gathered tightly near the center of town. Their movements were agitated, and even from a distance, she could feel the tension in the air.

Emily quickened her pace, her boots crunching against the dirt path as she closed the distance. The familiar hum of a bustling village was conspicuously absent, replaced by a strained, uncertain quiet punctuated by the occasional murmur of voices. It wasn’t until she drew closer that she noticed a figure standing apart from the crowd, speaking in a voice that carried across the square.

The voice was calm, deliberate, and completely unfamiliar. As Emily reached the edge of the gathering, she finally saw the source—a woman with deep brown hair tied neatly back, her skin sun-kissed and her face expressionless, devoid of the warmth Emily so often saw in others. She stood tall, flanked by two towering golems that exuded quiet menace, their mechanical limbs glinting in the sunlight.

The woman’s voice carried no malice, but her words hit hard all the same. “This village is an inefficient use of resources,” she stated plainly, her tone as steady as the ticking of a clock. “The soil here is among the most fertile for miles, yet it is occupied by structures and paths that contribute nothing to its potential. Relocation is required. You have until tomorrow evening to vacate.”

The crowd erupted into murmurs, fear and anger rippling through their ranks. A few villagers stepped forward to protest, their voices rising, but the woman did not flinch. Her dark, almost black eyes swept over them without judgment or hesitation, as if their protests were simply part of the equation she had already calculated. The golems shifted slightly, their heavy feet grinding against the earth.

Emily felt her stomach twist. The woman’s words weren’t cruel, but they were utterly devoid of compassion. For the villagers—people Emily knew and cared for—it was as though they were being reduced to obstacles. Without thinking, she stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise.

“Who exactly do you think you are?” Emily asked, her tone sharp. “Coming in here and telling these people they have to leave their homes?”

The woman turned toward her, those dark, unblinking eyes locking onto Emily with a focus that made her breath catch. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow around them, and Emily’s heart skipped. She knew. The agelessness in the woman’s gaze, the way she stood apart from the villagers despite her proximity—this was another Outlander.

But there was no relief in the realization, only a gnawing unease.

“I am Arin,” the woman said evenly, her tone unchanged. “This location is wasted in its current state. A large-scale agricultural project would benefit not only this population but others within the region. Relocation is the most effective course of action.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “And what about what the villagers want? What about their homes, their lives? You can’t just march in and tell them to pack up because it’s ‘effective.’”

Arin tilted her head slightly, a faint crease forming between her brows. “Their preferences do not alter the practicality of the solution. I have completed similar relocations before, all with beneficial outcomes.”

Emily’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe because no one dared to stand up to you. Well, I’m standing up now. These people deserve better than to be treated like pieces on a chessboard.”

For the first time, Arin hesitated. Her gaze flicked to the villagers, their faces etched with worry, before returning to Emily. She studied the other Outlander as though encountering an unexpected variable in an otherwise flawless calculation. “I will consider other solutions,” she said after a long pause, her voice quieter but no less certain. “Tomorrow morning, I will present alternatives for review.”

Emily crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “You’d better. Because I’m not letting you uproot these people without a fight.”

Arin offered no reply. She turned on her heel, the golems following in perfect unison as she ascended a nearby hill. There, overlooking the village, she paused to think. The objections had unsettled her—not because they posed a significant obstacle, but because they were unfamiliar. Normally, her proposals were met with acceptance, even gratitude.

Her mind turned over the variables, searching for alternatives that would satisfy the strange Outlander who had stood against her. The thought of conflict with another Outlander—one who shared her enduring nature—gnawed at the edges of her focus. She hadn’t sought this interaction, but now that it had happened, she couldn’t simply ignore it.

Tomorrow, she would return with new proposals. Solutions. Answers.

And yet, as she stared down at the village below, a faint unease lingered in her chest.

---

Arin had arrived the exact moment the first rays of light peaked from over the mountain, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail as she held a book and quill her hand, filled with a night full of alternatives, well over fifty of them. Surely throughout all of them one would work, though some were more resource intensive than others but nothing outside of the norm taking into account the materials needed for the reforming of the land, tools that would break down, security that needed to be put in place.

She paused when she saw the other Outlander sat on the well in the center of the town eating a loaf of bread in silence, her dark blonde hair catching the early morning light, green eyes glinting like emeralds and her face a dusting of freckles. Arin continued until she came to a stop beside the figure, watching her in silence as the other slowly tilted her head to peer at the builder.

Emily tilted her head slightly, chewing her bite of bread with deliberate slowness as she regarded Arin. The early light cast long shadows over the square, the villagers still stirring from their homes, though a few had already gathered at a cautious distance. The golems flanked Arin as they had before, their imposing forms still and silent, while Arin herself stood motionless, the book and quill in her hands the only sign of the work she’d done overnight.

“You’re early,” Emily said finally, breaking the silence. Her tone was neutral, though her sharp eyes never left Arin’s face.

“I said I would return this morning,” Arin replied, her voice calm. “I have completed a comprehensive analysis of alternative approaches. Fifty-three proposals, each with varying levels of feasibility and resource allocation.”

Emily’s brows raised slightly. “Fifty-three?” she repeated, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. “You stayed up all night coming up with fifty-three ways to solve a problem that doesn’t need solving.”

“The problem exists,” Arin replied, her tone steady but faintly puzzled. “The inefficiency of this location remains a fact, regardless of your personal attachment to it. However…” She hesitated, glancing at the villagers now watching from the edges of the square before returning her gaze to Emily. “Your objections have prompted additional considerations. Sentimentality, for example, though it remains an abstract concept.”

Emily stared at her for a moment, her mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came. Finally, she set the loaf of bread down beside her and crossed her arms. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s hear them.”

Arin nodded and opened the book, flipping to the first page. The script inside was immaculate, each line written with precision and care. She adjusted her stance slightly, the golems shifting with her, before speaking.

“The first proposal involves dividing the population into two groups,” she began. “The first group would relocate immediately and begin cultivating the land. Once sufficient progress is made, the second group would relocate, allowing for a staggered transition that minimizes disruption to resource production.”

Emily’s expression darkened. “So you’re saying split families apart? Force people to leave their homes and loved ones behind for who knows how long?”

“The separation would be temporary,” Arin replied, as though this was a self-evident solution. “The benefits would be measurable, and the disruption minimized.”

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Next.”

Arin turned the page without hesitation. “Proposal two: Relocate the village to an adjacent location with similar geographic advantages, preserving community cohesion while freeing this area for agricultural development.”

Emily frowned. “You’re still making them leave their homes.”

Arin blinked once, her expression unchanging. “The preservation of the current settlement is counterproductive to the optimization of this land. However, I have also accounted for—” She stopped, flipping forward several pages. “Proposal twenty-eight. Retain the current settlement as a central hub for storage and distribution, with farming activity relocated to peripheral zones.”

Emily’s brow furrowed. “Peripheral zones? You mean the forest? The hills? That’s not farming land.”

“Correct,” Arin said. “The terrain would require modification to achieve optimal yields. Additional labor and tools would be required, but the arrangement may satisfy your resistance to total relocation.”

Emily sighed, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Do you have anything that doesn’t involve uprooting people or turning their lives upside down?”

Arin hesitated, her gaze briefly flicking to the villagers once more. “The alternatives that do not involve relocation or significant adjustment to their living arrangements are less practical.” She flipped several more pages, her expression blank as ever. “One such option involves reducing the population to a more sustainable size, thereby allowing the remaining villagers to integrate with the proposed agricultural reforms.”

Emily froze, her stomach twisting as she processed the words. “Reduce the population?” she repeated, her voice low and sharp. “You mean kill them.”

Arin’s head tilted slightly, her tone unchanging. “The term ‘kill’ implies intent beyond necessity. It is a matter of resource allocation and efficiency. If relocation cannot be achieved and local sentimentality remains a barrier, a smaller population would—”

“Stop,” Emily snapped, rising from the well and stepping closer. Her green eyes blazed as she glared at Arin. “You’re talking about wiping out innocent people like it’s a line on a spreadsheet.”

Arin’s brows furrowed faintly—an almost imperceptible crack in her otherwise impassive demeanor. “It is not my preference,” she said. “It is an alternative, provided to address your concerns while achieving the necessary outcome.”

Emily took a slow, measured breath, forcing herself to stay calm. “Arin,” she said firmly, “these are people. Families. Children. They’re not obstacles or variables to be managed—they’re living, breathing, thinking beings. You can’t just… suggest something like that and expect me to take it seriously.”

For the first time, Arin seemed to falter. She closed the book, her fingers brushing against its cover as she regarded Emily in silence. “You are correct,” she said eventually, though her tone carried no apology. “My proposals are inadequate. I do not yet understand how to resolve the conflict between practicality and sentimentality.”

Emily crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly now that the blunt edge of Arin’s reasoning seemed to waver. “Then let me give you an idea,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

Arin blinked, her dark eyes narrowing just slightly as she tilted her head. “An alternative?”

“Yes,” Emily said, stepping closer. “You take the builders here—the ones who know how this place works—and help them set up a new settlement nearby. A place that you can pick to satisfy all your… calculations or whatever. They’ll have the skills to do it, and you can make sure it’s done in a way that doesn’t disrupt the rest of the village or force anyone to leave right away.”

Arin stared at her for a moment, unblinking. Then, her lips parted, and for the first time, her voice carried a faint edge of irritation. “That is inefficient.”

Emily arched a brow, but Arin continued before she could respond.

“It would require an extensive search for suitable land, consuming time I do not have to spare,” Arin said, her tone firm and clipped. “Furthermore, I would need to train the so-called builders to construct structures to my standards, which will also require resources beyond what this village possesses. The delay alone would set my projects back by weeks, if not months.”

Emily raised a hand, gesturing toward the villagers who were now gathering cautiously at the edges of the square. “They’re not ‘so-called builders,’ Arin. They’ve maintained this village for generations. It’s not perfect, sure, but they’re capable—and with your help, they could build something better.”

“That assumes they are capable of understanding my methods,” Arin replied, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible note of disdain. “Teaching them would be an unnecessary burden. It would be more efficient to implement the changes myself, without interference.”

Emily sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re not getting it. They want to help. You keep talking about efficiency, but maybe the most efficient thing here is to stop treating them like they don’t exist. If you show them what to do, they’ll take the burden off you in the long run.”

Arin’s brows furrowed, and she turned her gaze away, her fingers tightening slightly on the cover of her book. “The resources required to achieve that outcome would exceed the immediate benefits. It is… a distraction.”

Emily took a step closer, her voice softening slightly. “You said yourself your proposals weren’t working. This isn’t a distraction—it’s a compromise. If you keep pushing your way, you’ll alienate these people and create more problems for yourself. Trust me, I’ve been around long enough to know that working with people is better than working against them.”

Arin’s jaw tightened. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the horizon as though searching for an answer among the trees and mountains. Her mind churned, caught between the comfort of her established methods and the unsettling logic of Emily’s argument.

Finally, she spoke, her tone sharp and clipped. “I will consider your alternative.”

Emily frowned. “That’s not exactly convincing.”

“It is not a rejection,” Arin said, her voice hardening. “Do not mistake my willingness to evaluate your proposal as an agreement to implement it. I will need time to determine whether the investment is justifiable.”

Emily let out a slow breath, trying to hold back her frustration. “Fine. But if you’re serious about finding a solution, you’re going to have to meet these people halfway. They’re not machines, Arin—they’re not going to fall in line because you told them to.”

Arin turned her gaze back to Emily, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the two Outlanders simply stared at one another, the weight of their shared understanding hanging unspoken between them.

Without another word, Arin turned, her golems following her as she walked away from the square. Emily watched her go, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. The villagers murmured around her, and she turned to face them, forcing a reassuring smile.

“It’s not much,” she said, her voice steady, “but it’s a start. We’ll figure this out.”

Behind her, Arin paused at the edge of the square, glancing over her shoulder. Her dark eyes lingered on Emily for a moment longer before she turned away again, disappearing into the morning light.

The week that followed was quieter than Emily had expected. Arin had disappeared the morning after their exchange, retreating to wherever she had come from without so much as a word. At first, Emily felt a sense of relief—maybe she had gotten through to her, even a little. Maybe Arin was taking the time to reevaluate her plans and come up with something that didn’t involve tearing apart people’s lives.

But as the days stretched on, that relief gave way to unease. Emily found herself glancing toward the horizon whenever she walked the village, her gaze lingering on the distant hills as though expecting to see Arin’s silhouette appear at any moment.

She hadn’t been able to shake the impression Arin left on her—the strange, unsettling combination of cold logic and unwavering conviction. Meeting another Outlander had been something Emily had dreamed of for centuries, and yet now that it had happened, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

By the seventh morning, her unease had turned to outright worry. She sat on the well in the center of the village, staring at the bread she’d barely touched as the sun rose higher in the sky.

“She’ll come back,” she murmured to herself. “She has to.”

And as if summoned by her words, Arin arrived.

The sound came first—a low, mechanical whir that grew louder with each passing second. Emily’s head snapped up, her heart sinking as she saw movement on the horizon. A procession of golems crested the hill, their forms bristling with tools, machinery, and—Emily’s stomach turned—weaponry.

At their head walked Arin, her dark eyes fixed on the village ahead, her face as unreadable as ever. She was flanked by two larger golems, their metallic frames gleaming in the sunlight, and behind them came a host of others, their numbers far greater than before.

The villagers began to gather, murmurs of fear rippling through the square as they watched the approaching army. Emily stood, her body tense as she tried to push down the rising panic in her chest.

Arin stopped at the edge of the square, her golems halting in perfect unison behind her. For a moment, she surveyed the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the villagers before settling on Emily.

“All alternatives have been deemed unviable,” Arin said, her voice calm but carrying an edge of finality. “The proposed compromises would require resources and time I cannot spare. My projects across the ocean depend on the establishment of agricultural output from this land within the next year. Any further delays would endanger their stability.”

Emily stepped forward, her green eyes blazing. “So this is it?” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “You’re going to force them out, just like that?”

“I am ensuring the survival of countless lives,” Arin replied, her tone steady, though there was a faint flicker of something in her expression—frustration, perhaps, or exhaustion. “This village is a single piece of a much larger system. Sacrifices are necessary to maintain its integrity.”

Emily’s hands clenched at her sides. “You say that like it justifies everything. Like the people here don’t matter because they’re not part of your precious system.”

Arin tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening. “You misunderstand. I do not dismiss their lives. I prioritize those I can support effectively—those whose needs align with my capabilities. To do otherwise would compromise the system as a whole.”

Emily’s breath caught. For the first time, she felt a pang of understanding, as unsettling as it was. Arin wasn’t heartless—she simply couldn’t value lives she didn’t understand. Her projects, her systems—those were things she could grasp, measure, control. The people here? They were beyond her scope.

But they weren’t beyond Emily’s.

Emily stared at Arin, her mind racing. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together, and though the picture they formed was stark and cold, it also revealed a path forward—a way to stop this without a fight.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, her voice steady but deliberate. “Alright,” she said. “If you can’t prioritize them because they’re outside what you can understand, then let me offer you something that’s not.”

Arin blinked, her head tilting slightly. “Explain.”

Emily crossed her arms, meeting Arin’s gaze head-on. “I’ll give you what you want: the land for your projects. But on my terms.”

Arin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Elaborate.”

“You help these villagers build a new settlement,” Emily said, her tone firm. “You pick the location, you train their builders, and you make sure they’re set up properly. Once the new village is complete, the land is yours to use however you need.”

Arin’s brow furrowed faintly, her gaze shifting briefly to the villagers before returning to Emily. “This proposal introduces unnecessary delays and resource expenditure. I fail to see how it aligns with my objectives.”

Emily didn’t flinch. “Because I’m not done. There’s something else in it for you—something that’ll make all your other projects easier.”

Arin’s expression didn’t change, but Emily could see the faint flicker of curiosity in her dark eyes. “What is it?”

“Netherite,” Emily said simply.

For the first time, Arin’s composure wavered, her head straightening as her brows knitted slightly. “Netherite?”

Emily nodded. “It’s stronger than diamond—better in every way. Tools, structures, equipment—you name it. I know how to find it, how to process it, and how to use it. I’ll share all of that with you. But only after the new settlement is built, and only if you agree to leave this village alone.”

Arin was silent, her gaze sharp as she studied Emily. The seconds stretched into what felt like hours, the hum of the golems the only sound in the square.

Emily pressed on, her voice softening slightly. “There’s one more thing. I’ll come with you. For as long as we’re in this world, I’ll help you with whatever you need—your projects, your systems, all of it. I’ll be the connection you don’t have.”

The faint murmur of the villagers rose behind Emily, but she ignored it, her focus entirely on Arin.

“You’re offering to abandon your connections here,” Arin said finally, her voice calm but edged with skepticism. “To become part of my work. Why?”

“Because I’m not letting you destroy their lives,” Emily said bluntly. “And because I think you’re capable of more than this. You just don’t see it yet.”

Arin’s gaze lingered on her, searching her face as though trying to extract some hidden variable from her expression. “You intend to withhold the knowledge of Netherite until the project is complete.”

Emily nodded. “Think of it as insurance.”

Arin was silent again, her dark eyes flicking briefly to the villagers, then to the golems, then back to Emily. Finally, she spoke, her tone quieter but no less firm. “Your terms are inefficient. However… I acknowledge the potential value of your contributions.”

Emily exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “So that’s a yes?”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It is an agreement, contingent on your adherence to the terms you’ve presented. If you fail to uphold your end of the arrangement, the original plan will proceed.”

“Deal,” Emily said, extending a hand.

Arin regarded the gesture for a moment before simply nodding, her hands remaining firmly clutched about the device in her hands.

Without another word, Arin turned to her golems, issuing a series of commands. The mechanical constructs shifted, their weapons retracting and their stances relaxing as they prepared for a new task.

Emily glanced back at the villagers, their expressions a mixture of confusion and tentative hope. She offered them a small, reassuring smile before turning back to Arin.

“When do we start?” Emily asked.

Arin adjusted the straps of her satchel, her tone as measured as ever. “Immediately. There is much to be done, and delays are unacceptable.”

Emily couldn’t help but smile, despite herself. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

They started walking, Arin striding purposefully toward the horizon with the golems trailing behind her. Emily fell into step beside her, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the villagers. The cautious hope in their eyes gave her some measure of reassurance.

As they moved beyond the square, the hum of the golems filling the silence, Emily glanced sideways at Arin. “By the way,” she said, her tone light. “I don’t think I ever introduced myself.”

Arin’s gaze shifted briefly to Emily, her expression as impassive as ever.

“I’m Emily,” she said, offering a small, lopsided grin. “You should probably know that, considering we’re stuck with each other now.”

Arin turned her eyes back to the path ahead. “Emily,” she repeated, her voice devoid of inflection.

Emily let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You know, most people would say something like ‘Nice to meet you’ or ask for the other person’s name. Not you, though, huh?”

Arin paused for a second, glancing at Emily then back ahead. "...It is nice to meet you?"

Emily laughed quietly, tucking her hands into her pockets as they walked. “Nice to meet you too.”

Arin didn’t respond, her focus already shifting to whatever calculations were running through her mind. Emily let the silence linger, her grin fading into a thoughtful expression.

For all of Arin’s sharp edges and impersonal logic, there was something about her that tugged at Emily’s curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that she was the first Outlander Emily had ever met, unable to stop herself from wanting to know more, to understand Arin if such a thing was possible.

Chapter Text

Arin’s face twitched—a subtle, fleeting motion she felt ghost across her eye as she stood at the edge of the village. She waited, her body still save for the faint, rhythmic clenching and unclenching of her hand around her backpack strap. Patience wasn’t her strongest quality, and she had spent it sparingly over the past two hours as Emily busied herself saying goodbye to the villagers.

It wasn’t enough for Emily to exchange quick farewells, no. She had lingered over breakfast with the entire village, a casual, meandering affair that grated against Arin’s preference for efficiency. Her own breakfast, a handful of dried beef—selected for its convenience and nutritional density—had been consumed long before the sun finished rising. Now, as the morning stretched toward mid-morning, Arin stood ready, her pack neatly secured and her crossbow adjusted against her back.

Her dark eyes flicked westward, toward the forest she had determined would offer the best prospects for land surveying. Her plans had been carefully calculated—kits prepared with rations, torches, a dismantled crafting bench, and sleeping bags. She had even accounted for the unpredictable factor of Emily’s presence. What she hadn’t accounted for, and what continued to disrupt her timeline, was the ease with which Emily disregarded schedules in favor of moments like this.

Arin’s attention shifted, drawn by the soft sound of Emily’s voice carrying on the breeze. Emily knelt near the village square, speaking quietly to the villager-spawn clustered around her. One of them, a curious child with wide eyes, glanced her way before turning back to Emily with a question. Whatever they said, Emily responded with a laugh, the sound light and unrestrained.

Arin’s gaze lingered, noting how Emily’s freckled face caught the sunlight, the warmth of it softening her sharp edges. Her green eyes, bright and unguarded, seemed to catch and hold the light, refracting it in a way that Arin couldn’t quite quantify. It was… distracting.

Emily turned then, her gaze catching Arin’s, and offered an apologetic smile.

Arin exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing by an imperceptible degree. Despite herself, she found the corners of her thoughts softening, though her annoyance at the delay remained firmly rooted. She turned back toward the forest, her fingers releasing their hold on the strap of her pack to adjust the crossbow slung across her back.

The woods stretched out before her, a dark and sprawling unknown. She focused on the task ahead, her mind already shifting to logistics—the best way to chart the terrain, the most efficient route to cover as much ground as possible.

Behind her, Emily’s farewells finally seemed to be drawing to a close, her voice carrying a promise of gifts and a swift return. The villagers laughed softly, their chatter a soothing hum beneath the rustling trees.

Arin closed her eyes for a brief moment, centering herself. She would allow no further delays. The forest awaited, and time was wasting.

Ten minutes later they had begun their trek through the dark oak forest, the undergrowth thick around the base of trees but there was plenty of room to walk unimpeded, the entire time she walked, she held a map firmly in her hand, it's back against a well used clipboard made from andesite, her hands filling out the details of everything she saw as she went.

"...Soooo, how long have you been travelling?" Emily eventually asked having move to walk beside Arin instead of behind her.

"Specify. In general or upon this world?" Arin asked, not breaking from her work for even a second.

"Let's say this world."

"One hundred sixty years, four months, three days, sixteen hours, forty four minutes and twelve seconds." Came the simple reply. Arin had long since begun keeping track of time as a background method to keep from going mad, something to always do even if tedious she enjoyed it. Not that she would admit that to anyone.

"You just... off the top of your head knew that?" Emily asked, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

Arin’s pencil paused mid-stroke on the map as she glanced over at Emily, her expression neutral. “Yes. I maintain a continuous internal record of time. It is a simple process.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “I’m not sure I’d call that simple.”

Arin returned her attention to the clipboard, her pencil moving once more in neat, precise lines. “Simplicity is subjective. Usually.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Emily said with a laugh, sidestepping a particularly large root jutting from the ground.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the soft crunch of leaves beneath their boots the only sound. The forest stretched endlessly around them, the towering dark oak trees casting long shadows across the uneven ground. Arin’s gaze darted between the map and their surroundings, her mind already cataloging potential features of the terrain—elevation changes, soil quality, proximity to water sources.

“So,” Emily said eventually, her voice light, “what’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place?”

Arin didn’t look up. “Five hundred twelve years, seven months, and nine days.”

Emily let out a low whistle. “Let me guess—one of your projects?”

“Yes,” Arin replied simply.

“What was it?” Emily pressed.

Arin hesitated, her pencil hovering just above the paper. “A machine.”

Emily tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What kind of machine?”

Arin looked up from what she was doing to peer at Emily, the genuine curiosity in those gemstone eyes, the slight smirk her face seemed to always rest at when she wasn't angry over something.

Arin looked about them for a second as she slowed to a stop. "It is a long explanation and one that would bore you I believe based on our previous interactions, but given we have travelled some distance, when we make camp for the night, I will elaborate further should you desire."

Emily blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then her smirk softened into something closer to a grin, the kind that felt more genuine than teasing. “You’ll actually tell me about it? No holding back or giving me the ‘it’s complicated’ line?”

Arin tilted her head slightly, her expression as unreadable as ever. “I rarely withhold information unless it is deemed unnecessary or irrelevant. You requested an explanation, and I agreed to provide one. There is no benefit to obfuscation.”

Emily chuckled, shaking her head as they resumed walking. “You’ve got a way with words, Arin. Makes me wonder what you’d be like in front of a crowd.”

Arin frowned faintly at the thought. “Public speaking is redundant when written documentation can convey the same information more effectively.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but alright,” Emily said, her laughter bubbling up again. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her gaze returning to the map in her hands. As they walked, she caught herself glancing at Emily from the corner of her eye. The ease with which Emily moved through the world—her willingness to laugh, to fill the air with words that didn’t serve an immediate purpose—it was baffling. And yet…

“I have been described as such before,” Arin said finally.

Emily grinned at that. “Oh yeah? Who called you impossible?”

“Another Outlander I encountered many centuries ago,” Arin replied, her pencil moving across the map once more. “He had a similar penchant for unnecessary conversation.”

“‘Unnecessary,’ huh?” Emily repeated with mock offense. “I like to think of it as keeping things interesting.”

“Interesting is not a metric I typically prioritize,” Arin said, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“Well, maybe you should,” Emily said, casting her a sideways glance. “After all, you’re stuck with me for who knows how long. Might as well make the most of it.”

Arin paused for a fraction of a second, her pencil hovering over the map again. “Stuck implies unwillingness. You are a companion by choice, not obligation.”

Emily stopped mid-step, turning to face her with a curious look. “Huh. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze fixed firmly on her map ignoring the way her skin tickled under the other's gaze. “It was an observation.”

“Sure it was,” Emily said, her grin widening as she resumed walking.

They continued in relative silence after that, the only sounds the crunch of leaves beneath their boots and the occasional chirp of birds overhead. Arin’s mind, usually a steady flow of calculations and logistical considerations, felt slightly… unsettled. Not in a way that hindered her work, but in a way she couldn’t entirely identify.

Emily, walking just a pace ahead now, hummed softly to herself, the tune light and cheerful. Arin’s gaze flicked to her briefly before returning to the map.

When they stopped for the night, she would keep her promise. She would tell Emily about the machine, the one that had consumed centuries of her existence. It was only logical to fulfill the terms of their agreement.

And yet, there was a faint, unfamiliar anticipation in the thought.

It was hours later when the sun had only just began to set. They had found a relatively small cave, one that Emily entered and quickly lit up with torches to avoid the wandering undead or otherwise to sneak inside. Arin had begun to set out their sleeping bags beside each other, facing the deeper part of the cave and away from the entrance.

A campfire was sat right in the cave's entrance the sides blocked off with dirt so that they only way for the dead to get inside if they were to try is to set themselves alight.

Emily dug around in her pack and produced a cooking pot, one that Arin certainly hadn't packed. "...What are you doing?" Arin questioned, genuinely curious. Emily paused as she prepared a second campfire further into the cave, the pot resting atop it. "...cooking?"

Arin tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing as she watched Emily’s movements. “The rations I prepared are sufficient for sustenance. Cooking is unnecessary.”

Emily glanced over her shoulder, her freckled face catching the glow of the newly lit campfire. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, and that ever-present smirk tugged at her lips. “Sufficient, sure. But where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve got some dried herbs and veggies in here. Figured I’d make something a little better than your jerky bricks.”

“They are not ‘bricks,’” Arin replied, her tone flat but faintly defensive. “They are optimized for nutrition and preservation.”

Emily laughed softly, turning back to the pot as she rummaged through her pack. “I’m sure they are, but some of us like our food to have flavor, you know?”

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her gaze drifting to the pot and the faint wisps of steam beginning to rise from it. She shifted slightly, adjusting the sleeping bags she had placed with exacting care.

“I fail to see the practicality in expending resources for unnecessary embellishment,” she said finally, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Emily tossed a few ingredients into the pot, the sizzle of oil filling the cave. “It’s not just about practicality. Sometimes it’s about enjoying the little things. You ever think about that?”

Arin blinked, the question catching her off guard. “No,” she said simply.

"No" Emily said in the same instance Arin did.

Emily grinned, shaking her head. “Yeah, I figured. But that’s okay. Stick around long enough, and I’ll teach you how to appreciate it.”

“I am unsure how that would benefit my work,” Arin replied, her dark eyes narrowing slightly.

“Not everything has to be about work,” Emily said, glancing at her with a softer expression. “Sometimes it’s just about… living.”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line. The idea seemed almost frivolous—wasteful, even. But Emily’s words lingered longer than she expected, threading their way into the quiet spaces of her thoughts.

As the faint aroma of cooking filled the cave, Emily stirred the pot with a wooden spoon she’d retrieved from her pack. “Alright,” she said after a moment, her voice breaking the silence. “We’ve got time now, so… tell me about this machine of yours.”

Arin hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the parchment she had unfolded. The sketch was simple compared to her usual precise schematics, the lines rough and unrefined, as though drawn hastily in a moment of uncertain purpose.

“It was a machine,” she began, her voice quieter than usual.

Emily stirred the pot slowly, her attention split between the bubbling broth and the way Arin’s usually steady hands seemed to falter. “Yeah, you said that already. What kind of machine?”

Arin exhaled softly, her gaze fixed on the paper as though it might anchor her thoughts. “It was… a device intended to simulate interaction. A machine capable of responding to questions and engaging in conversation.”

Emily blinked, her stirring slowing to a stop. “Wait, you built something to talk to?”

“Yes,” Arin replied stiffly, her tone clipped. “It was inefficient. Impractical. An indulgence born of inexperience.”

Emily’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though she quickly hid it by turning her attention back to the pot. “What did it say?”

“Whatever I programmed it to,” Arin said, her voice growing tighter. “It was a rudimentary system. Limited in scope and incapable of genuine thought. Its responses were predetermined.”

She folded the parchment quickly, almost as if to shield it from further scrutiny, and tucked it back into her satchel. “It was a failure. A frivolous project that served no meaningful purpose.”

Emily didn’t respond immediately, letting the gentle crackle of the fire fill the quiet between them. She turned put out the flame beneath the pot and scooped some of the stew into a bowl before walking over and setting it in front of Arin.

“It doesn’t sound frivolous to me,” Emily said softly, crouching beside her.

Arin glanced at the bowl, then at Emily, her dark eyes staring into Emily's green. “It was a waste of time.”

Emily tilted her head, studying her with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t see it that way.”

“Then your perspective is flawed,” Arin replied sharply, her shoulders stiffening.

Emily ignored the retort, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. You wanted someone to talk to. Someone who’d understand you.”

Arin’s jaw tightened, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face—a nerve struck, sharper than she expected. “It was pathetic,” she said firmly, her voice low but laced with something unsteady.

Emily reached out, stopping just short of Arin’s hand as if sensing that contact would only make things worse. “Hey,” she said softly. “It wasn’t pathetic. It was natural.”

Arin’s gaze snapped to her, a faint scowl crossing her face. “I am not natural.”

Emily smiled faintly. “No, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel the same things. Want the same things.”

Arin didn’t respond, her expression tightening as she looked away.

“For what it’s worth,” Emily added, sitting cross-legged beside her, “I think it says a lot about you. And not in a bad way.”

Arin frowned, her gaze fixed firmly on the fire. “Explain.”

Emily shrugged, her smile turning softer. “You were trying to connect with something, even if it was just a machine. I think that’s… kind of beautiful in its own way. Shows you care about more than just efficiency, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line, her thoughts spiraling into tangled loops she couldn’t fully unravel. She had buried this part of herself long ago, dismissed it as a problem and discarded it in favor of purpose. Yet here was Emily, pulling it into the open and reframing it in a way Arin couldn’t entirely refute.

“I do not care,” Arin said finally, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them.

Emily chuckled softly, leaning back on her hands. “Sure you don’t. But if you ever feel like trying again, let me know. I'm not good with machines like you are but I’m pretty good at talking, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Arin glanced at her, her brow furrowing faintly. “You are insufferable.”

Emily grinned, her freckled face lighting up in the warm glow of the fire. “You’d be bored without me.”

Arin didn’t reply, turning her attention to the stew instead. She picked up the bowl, her movements deliberate as she took a cautious sip. The taste surprised her, more surprising than she had expected even. It was...good. Incredibly so. How it was done with simple materials was questionable, she eyed Emily as she held her bowl preparing a series of questions to make sure she hadn't accidently poisoned them both despite the taste.

Emily leaned back further, watching her with quiet worry. “Good?”

Arin hesitated, the almost accusatory questions dying in the firing chamber of her mouth as she nodded her head once instead of speaking before she looked down at the stew and continued to eat in silence.

Emily let out a relieved laugh, the sound light and unrestrained. It was music. “I’ll take it.”

---

Arin trailed behind Emily, her clipboard in hand as she filled out the map. The transition from the dense dark oak forest to a lighter oak woodland had been gradual, the shadows thinning as the trees grew further apart. Beyond the woods, the terrain opened into a wide plain, its grassy expanse split by a winding river that stretched from the northeast to the southwest.

It was, by all accounts, an ideal location. The soil appeared fertile, the proximity to water would simplify logistics, and the flatness of the land meant minimal adjustments would be needed. Her pencil moved over the map, marking these observations with precise strokes.

And yet, her mind was elsewhere.

Sweet.

The word lingered, echoing in her thoughts with a persistence she couldn’t shake. She had never been called sweet before—never expected to be. Sweetness was not a quality she associated with herself. It implied kindness, warmth, approachability—all things she was not. She was methodical. Logical. A builder of systems and structures, not someone who inspired that kind of sentiment.

And yet Emily had said it, her words light but sincere.

Arin’s pencil paused mid-stroke, her gaze unfocused as she stared down at the map. Why did it matter? Words were just that—words. Ephemeral and irrelevant to her work. She should have dismissed them, as she had dismissed countless other remarks over the centuries. But this one… it lingered, tugging at her thoughts in a way that was both unsettling and strangely compelling.

Lost in her thoughts, Arin didn’t hear the faint rustle of grass behind her, nor the soft hiss that followed.

Emily’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “Arin, MOVE!”

Before Arin could process the warning, something heavy slammed into her side. The clipboard flew from her hands as she hit the ground, the impact jarring and disorienting.

Emily’s weight pinned her down, the warmth of her body pressed against Arin’s back as a deafening BOOM shattered the air. A burst of heat and debris swept past them, harmlessly dissipating against the shield of Emily’s body.

The world went quiet for a moment, save for the ringing in Arin’s ears and the rapid pounding of her heart.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

“Are you okay?” Emily’s voice was breathless, her tone sharp with adrenaline.

Relief or gratitude didn’t come first. Instead, panic clawed its way to the surface—more than Arin had felt in centuries. She had been so careful, for so long. She twisted beneath Emily, the panic pouring into her voice as her twisting turned to frantic struggling. “Get off me!”

Emily immediately shifted back, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright! Sorry!”

Freed from the weight, Arin scrambled to her feet, brushing off dirt and debris with quick, agitated movements. Her breathing was shallow, her dark eyes narrowed as she glared at Emily. “You should not have—” She stopped herself, the words tangling in her throat.

“Saved you?” Emily finished, still sitting on the ground with one knee bent. Her green eyes were wide, her freckled face a mix of worry and faint irritation. “Because I hate to break it to you, but you were about two seconds from a very painful dead end.”

Arin’s hands clenched at her sides, the tension radiating through her entire body. “I was unaware of the threat. That does not mean—” She cut herself off again, exhaling sharply. “Physical contact without warning or request is unacceptable.”

Emily frowned, brushing herself off as she stood. “Okay, I get that. I do. But there was kind of a creeper about to blow you to bits. I didn’t exactly have time to ask for permission.”

“That is irrelevant,” Arin snapped, though her voice wavered slightly. “You—” She stopped again, her gaze darting to the scorched ground where the creeper had detonated. Her clipboard lay nearby, miraculously intact but smeared with dirt.

Emily sighed, stepping closer, though her movements were slower now, less certain. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just—”

“You are reckless,” Arin interrupted, her voice quieter but still sharp with residual tension. “And… unnecessary.”

Emily flinched at that, her brows knitting together. “Unnecessary? Arin, I just saved your life.”

Arin looked away, her jaw tightening. She knew Emily was right—she had been distracted, vulnerable, and unaware. And Emily’s intervention had likely spared her considerable pain, not to mention the inconvenience of respawning back at the cave they had rested in previously.

But the sensation of being tackled, the press of another person against her—uninvited, unavoidable—still gnawed at her, making it hard to think clearly.

“I do not require assistance,” Arin said finally, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.

Emily crossed her arms, her expression softening into something closer to exasperated amusement. “Well, tough. Because you’re stuck with me. And whether you like it or not, I’m not going to just stand by and let you blow yourself up.”

Arin’s gaze shifted back to her, her dark eyes narrowing faintly. “I did not ‘blow myself up.’”

Emily rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

Arin didn’t reply, her focus drifting back to the clipboard as she retrieved it and brushed the dirt away with quick movements. Then stomped off toward the initial spot, her nerves still burning at the undesired contact.

She stomped off toward the spot she’d marked earlier, the tension in her shoulders radiating through every step. Her hands gripped the edges of the clipboard tightly, her knuckles white against the polished andesite. She forced herself to breathe, to count her steps as the distance between her and Emily grew.

One, two, three…

The warmth of Emily’s body against hers lingered, an unwelcome ghost of a sensation that refused to fade. It prickled against her skin, intrusive and unbearable, no matter how much she tried to focus on the terrain ahead.

It wasn’t just the contact—it was the helplessness. The weight pressing her down, holding her in place. The inability to move, to regain control.

It’s not the same, she told herself, but her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the first time it happened.

She had been so naïve then, so woefully unprepared for the dangers of this world. The shambling forms had seemed almost comical at first, their groans hollow and sluggish as they stumbled toward her. She had thought herself clever, outmaneuvering them easily with nothing but a makeshift wooden sword and her own determination.

Until one of them caught her.

The grip had been ironclad, its cold, decayed hand wrapping around her wrist with an unnatural strength. Others followed, swarming her before she could react, dragging her to the ground.

She remembered the weight—crushing and inescapable. The jagged pain of teeth sinking into her skin. The warm, sticky sensation of blood soaking her clothes. The sound of her own screams, raw and unrelenting, blending with the guttural growls of the undead.

And the worst part? She hadn’t died quickly. It was slow, agonizing, her vision fading in and out as they tore her apart. When she finally woke in her bed, gasping and whole again, the relief had been fleeting.

The nightmares came almost immediately. For decades, she relived the moment of her first death in vivid, unrelenting detail. The weight of the zombies holding her down, the suffocating sense of helplessness—it all stayed with her, etched into her mind like a scar that refused to fade.

She had resolved never to let it happen again. She built walls, fortresses, weapons—anything to ensure her safety. And she never allowed herself to be touched without her consent, the mere thought of it sending her nerves alight with panic.

“Arin?”

The voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. She blinked her eyes, turning to see Emily standing a short distance away, her hands in her pockets and her expression cautious. She wasn’t smiling now, her freckled face softened with genuine concern.

“What?” Arin’s voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t correct it.

Emily hesitated, then took a slow step forward. “I just… I wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“I am fine,” Arin said immediately, though her stiff posture and clenched fists told a different story.

“Uh-huh,” Emily said, her tone skeptical. She stopped a few paces away, giving Arin space. “Look, I’m sorry for tackling you. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You did not ‘freak me out,’” Arin snapped, her dark eyes narrowing. “I was… startled. That is all.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Alright. Startled. Got it.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, but Emily let it linger, her gaze never leaving Arin.

Finally, Arin exhaled, her shoulders relaxing by the smallest fraction. “Do not do it again.”

Emily nodded again, her voice soft. “I won’t. Unless there’s a creeper involved.”

Arin frowned, but there was no real heat behind it. She turned her attention back to the clipboard, willing her hands to steady as she resumed filling out the map.

Emily lingered for a moment longer before stepping back and resuming her usual position ahead of Arin, her easy stride carrying her toward the riverbank.

Arin watched her go, her chest still tight, the edges of her mind still frayed. But there was something about Emily’s presence—a steadiness, a warmth—that made the panic ebb just enough for her to breathe again.

It’s not the same, she reminded herself once more, this time with a little more conviction.

---

Emily watched as Arin turned her focus to the clipboard, her movements as sharp and deliberate as ever. The tension in Arin’s frame hadn’t fully faded, but it was clear she was trying to push past it, throwing herself into her work like she always seemed to do.

I should probably help. Instead, she let her gaze wander, her green eyes tracing the lines of the horizon before drifting back to the riverbank.

The soft gurgle of the water was soothing, a gentle rhythm that seemed to melt the last remnants of adrenaline from her system. She crouched by the edge, scooping a handful of the cool water and splashing it onto her face. The shock of it brought her back into the moment, grounding her.

As she stood, she glanced back at Arin. The builder had moved further into the clearing, her head bent over the clipboard, her pencil gliding across the page with mechanical precision.

Emily hesitated, then let out a soft sigh and sat down on a flat rock near the water’s edge. Arin didn’t need her help—not with marking the site, anyway. The woman was a one-person machine when it came to planning and execution.

But that didn’t mean Emily couldn’t do something.

She pulled her satchel into her lap and rummaged through it, her fingers brushing against the familiar leather-bound book she always carried with her. She flipped it open, revealing pages filled with sketches—some detailed, others rough. Villages, mountains, animals she’d seen during her travels. Even a few villagers she had befriended over the years.

She found a blank page near the back and smiled faintly, pulling out a stick of charcoal.

Her gaze drifted back to Arin. The woman was standing now, her back straight as she stretched a length of twine between two stakes. Her movements were calculated, almost graceful in their precision. The sunlight caught the strands of her dark brown hair where they had slipped free of her ponytail, and Emily couldn’t help but notice the way her tanned skin seemed to glow faintly in the golden light.

It wasn’t the first time Emily had thought Arin was striking—beautiful, even. But there was something about seeing her like this, focused and unguarded, that made Emily’s fingers itch to capture the moment.

She began to sketch, the charcoal moving in smooth, deliberate strokes.

Emily didn’t rush the drawing. She let her hand move naturally, focusing on the broad shapes first—the line of Arin’s shoulders, the curve of her neck as she tilted her head to study the stakes. The details came next: the dark mass of her hair, the faint furrow of her brow, the way she held the clipboard with a quiet intensity.

It wasn’t a perfect likeness—Emily had never been much for photorealism—but it felt like Arin. The lines carried the weight of her precision, the quiet strength in her posture, and the undercurrent of tension that always seemed to hum just beneath her surface.

As she worked, she found herself smiling softly. There was something calming about this—about focusing on each detail, about seeing Arin not just as the sharp, methodical builder but as…

Emily stared at the unfinished sketch, her charcoal hovering just above the page. The thought lingered, heavy but not unwelcome.

Could they be friends?

The word felt strange in her mind, unfamiliar when applied to someone like Arin. Emily had known companionship before—fleeting bonds with villagers who lived their short, bright lives beside her. She cherished those memories, but they were just that: memories.

Arin wasn’t like them.

Arin would still be here in a hundred years, two hundred, longer. Just like Emily.

The thought was comforting in a way Emily couldn’t quite put into words, though it carried an edge that made her wary. A constant presence, yes—but one forged from sharp lines and unyielding precision. Arin was steady, calculating, and brilliant, but she was also dangerous. Not in a wild, unpredictable way, but in the way of a blade honed to perfection.

It was obvious in everything she did. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she thought—always with purpose. It was the same purpose that had driven her to consider wiping out an entire village for the sake of her projects.

Emily let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting from the page to Arin herself.

The builder was still at work, adjusting the tension of the twine she’d stretched between stakes. Her expression was calm, her movements precise, but there was a faint rigidity to her posture—telltale signs of someone who had spent centuries keeping the world at arm’s length.

Arin is dangerous.

Emily knew this as surely as she knew herself. Anyone who lived as long as they had—Outlanders, immortals, whatever they were—eventually became dangerous. Survival demanded it. The scars, the skills, the hard choices—they all added up, shaping you into something the world couldn’t quite contain.

And yet…

There was something else about Arin. Something that tugged at Emily’s curiosity, her empathy. For all her sharpness, there were cracks in the armor—faint but visible. The way she spent so much time keeping careful distance, the way she spoke of her projects with a spark of something close to pride, the way her eyes softened—just barely—when she looked at her clipboard, her maps, her plans.

There was a person attached to the hammer.

Emily smiled faintly to herself, her fingers resuming their careful movements with the charcoal. She added a few lines to the sketch, softening the edges of Arin’s jaw, capturing the faint tilt of her head as she studied her work.

For all her precision, Arin wasn’t perfect. That was what made her interesting.

Emily didn’t need her to be perfect. She didn’t need her to be warm or easygoing or even particularly kind. What she needed—what she wanted—was exactly what Arin already was: herself. Painfully, aggravatingly herself.

“Friends...” Emily muttered under her breath, the word barely audible over the soft scratching of charcoal against paper. The idea seemed far-fetched. But then, so had the idea of finding another Outlander.

Maybe this was something worth exploring.

“Why are you smiling?”

The question startled Emily, and she nearly smudged the page as she looked up. Arin was standing a few feet away, her dark eyes fixed on her with that same unreadable intensity that always seemed to make Emily feel like she was being dissected.

“I—uh—nothing,” Emily said quickly, snapping the book shut and shoving it into her lap. “Just… thinking.”

Arin’s gaze drifted to the edges of the book peeking out from under Emily’s hands. “What were you drawing?”

Emily’s cheeks flushed faintly. “Just… stuff. The site. You know, the usual.”

Arin didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she glanced back at the stakes she had placed and nodded once. “The boundaries are complete. We should return to the village.”

Emily let out a soft breath, standing and brushing off her pants. “Sure. Lead the way, boss.”

Arin gave her a faint frown but said nothing, turning and walking toward the path they’d come from.

As Emily followed, she glanced down at the closed sketchbook in her hands, her lips quirking into a small smile.

Maybe one day I’ll show her.

---

Arin released a single breath as she stepped back from the now neatly organized and loaded carts. The materials were carefully balanced, tied down with precisely knotted rope to prevent even the slightest jostle during transit. Wood and stone made up the bulk of the supplies—easily replaceable and abundant. The real loss was the coal, its extraction tedious and inefficient compared to the other materials.

Her gaze lingered on the barrels of torches stacked at the back of one cart. It wasn’t a significant amount, but it was enough to remind her of the waste. Coal burned quickly and provided little return beyond the immediate light. She had no intention of creating more torches unless absolutely necessary, though Emily had promised to replenish the supply once the new settlement was underway.

Promised, Arin thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. Promises were unreliable at best. If the task became necessary, she would handle it herself.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her attention. She turned, her dark eyes falling on Emily, who was walking toward her with a small group of villagers in tow. Among them was a man who stood out—not due to his height or build, both of which were average, but because of the way he carried himself. His posture was straight, his brown eyes steady, and his movements deliberate.

Emily stopped a few steps away, gesturing toward him with her usual smile. “Arin, this is Ewan. He’s the head builder for the village.” She tilted her head slightly, her grin widening. “And he’s part of Jonah’s family line.”

Arin frowned faintly. “I do not know who that is.”

Emily blinked before brushing her hand through her hair. “Right. He was the first villager I met in this world—kind of a big deal to me. Anyway, Ewan’s his great-great-something-or-other.”

Arin’s gaze shifted to Ewan, her expression blank but focused. She scanned him quickly, noting the tools strapped to his belt, the calluses on his hands, and the quiet confidence in his demeanor.

Ewan stepped forward, extending a hand. “It’s good to meet you, Miss Arin. Emily’s told me a lot about you.”

Arin stared at his hand for a long moment, her shoulders stiffening slightly. The gesture was unnecessary, irrelevant to the work ahead. She made no move to reciprocate.

“Your presence is noted,” she said curtly. “Ensure your builders adhere to the plans precisely. Deviations will compromise the schedule.”

Her words hung in the air, blunt and unyielding.

Ewan hesitated, lowering his hand with a polite nod. “Of course.”

Emily stepped in smoothly, placing a hand on Ewan’s arm and smiling brightly. “Don’t worry, Ewan. Arin’s just focused on getting everything perfect—like always. We just have to follow her lead, and we’ll have this place set up in no time.”

Arin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Her lead.

The phrase grated against her thoughts, unwelcome and unnecessary. She didn’t need Emily to frame their work this way, didn’t need her to position herself as a subordinate. It felt… wrong.

Not because Arin sought equality—it wasn’t about that. It was because it was Emily.

Emily wasn’t like the villagers. She wasn’t temporary or fleeting. She was constant, unyielding, someone whose presence didn’t fade with the years. Someone Arin could…

She stopped the thought in its tracks, her grip on the nearest rope tightening as she untied and retied the already-secured knot.

It didn’t matter. The task was what mattered. Whatever this was—this dissonance between how she thought Emily should perceive their dynamic and how Emily described it—it was a distraction. Something to be dealt with later.

Compartmentalizing the thought, she forced her focus back to the carts, her hands moving with the precision of long practice.

Behind her, she heard Ewan murmur something to Emily, followed by her easy laugh. Arin didn’t listen to the words, didn’t allow herself to dwell on the interaction. She worked, letting the steady rhythm of preparation drown out everything else.

Four hours later they arrived at the space for the new village. Arin barely glanced at the villagers as they began unloading the carts. Her focus remained on the tasks ahead—the placement of materials, the sequence of steps required to construct the foundations, the timings she had calculated to ensure optimal efficiency.

The villagers moved under Ewan’s guidance, their actions imprecise and hesitant, wasting time in ways Arin found intolerable.

“That timber pile is misaligned,” she said abruptly, pointing to a stack near the edge of the clearing. “It should be parallel to the foundation markers.”

The younger builder closest to the pile startled, his hands fumbling as he attempted to shift the planks.

Arin watched for a moment, her brow furrowing as the pile shifted unevenly. “Stop. You will cause it to collapse.” She stepped in, pulling the timber into place herself with a few quick, deliberate motions.

The builder stepped back, his shoulders hunched, but Arin barely noticed. Her focus had already shifted to another task.

The day wore on, and the pattern repeated. Misaligned measurements, loose knots, and uneven stacking drew sharp corrections from Arin, her tone clipped and firm. She didn’t register the hushed whispers among the villagers or the way their movements grew slower and more hesitant. Such details were irrelevant.

“The crate is upside down,” she said flatly to another builder. “Turn it over before the tools are damaged.”

The builder obeyed without comment, something Arin didn't bother to try and name danced about his face before she was off to the next mistake.

By late afternoon, even Ewan’s calm demeanor seemed to fray. His voice rose occasionally as he directed the team, his tone sharper than before. It struck Arin as simpleminded—raising one’s voice did not improve communication.

Ewan’s frustration reached its peak when Arin stepped in to correct a set of markings he had carefully measured.

“These are off by two degrees,” she said, crouching to redraw the lines. “The error will compound during construction.”

“They’re close enough,” Ewan said, his tone louder than usual.

“Close enough is insufficient,” Arin replied without looking up.

Ewan threw his hands up. “We’ve been at this all day! You’ve redone half of what we’ve done already—how are we supposed to keep up if you don’t let us work?”

Arin straightened, the chalk still in her hand. She regarded Ewan blankly. “Your work has been suboptimal. I am ensuring it meets the necessary standards.”

Ewan let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not even listening.”

He began to speak again, but Arin had already turned away, kneeling to finish correcting the markings. His words blurred into background noise, irrelevant to the task.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through the din and mental white noise. Arin recognized Emily’s stride before she saw her, the lighter, more purposeful rhythm standing out against the chaotic movements of the villagers.

“Ewan,” Emily said. “Go check on the rest of the team. I’ll handle this.”

Ewan hesitated, muttering something under his breath before turning to walk away.

Emily crouched beside Arin, her green eyes sharp as they fixed on her. “Arin.”

Arin continued drawing the line, her movements precise and deliberate. “The marking is nearly complete. Your assistance is not required.”

“This isn’t about the marking,” Emily responded her voice like a stonewall. “It’s about how you’re handling this.”

Arin paused before she glanced at her briefly, her expression easily empty. “Define the issue.”

“The issue,” Emily said, her tone hardening, “is that you’re driving everyone into the ground. They’re trying to help, and you’re making it impossible for them to do that.”

“They are failing to meet the required standards,” Arin replied flatly, her attention returning to the line.

Emily exhaled sharply, standing and crossing her arms. “If this keeps up, the deal’s off.”

That made Arin pause. She straightened slowly, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she met Emily’s gaze. “The deal is not vital. Netherite is an rare resource, but I can acquire it independently given sufficient time to locate and understand it's properties.”

Emily’s eyebrows rose slightly, though her expression remained steady. “Then why agree to the deal in the first place?”

Arin stiffened faintly, the question catching her off guard. Her mind scrambled for an answer, cycling through the possibilities: efficiency, practicality, strategy—none of them felt correct. Why did she agree to the deal?

She remembered the previous conversation in the cave, about the machine she built. About wanting to be understood. Her mind hissed like a cornered animal as she tried and failed come up with any reason other than the most obvious.

“I…” She hesitated, the words tangled in her throat. Her grip on the chalk tightened. “I do not know.”

Emily tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You don’t know? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Arin frowned, the crease in her brow deepening as she averted her gaze. The admission left an uncomfortable weight in her chest, one she couldn’t easily compartmentalize.

“I fail to see the relevance of this question,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “What is your proposal?”

Emily studied her for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “You teach them. Show them how to do things your way instead of tearing everything apart and doing it yourself. It’ll take longer at first, but it’ll save time in the long run. And it’ll keep things from falling apart entirely.”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You believe this approach will improve efficiency?”

“I do,” Emily said firmly.

Arin’s gaze shifted to the villagers, who were working in subdued silence under Ewan’s direction. Their movements were hesitant, slower than they had been that morning.

She didn’t like the idea. Teaching was prone to inefficiencies—mistakes, misunderstandings, wasted time. But Emily’s logic was difficult to refute, and the prospect of a failed deal lingered in the back of her mind, an unwelcome reminder of the unspoken tension between them.

“…I will attempt it,” she said reluctantly, her tone stiff. “If this approach fails, I will revert to my methods.”

Emily smiled faintly, nodding. “That’s all I ask.”

Arin turned back to the markings, her grip on the chalk firm as she began calculating the steps needed to integrate Emily’s suggestion.

It would be difficult. Frustrating. But she would do it. She would try.

The day had ended shortly after that, tents put up and meals prepared, the main group sat about a campfire. She would have usually worked through the night but Emily made it clear that it simply wasn't an option for the villagers who required sleep.

So she sat a ways from the main fire, away from the noise atop her bedroll, she hadn't rested like this in...a very long time, she never had a reason to. When all you need to keep going is to simply eat at the same times every day forever, you build a rhythm. One that Arin enjoyed sticking too, but like many things of late, it seems that too was bound to change.

Her eyes glanced over toward the reason for that change. Emily was sat the main fire, currently telling some story or another in an animated way, her hands waving about. Her mouth pulled in a bright smile and her eyes mixing greens and oranges from the fire to create something akin to a magma cream.

She wondered for all but a second what it was like to be Emily. To have such an easy time with others. With people. With life without needing structures to define it. She turned back toward her own small fire and down at the notebook in her hand, this one full of words. Statements, Sentences, Questions.

Over thousands of years she had carefully this notebook together from things she heard, or read, or saw. The most sentimental she would ever allow herself to be as she carefully filled in a gap with a new sentence.

'I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. You wanted someone to talk to. Someone who’d understand you.'

Arin stared at the freshly inked line, the words stark against the weathered page. She let her pen linger just above the paper, as if hesitant to move on. Sweet. The word felt foreign to her, almost impossible to reconcile with herself. And yet, Emily had said it as though it were obvious.

She closed the notebook gently, running her fingers along the cracked spine. It was a patchwork of centuries, its pages uneven and mismatched, each filled with fragments she had carefully collected over the course of her long existence. Most of the sentences had meant little when she first recorded them. They were observations, things that seemed important to others but didn’t resonate with her.

Now, some of them felt different.

The faint crunch of footsteps pulled her attention. She glanced up, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Emily approach, a rolled-up bedroll tucked under one arm and a lopsided grin on her face.

“Mind if I join you?” Emily asked casually, already settling across the fire from her before waiting for an answer.

Arin blinked, her thoughts momentarily derailed. “I assumed you would remain with the others.”

Emily shrugged, unrolling her bedroll with practiced ease. “Yeah, well, they’ve got each other. You’ve got… you.” She flashed a quick grin, her tone light. “Figured you could use some company.”

Arin stared at her, the faintest furrow creasing her brow. “I do not require company. I function adequately on my own.”

“Sure, you do,” Emily said, flopping onto her bedroll and propping her head up with one hand. “But functioning and thriving are two different things.”

Arin tilted her head slightly, the words running through her mind like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. Thriving. Another foreign concept. “I am unfamiliar with the distinction.”

Emily laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “I know. That’s kind of the point.”

Arin’s gaze flicked back to her notebook. She didn’t respond, unsure of how to process the conversation. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Emily rolled onto her back, staring up at the stars that dotted the night sky. “So, what’s in the book?” she asked after a moment, her tone casual but curious.

Arin hesitated, her fingers brushing over the closed notebook. “It is personal.”

Emily glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Fair enough. Everyone’s got their secrets.” She turned her gaze back to the sky. “Mine’s probably how bad I am at farming. Don’t tell the villagers.”

Arin blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “You are ineffective at farming?”

“Terrible,” Emily admitted with a laugh. “I tried to help one time—just one—and ended up flooding half the field. They still talk about it like it was some great disaster.”

Arin frowned, her analytical mind already piecing together the logistics of such an error. “Flooding a field would require significant mismanagement of the irrigation system. How did you achieve this?”

Emily let out a loud laugh, her freckled face lit with amusement. “Achieve? Wow, you make it sound like I planned it! Let’s just say I underestimated the power of a bucket and leave it at that.”

Arin stared at her, the faintest twitch of her lips betraying a flicker of something close to amusement. “It is a notable failure.”

“You’re telling me,” Emily said, her grin widening. “But you know what? They forgave me. Even turned it into some kind of joke. Now whenever it rains too much, they call it an ‘Emily Day.’”

Arin tilted her head. “They assign your name to a negative occurrence, yet you find this acceptable?”

Emily shrugged, her expression softening. “It’s not about the mistake. It’s about how you handle it. They know I’m not perfect, and they’re okay with that. Makes things a little easier, you know?”

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her gaze returning to the fire. She thought of the villagers, their hesitations and missteps, their inability to meet her standards. She thought of Emily’s suggestion, her insistence that teaching would improve the process.

“I do not find imperfection acceptable,” Arin said finally, her voice quiet but firm.

Emily sat up slightly, resting her arms on her knees. “Maybe not. But it’s going to happen whether you accept it or not. That’s just life.”

Arin’s fingers tightened around the notebook in her lap, her expression unreadable. “Life,” she repeated, the word feeling heavier than it should.

Emily watched her for a moment, her smile softening by notable degrees. “You’ll figure it out,” she said, her tone light and warm.

Arin didn’t respond, but as the silence settled once more, she found herself glancing across the fire. Emily’s presence was both puzzling and grounding, a contradiction she couldn’t yet define. She was content simply watching Emily as she made herself comfortable and eventually drifted off to sleep, leaving Arin to her thoughts in the cool night beneath the stars.

After exactly an hour she opened the notebook again, her pen hovering over the page. After a moment, she added a new line beneath the last.

'Functioning and thriving are two different things.'

Chapter Text

The midday sun bore down on the construction site, casting sharp shadows across the steadily growing structures. The air buzzed with activity—hammers rang out, saws sliced through wood, and voices called back and forth. After weeks of effort, the village was finally beginning to take shape.

Arin stood near the center of the site, clipboard in hand, her dark eyes scanning the workers in silence. She had resolved to take Emily’s advice, keeping her corrections vocal and limited to necessity. The urge to step in—to snatch tools from hands and fix things herself—burned in the back of her mind.

It was… difficult. Far more than she had realized, but not unexpected. After all she had been operating that way for centuries, millenniums even, but she was willing to at least try it. It had been seven hundred and eighty two years since she last saw another outlander and they had parted on...less than ideal terms.

It could not hurt to attempt Emily's method even if just once, perhaps to show that she could be...

Her fingers tightened on the edges of her clipboard as she watched a younger builder struggling to align two beams. The angle was off—slightly, but enough to cause structural weakness.

“Adjust the left support by two centimeters,” Arin called out eyes burning a metaphorical hole through his very real head.

The builder paused, glancing back at her with wide eyes clearly startled before nodding and making the adjustment.

Arin watched carefully, her gaze following the movement as the beam clicked into place. It was better now—not perfect, but better.

“Good,” she said simply, turning her attention to the next structure.

Emily’s voice rang out from somewhere near the storehouse, light and easy as she directed a group of villagers unloading supplies. Arin glanced her way briefly before returning her focus to the builders nearest her.

The workers had improved, it was not as obvious as first. Infact it was hidden behind the other mistakes they were constantly making. But after the second day of her constantly correcting them and only stepping in when asked to do so by them, they had picked up a few of her habits. Double checking alignments, looking at the diagrams she had laid out for them after every step.

She would loathe to admit it, but Emily was correct on all accounts about the Villagers in that they would work better if allowed to learn and figure it out on their own some. It would also mean that the methods taught would be passed down and refined. Not to her degree, of course, but better than current.

Arin felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name—satisfaction, perhaps, She knew it wasn't annoyance given she's felt that since the start of this construction.

Her attention shifted to another team struggling with a foundation trench. She walked slowly toward them, staring down at them before speaking. “You’re cutting too shallow, Increase the depth by five centimeters to ensure stability.”

The workers nodded quickly, adjusting their tools.

Arin stayed for a moment, watching as they made the correction. This time, they didn’t hesitate. They had gotten used to her correcting them as well, she did not care about the side eyes and quiet muttering at the start, but they had progressively worn on her nerves, thankful that most of those had died down.

“Acceptable,” Arin said with a small nod before turning back toward the main square.

The day continued in much the same way—Arin offering corrections when needed, the villagers steadily improving as they worked. By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the progress was undeniable.

Emily wandered over, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow and a satisfied smile on her freckled face, her armor discarded for a buttoned shirt with a flannel pattern on it tied down at her waist. The dark blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail and muscular freckled arms on display.

“Not bad, huh?” Emily said with a bright smile.

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her dark eyes stared into the verdant forests Emily had somehow fit into her sockets as her mind slowly clicking back into place as she looked Emily over, then back toward the construction site around them.

“They are improving,” she said finally, her tone neutral. Or she hoped it was at least.

Emily grinned. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

Arin gave her a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of a frown tugging at her lips. “It is an observation, not praise.”

“Sure it is,” Emily said, her grin widening.

Arin exhaled quietly, rolling her eyes before turning her gaze back to the site. The villagers moved with purpose now, their confidence growing with each successful task. It was… efficient.

“You were correct,” Arin said abruptly.

Emily blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“Allowing them to correct their own errors,” Arin admitted, her tone stiff teeth clutched as she tapped her fingers against the back of her clipboard. “It has yielded better results than anticipated.”

Emily’s smile softened. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

Arin didn’t reply, her attention already drifting back to her clipboard. "The rest should be done within three days. Which means I have completed my obligation to our deal for the most part. I will be taking my leave by morning and returning to my base of operations in the area, then to the village to finish my primary goal for this continent."

“So… that’s it?” Emily asked after a beat, the lightness in her voice dulled around the edges. “You’re just going to pack up and leave?”

Arin glanced up briefly, her dark eyes meeting Emily’s for half a moment before she returned to staring at the empty clipboard, the markings along it, the x'd checkboxes.

“The terms were clear,” she said simply. “My role was to ensure the village’s relocation. The construction is nearly complete. Your knowledge and assistance in my future projects will suffice as payment. The deal is fulfilled.”

“Technically, yeah,” Emily said, her tone deceptively light, though there was an edge of something Arin couldn’t quite place. “But you know I’m not just gonna let you skip over the second part.”

“The second part?” Arin repeated, her gaze snapping back to Emily, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand what the issue was.

Emily shrugged, her arms folding as she shifted her weight to one hip. “The help part? Me coming with you? Ring any bells?”

Arin hesitated, the clipboard lowering slightly. “That was contingent on the relocation of the villagers."

“Which isn’t finished yet,” Emily pointed out, motioning toward the half-completed structures around them. “So you’re leaving early?”

Arin’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening slightly around the clipboard’s edge. “The remainder of the work is trivial. They are capable of completing it without my intervention.”

“That’s not the point,” Emily said, her voice softening.

Arin tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to parse the subtext. There was always subtext with Emily.

“I have other tasks requiring my attention, the success of those tasks will impact the continued functionality of my primary project. This village no longer requires my presence.”

"And?"

Arin’s lips twitched faintly, a flicker of frustration threading into her otherwise calm expression. “It is the only thing that determines whether a task is completed efficiently.”

Emily opened her mouth, then shut it again, her freckled face creasing into something thoughtful. For a long moment, she didn’t respond, the hum of the site filling the space between them.

“You know…” Emily said finally, her face jovial as it usually was, a grin on her face. Yet her words were another only compounding Arin's confusion at the sudden conflict. “It’s funny. You talk a big game about efficiency and priorities, but you agreed to this deal knowing full well it wasn’t the most efficient choice.”

Arin stiffened slightly, the clipboard lowering another fraction. “The deal provided clear benefits.”

“Yeah, but if all you cared about was efficiency, you’d have not taken the deal. You said it yourself already that you don't need me to get netherite.” Emily’s green eyes met hers, sharp with curiosity and something softer, more patient. “So why did you agree to it?"

Arin's eyes peered down at her clipboard. She couldn't look at Emily, keeping her gaze locked on the diagram in front of her, the lines had blurring into a mess of indistinct shapes.

“You will not get an answer from me,” she said finally, even to her own ears, her voice sounded off.

Emily didn’t move from where she stood, arms crossed. Even without looking, Arin could feel the eyes peering at the side of her face.. “That’s not a answer,” Emily retorted.

Arin’s jaw tightened. “It is the one you will have.” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “The matter is irrelevant.”

Silence stretched between them. Arin didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to see whatever expression Emily wore now. This was a waste of time. They had work to do.

But when Emily spoke again, her tone was softer. “Then don’t answer. Just… stay. At least until it’s finished.”

Stay?

Arin’s head tilted slightly, her eyes lifting from the clipboard to study Emily. The other Outlander stood relaxed, as always, her posture casual. But there, something in those emerald eyes she found something that sent nerves skittering down her spine and over her shoulders.

“Stay,” Arin repeated, as though testing the word.

Emily nodded, her arms unfolding as she motioned vaguely toward the half-built structures. “Yeah. I know you don’t think it’s necessary, but it’d mean something to them. And to me.”

Her words struck somewhere unexpected, a precise cut Arin hadn’t anticipated. She looked past Emily, toward the builders still at work. Their movements were careful now, more deliberate than the chaotic mess of two weeks ago. They had improved, yes—but they still weren’t efficient. And their stares—occasional glances, quiet murmurs—still grated against her nerves.

Three more days. She could tolerate it for three more days.

Couldn’t she?

Arin exhaled quietly, a barely audible sigh that escaped before she could stop it. “I will stay,” she said at last, her voice stiff. “But I will not contribute further to the construction. My time will be spent gathering materials from the surrounding area.” She adjusted her grip on the clipboard, the motion sharp. “Do not expect more.”

Emily smiled faintly, though the way her green eyes softened was more disconcerting than reassuring. “Fair enough,” she said easily, as though Arin had given more than a reluctant concession.

Arin turned her gaze back to the clipboard, trying to ignore the discomfort twisting in her chest. “This is not for you,” she muttered, the words automatic and flat.

“Of course not,” Emily replied breezily. “It’s for the efficiency, right Ari?”

Arin’s mind fully blanked at the nickname. Only rebooting once she noticed movement, Emily had already turned and began to wander off. Arin stared after her with a surprised expression etched into her features, the tips of her ears slowly turning red as she brought a hand up to rub at her face, then full turned and began to walk toward the forest shoving her clipboard neatly away into her backpack.

This wasn’t for Emily. It wasn’t for the villagers.

It was for the deal. For the promise of netherite and the assistance Emily had offered.

Nothing outside of that.

It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for, a deep cave entrance hidden beneath the underbrush of a decently sized oak tree. Arin crouched to inspect the opening, brushing aside leaves and debris with one hand.

The air was cool as it drifted from the shadows below, carrying with it the familiar, metallic tang of exposed ore. Satisfied, she adjusted her pack and stepped inside, her boots crunching softly against the loose gravel underfoot.

Lanterns from her kit were secured along the walls as she descended, their warm light pushing back the darkness. The sound of her footsteps echoed faintly, swallowed by the deeper silence of the cave.

Before long, she reached a wide chamber where the stone glimmered faintly with veins of iron and coal. Arin set down her pack, retrieved her pickaxe, and moved to the nearest exposed vein.

The cave was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of Arin’s pickaxe against stone. Sparks flew with each strike, briefly illuminating the walls before fading back into darkness.

Around her, lanterns hung from makeshift iron hooks she’d driven into the walls, their light casting long, flickering shadows. The air smelled of damp earth and iron ore.

Her mind wandered as she chipped away at the vein of raw material. Emily’s question lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. Why did you agree to it?

The answer eluded her, even now. It wasn’t logical. It didn’t fit into any of the careful frameworks she had built to guide her decisions. She didn’t like decisions that couldn’t be categorized, explained, or measured.

And yet, Emily’s presence had disrupted everything.

Arin paused, resting the pickaxe against her shoulder. Her eyes roamed over the exposed ore, cataloging its composition. Not ideal, but workable.

She set the tool aside and reached for the clipboard tucked into her pack, flipping through her notes. As she wrote, her thoughts shifted to Emily’s equipment—the sword she carried, the armor she wore. Serviceable but unremarkable.

She could improve it.

The thought came unbidden, but once it was there, it rooted itself in her mind. Better armor. A sharper blade. More efficient tools. Emily was competent, yes, but she could be better equipped.

Arin didn’t ask herself why the thought mattered. She simply folded the page of notes and moved to another part of the cave, where the ore shifted from common stone to something denser, darker.

Setting the clipboard aside, she retrieved a set of gears and pistons from her pack. It wouldn’t take long to set up a rudimentary quarry here. The materials were more than sufficient for refining stronger equipment.

Her hands moved on their own, assembling the mechanisms with practiced ease. The faint clink of metal echoed in the cave as she secured the components.

She didn’t think of Emily’s grin, or the way her green eyes seemed to see too much. She didn’t let herself dwell on the way Emily’s voice had softened the day before when she’d asked her to stay.

The mechanisms clicked into place, the gears turning with a satisfying hum as the quarry began its slow, steady work.

Arin wiped her hands on her pants, inspecting the setup. It would function autonomously, gathering materials until she returned. She adjusted one of the lanterns, angling the light toward the machinery.

Satisfied, she packed her tools and slung her pack over one shoulder, her dark eyes scanning the cave one last time before she turned and started back toward the surface.

The climb was steady, her boots crunching against gravel as the lantern light faded behind her. Cool air gave way to the warmer breeze of the surface, carrying the faint scent of trees and distant grasslands. She adjusted her pack, the added weight of materials shifting slightly with her movements.

When she stepped into the forest, the golden hues of late afternoon greeted her, filtering through the canopy above. The shadows stretched long and sharp across the ground, a reminder of how much time had passed.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Arin emerged from the forest, her pack heavier than it had been that morning. The distant sound of hammers and voices reached her ears as she approached the nearly completed village.

She paused at the tree line, taking in the sight. The workers were focused, moving between the last building and the main square. Lanterns hung from posts and eaves, casting a warm, flickering light over the site.

Arin exhaled softly, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the progress. The final structure—the storehouse— was coming together faster than anticipated. If they kept this pace, they would finish by midday tomorrow.

Emily’s voice cut through the steady hum of activity. “Keep it steady on that beam—no shortcuts this late in the game!”

Arin’s gaze shifted to find her near the center of the site, gesturing as she directed a small group of workers. Her posture was easy, relaxed, but there was a certain energy in the way she moved, her freckled face catching the warm light of the lanterns as she smiled at something one of the workers said.

Arin adjusted her pack, stepping forward into the village.

Emily turned at the sound of her boots against the packed dirt, her green eyes widening slightly in surprise. “You came back.”

Arin frowned faintly. “...why would I not? We have already agreed that I would stay for three days.”

“Yeah, but I mean...” Emily crossed her arms, her grin softening into something curious. “Figured you’d already be halfway to your project by now.”

Arin frowned fully at that. “I have no reason to leave prematurely.” She paused, her dark eyes scanning the site again. “The work has progressed faster than expected.”

“It has,” Emily agreed, tilting her head as she studied Arin.

Arin hesitated, the weight of her pack shifting slightly on her shoulders. “They are... capable.”

Emily’s grin widened at that, her freckled face lighting up with amusement. “High praise, coming from you.”

“It is not praise. It is an observation,” Arin said flatly, brushing past her toward the nearest stack of supplies.

Emily trailed after her, her hands slipping into her pockets. “So, what’s with the pack? You weren’t just sightseeing, were you?”

Arin set the pack down with a deliberate motion, kneeling to untie its straps. “I have begun gathering materials for future endeavors,” she said, carefully removing several small bundles wrapped in cloth and placing them on the ground.

Emily crouched nearby, her gaze drifting to the bundles. “Future endeavors, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing. “Any of those happen to include me?”

Arin didn’t look up focusing instead on the bundle of material that needed to be organized and smelted down into something useable. “Your equipment is insufficient for prolonged use. The materials will allow for improvement.”

Emily made a noise that startled Arin, causing her to look up only to be met with Emily's eyes peering into her own. “Wait. Are you—” She stopped herself, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You’re making me new gear?”

Arin’s hands stilled for half a second before resuming as she looked back down. “...Better equipment reduces the likelihood of failure.” It was a clear and logical explanation, yet Emily’s reaction—smiling as though she had caught her in some unspoken act—was... unsettling.

“Right. Yeah, of course.” Emily's tone was grating on the mind, it was obvious that she for whatever reason, didn't believe Arin's answer.

Arin didn’t respond, focusing instead on retying the pack. But her ears warmed faintly, a subtle flush hidden in the growing twilight.

“You’re a big softy, aren't you?"

Arin straightened, slinging the pack over her shoulder once more, her face turning into a scowl as she peered at Emily. "I have told you the reasoning. It is to ensure that you complete tasks in a timely manner."

Emily said nothing, she just smiled brightly and stood up, eyes twinkling as she peered back at her.

Arin glanced at her, unsure how to respond. She settled for a curt nod before turning her attention back to the village, where the workers continued their steady progress.

---

Emily wandered out of the village, weaving past Villagers who hurried back and forth, setting out dishes, adjusting decorations, and lighting lanterns that cast soft, flickering patterns against the freshly built walls. She spotted Arin on the edge of the forest, her sun-kissed skin almost gold-brown in the fading light of sunset.

“You’re leaving now?” Emily asked as she stepped closer leaning against the tree beside Arin, her arms crossing over themselves as she peered at the shorter woman.

“Yes,” Arin replied, her tone as plain as ever, her pack slung over one shoulder. Dark eyes peering toward her then back at the village.

Emily sighed. “I wish I could stay for the festival. They worked so hard for all this- and so did we." She hummed as she shifted to lean her back on the tree to peer at the village as well.

Silence stretched between them. Emily glanced toward the square, watching a group of children chase each other around the tables, their laughter cutting through the gentle hum of conversation.

“The structures remain untested,” Arin said suddenly, her voice measured. “It would be prudent to observe their performance under extended use.”

Emily blinked, caught off guard by the statement. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if Arin was serious. Then again, Arin was always serious.

Her mind slowly caught as she peered at Arin who was stubbornly staring at the ground before her. “Thanks,” Emily said simply, her tone warm but casual.

Arin frowned faintly, her head tilting as her dark eyes dragged up from the ground toward Emily. “For what?”

"Nothing important. Come on. I’ll show you around.” Emily said easily, pushing off from the tree and motioning Arin to follow.

Arin didn’t move at first, her brow furrowing as though the simplicity of the thanks had thrown her off. Then, with a small sigh, she adjusted the strap of her pack and followed.

The square was alive with motion and sound. Lanterns cast their golden glow over the tables piled high with food—steaming pies, roasted meats, and baked goods that filled the air with their warmth. Villagers moved with purpose, adjusting decorations and carrying trays, their faces lit with excitement.

Emily led the way, her steps unhurried, her eyes scanning the sights with quiet appreciation. Every so often, she glanced back to check on Arin, who trailed behind, her gaze flicking from one part of the village to another like she was conducting a silent inspection.

“You know, you can relax a little,” Emily said, slowing her pace as they approached a group of children laughing and darting through the square. “Nobody’s expecting you to evaluate anything tonight.”

Arin’s brow furrowed faintly. “Observation is not synonymous with evaluation.”

Emily chuckled rolling her eyes a bit as she slowed her pace to walk in step with Arin instead of slightly in front of her.

They passed by a table laden with pastries, where a baker gestured for them to take a sample. Emily reached out without hesitation, selecting a small tart with golden, flaky crust. She took a bite, her eyes lighting up at the burst of sweetness.

“You’ve gotta try this,” she said, holding her tart out to the other woman.

Arin hesitated, her gaze shifting between the tart and Emily’s expectant face. After a long moment, she accepted it, taking a careful bite, a darker tint spreading up her throat from beneath the collar. The expression on her face didn’t change, but Emily caught the subtle pause as Arin chewed—a flicker of consideration.

“Well?” Emily prompted.

“It is adequate,” Arin said after a beat, her tone thought she continued taking small bites from it as they continued onward. "Glad you like it then." Emily mused easily gaining a grumble from Arin.

Emily laughed at a thought that buzzed through her mind, at how Arin reminded her of a particularly apathetic cat. "What?" Arin asked at the sudden noise, tilting her head up slightly to peer at Emily who looked away continuing to giggle to herself shaking her head a bit.

"Nothing, I just remembered a joke is all."

They continued weaving through the crowd, pausing occasionally to watch the festivities. Emily bounced with every step as she took in the scene around her, the energy of the space as light as it was had infected her down to the bones and it was almost impossible for her to stay still for a bit.

Arin, on the other hand, moved with her usual precision, her hands balled neatly at her sides. Her gaze lingered on the buildings, then the villagers, and finally, on Emily.

When the music shifted to a slower rhythm as they passed the square once more groups of villagers dancing with their chosen partner, Emily turned, a grin spreading across her freckled face. “Dance with me.”

Arin blinked, her body stiffening. “I do not know how.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Emily said, stepping closer and extending her hand. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Arin stared at the offered hand like it was some foreign object. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she took a deliberate step back. “Physical contact is not preferable.”

Emily paused, her hand lowering slightly. "Ah..." Understanding flickered across her face. Calling forth the memory of Arin's reaction to their last bout of physical contact.

She nodded once. “Alright, fair enough. No pressure.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Emily smiled again, motioning toward the crowd of dancers. “Let’s just watch, then. You might like it more than you think.”

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her gaze following Emily’s motion to the swaying pairs. She hesitated, then nodded curtly, shifting slightly to reclaim her space beside Emily.

Emily leaned back on her heels, her green eyes flicking over the scene before darting back to Arin. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Arin glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “You make many unnecessary observations.”

“And yet, here you are,” Emily replied, her voice light.

Arin looked back to the dancers, her shoulders easing the faintest fraction.

---

It had taken seven months to finish her work all together, added onto the one and half she spent helping the villagers Emily was so attached to had put her slightly behind her predictions for the work. All that was left was to load the first shipment and return to the main project site across the sea.

Arin looked about the landing site, a makeshift dock having been the first thing she built upon arrival, and only recently had she upgraded it to a fully functional one where a conveyor belt lead up to the side of the cargo ship and into a loader chute, sorting and storing the crops neatly within the hold.

Beyond a train station that connected to a storehouse built strong enough to withstand not only time but any concentrated efforts to breach it without having a proper understanding of it, it would simply torch the contents within leaving whoever was trying to get in spoil-less.

"Ari?"

The nickname made her skin tingle as she turned around to peer at Emily who wore the suit of specialized armor, a mix between leather and iron with a trim of steel along the joints. It was lackluster by Arin's standards but it was the best she could do without access to her primary workshop, she'd fix it once they arrived.

Arin blinked slowly as she took in Emily's features, the freckled face, the vibrant green eyes peered down at her with a slight cress between her brow and a frown on pale pink lips. "Emily." She intoned as Emily's eyes flicked away toward the cargo ship behind Arin.

"Is...Are we taking that to your project?" She asked, her voice holding a quality Arin couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Yes. It is the only way to reach it as far as I am aware. I have not taken time to explore for any land bridges but given that it takes roughly a week to travel there via ship, it would take double the time to do so by land if a land bridge even exists."

Emily pursed her lips a bit at that, her hand coming up to rub at the back of her neck. "...right, okay. Uh...How safe is it?"

Arin's brow twitched upward at that. "Given you have had time to see my work ethic I am surprised you even asked such a question. It has been tested extensively for multiple years and has had only two incidents that required extensive repair."

Emily seemed to relax at first only to pale at the mention of the incidents, swallowing fairly loudly as her hand shifted to rub at the front of her throat. "Mmn..."

Arin tilted her head, her sharp gaze narrowing as she studied Emily’s reaction. “You are unusually hesitant. Is there something specific about the vessel that concerns you?”

Emily glanced toward the ship again, her hand still resting against her throat. “No, it’s just…” She trailed off, her freckled face tightening briefly before she forced a small smile. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

Arin’s frown deepened. “You have asked three separate times about the ship’s safety in the past week alone. That is not indicative of ‘nothing.’” She crossed her arms, dark eyes fixed on Emily. “If there is a concern, state it.”

Emily hesitated, her weight shifting slightly as if she were contemplating stepping away. But under Arin’s unrelenting stare, she sighed and muttered, “It’s stupid, okay? Just drop it.”

Arin didn’t budge an inch, staring directly at Emily through unblinking eyes. “Define ‘stupid.’”

Emily let out a sharp laugh, though it lacked any humor. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“I will not,” Arin confirmed.

Emily rubbed the back of her neck again, her gaze darting to the ship, then back to the ground. “I don’t… I’m not great with deep water. That’s all.” Her voice was quieter now, the words escaping in a rush, like she was hoping to bury them under their own speed.

Arin blinked slowly, processing the admission. Of all the things she had considered—structural concerns, distrust in her methods, a dislike of confined spaces—fear hadn’t even registered as a possibility. Emily, the same person who charged headlong into caves filled with hostile creatures, afraid?

“I see." Arin said simply after a moment, her hand coming up to hold her own chin.

Emily winced saying nothing as she continued eying the ship behind the short woman.

Arin considered her for a moment longer, the sharp lines of her features softening imperceptibly. “This is... unexpected.”

“Tell me about it,” Emily muttered quietly, her voice tense as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Arin shifted turning to glance toward the ship. Her mind raced through possible solutions, her usual efficiency faltering slightly in the face of the unfamiliar situation. Emily’s fear was not something she could calculate or fix with a blueprint.

After a moment, she gestured toward the ship. “Would it alleviate your concerns to see the systems in operation? I can explain the safety measures and redundancies.”

Emily blinked, clearly caught off guard by the offer. “You’d… do that?”

Arin looked back at Emily offering a simple; "Yes." before motioning Emily to follow as she moved toward the ship.

Emily smiled faintly, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Alright then...”

Arin ascended the gangplank with slow steps as she kept glancing back to ensure Emily was following. The larger woman moved cautiously, her eyes darting to the edges of the ship as though half-expecting it to lurch into the water unbidden.

“This vessel,” Arin began as they reached the deck, “operates on a fully automated system. The conveyor mechanisms load and store cargo, while the navigational system is manual but optimized. It is structurally sound and capable of withstanding extreme conditions.”

Emily stepped carefully onto the deck, her fingers brushing against the steel railing for stability. “Right. Sounds impressive,” she said, her voice tight. “You, uh, sure it’s not gonna… I don’t know, tip over or something?”

Arin turned staring at Emily with a deadpan expression. “It is physically impossible for the ship to capsize under normal conditions. Its center of gravity is meticulously calculated, and its design compensates for oceanic turbulence.”

Emily gave her a weak smile. “You know, most people just say, ‘It’s fine.’”

“I am not ‘most people,’” Arin retorted without hesitation.

“No kidding,” Emily muttered under her breath, though the tension in her shoulders eased further.

Arin motioned toward a hatch leading below deck. “The hold is equipped with temperature regulation to preserve perishable goods. Come.”

Emily hesitated, glancing toward the water again, then followed. The narrow stairwell creaked faintly under their weight as they descended into the ship’s interior. Arin moved briskly, her hands tracing over polished railings and controls as she gestured to the various systems.

“This is the central control unit,” Arin explained, tapping a console embedded into the wall. “It monitors the ship’s course, cargo weight, and mechanical functions. Any deviation triggers an alert.”

Emily leaned closer, peering at the array of levers and gauges. “Looks complicated.”

“It is,” Arin corrected. “however it has been streamlined for ease of use.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking upward. “That so?”

“Yes, I will demonstrate it further at a later point, but it is connected to important areas such as the sleeping quarters and kitchen allowing for access to the cargo hold at any point from both locations.” Arin responded before shifting. "Come."

They moved through the corridors, Arin pointing out the engine room, storage compartments, and maintenance areas with her usual precision. Finally, she stopped before a door marked with a small gear symbol. “This is the sleeping quarters,” she said, opening it and stepping inside.

Emily followed and stopped short, her green eyes widening as she took in the small, neatly arranged room. There was a single bed tucked against one wall, its blanket folded tightly. Shelves lined the opposite wall, stocked with journals, tools, and neatly labeled supplies.

“Uh…” Emily began, motioning toward the bed. “There’s only one.”

Arin nodded. “This vessel was designed for a single occupant. I did not anticipate accommodating another.”

Emily snorted softly. “Of course you didn’t.”

“I can construct an additional space,” Arin offered after a pause. “It will require minor alterations.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Emily said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll manage. Just... don’t expect me to sleep in a crate or something.”

“I do not have any creates that would fit your height.” Arin deadpanned. “There is ample space in the cargo hold if that is where you would like to sleep however. Or you may make use of the bed as I do not sleep.”

Emily snorted once loudly before her brow furrowed. "What do you mean you don't sleep? We still need to sleep." Confusion in her tone as Arin only gave a simple shrug. Her dark eyes flicking to Emily’s face. “Your fear is... not unfounded,” she said after a moment. “But this ship will not fail.”

Emily’s smile softened, her gaze meeting Arin’s. “Thanks, Ari.”

Arin stiffened at the nickname, her neck heating faintly. “I am simply stating facts.”

“Sure you are,” Emily said, her grin widening as she turned and started back toward the deck. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Arin watched her go for a moment, the faint flush on her cheeks lingering before she followed.

---

The ship groaned against the storm’s relentless assault, its frame creaking as waves slammed against its hull. Rain lashed against the windows, driven by howling winds that drowned out the hum of the ship’s machinery. Arin moved quickly through the dim corridors, her balance unaffected by the rocking of the ship.

She had checked the sleeping quarters first, expecting Emily to be there. When she wasn’t, Arin’s mind raced through possible locations. The cargo hold? Unlikely. The kitchen? More plausible.

Reaching the kitchen door, she pushed it open and immediately stopped.

Emily was at the counter, her hands moving with frantic energy as she chopped vegetables, the knife striking the board in sharp, uneven rhythms. Flour dusted the counters, mixing with smears of something red—likely tomato—and a bubbling pot on the stove sent steam curling into the air.

Emily’s breathing was audible even over the storm, shallow and uneven. Her freckled face was tight, her eyes fixed on her task with a desperation that was palpable. Her hands trembled slightly as she worked, the knife slipping more than once.

Arin stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. “Emily.”

Emily startled, her knife clattering to the counter. She whirled around, her green eyes wide and panicked as if she hadn’t even registered Arin’s arrival.

“Heeeeeey,” Emily said quickly, her voice too high, too thin. “I was just—uh—thought I’d make something to eat. Keep busy, you know? Idle hands and all that.” She laughed, but the sound cracked halfway through.

Arin’s gaze swept over the mess, then back to Emily saying nothing as her eyes said everything she needed to, only assisted by a slightly raised eyebrow.

“I know,” Emily snapped, her voice sharp. Then it softened immediately, guilt flickering across her face. “I mean—I know. Sorry. I just… I can’t sit still right now.”

Arin took a slow step forward, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied Emily. The tension in her posture, the way her hands gripped the edge of the counter as though anchoring herself—these were things Arin understood all too well.

“You are afraid,” Arin observes.

Emily flinched, her shoulders hunching slightly. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice wavered.

“You are not.” Arin intoned, but there was no judgment in it. She paused, her mind racing as she considered her options. How could she help? What would lessen Emily’s distress?

Her gaze flicked to the small space around them, then back to Emily. An idea formed—unconventional, but perhaps effective.

“Teach me to dance,” Arin requested suddenly.

Emily blinked, thrown completely off guard. “What?”

“You offered before,” Arin continued, her voice steady. “Now I am requesting it.”

Emily stared at her, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Now? Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Arin took another step closer, her hands falling loosely at her sides. “You said it would be… fun. I wish to understand how.”

Emily hesitated, her green eyes searching Arin’s face. “I don’t know if—”

“I am asking,” Arin interrupted, her voice softer now. “Teach me.”

Emily let out a shaky laugh, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the storm still raging outside. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But don’t blame me if you’re terrible at it.”

Arin nodded, stepping closer until she was within arm’s reach. “What must I do?”

Emily hesitated, then tilted her head toward the door. “Go grab the jukebox from the sleeping quarters. I packed it away with a small bag of discs. Should be on the shelf closest to the bed.”

Arin nodded immediately, turning to leave the kitchen and headed for the sleeping quarters. The ship creaked and swayed as she walked, but her steps were steady, her mind focused on the task.

She found the jukebox easily, tucked neatly where Emily had said it would be. Beside it was a small cloth bag, the top tied with a simple knot. Arin picked them up and returned to the kitchen, her pace brisk but controlled.

When she reentered, Emily had cleared a small space in the center of the room, pushing aside a chair and a cutting board. She turned to Arin, her lips curving into a softer smile when she saw the items in Arin’s hands.

“Perfect,” Emily said, taking the jukebox and setting it on the counter. She rummaged through the bag, pulling out a disc labeled Mall and slipping it into the slot.

A soft, soothing melody filled the room, cutting through the distant roar of the storm. Emily exhaled slowly, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she turned back to Arin.

“Alright,” she said, holding out a hand. “Now, come here.”

Arin stepped closer, her gaze flicking between Emily’s outstretched hand and her freckled face. Slowly, she placed her hand in Emily’s, her movements precise but hesitant.

“Okay,” Emily murmured, her tone lighter now. She took Arin’s other hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. “One hand here, and I’ll hold the other. Just follow my lead.”

Arin nodded, her dark eyes locked on Emily’s as she mimicked the movements. Their steps were small and awkward at first, but Emily kept her voice steady, guiding her through the rhythm of the dance. Arin's brow pinched in concentration focusing on everything at once.

The sound of the storm outside, The placement of her feet, how her hands felt warm. How Emily felt warm, how she could feel Emily's heartbeat through her hands, like it's own song. Arin frowned a bit as she stumbled slightly, grumbling to herself.

“You’re doing fine,” Emily said softly, a faint grin tugging at her lips.

Before Arin could respond, a sudden crack of thunder split the air, loud enough to make the room vibrate. The ship groaned in protest, tilting slightly as a wave crashed against it.

Emily jerked violently, her grip on Arin tightening. Then she all but launched herself forward her arms ensuring around Arin's form as her face came to be buried in the crook of Arin's neck. The entire action sending fire skittering along every vein and nerve within the builder as she went completely still.

Her mind raced, her first instinct to pull away. But the way Emily clung to her—the tremor in her arms, the sharpness of her breath—made her pause. The feeling of the sharp breath on her bare skin making her usually steady and stoic heart betrayer her almost immediately beginning to double it's pace.

“You are frightened,” Arin said quietly.

Emily didn’t answer immediately, her face pressed against Arin’s neck. Her breathing was uneven, but she managed a shaky laugh. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice muffled. “Storms and deep water? Great combo.”

Arin hesitated, her hands hovering uncertainly before she slowly, deliberately placed them on Emily’s back. The motion was stiff, awkward, but she held her there, letting the soft notes of the jukebox fill the silence between them.

“It will pass,” Arin said finally, her voice low.

Emily pulled back just enough to meet Arin’s gaze, her green eyes searching hers. “Thanks, Ari,” she said softly, her lips curving into a faint, grateful smile.

Arin’s face burned faintly at the nickname, at the situation, at the warmth she was being looked at with but she didn’t pull away, allowing Emily a moment longer before she summoned a summoned all the willpower in her old soul and gently stepped back.

“Shall we continue?” Arin asked, her tone regaining some of its steadiness.

Emily chuckled, wiping at her face. “Yeah. Let’s keep going.”

They resumed the dance, the storm raging outside, but within the small, lantern-lit kitchen, the tension began to ease with every step.

Chapter Text

Arin peered at the meters and charts that made up almost all of the control room of the ship. Her eyes scanning about it as her hands moved of their own accord adjusting the ship's course and recording it to be programmed in fully later to ensure the ship was fully automated after her departure.

By all accounts, she was pleased to finally be returning to her primary project, she missed the scheduled days of life within her workshop away from all the noise of the outside world. At the mention of the noise her eyes shifted toward the only chair within the command room where Emily had laid claim and curled up sleeping soundlessly.

Why she was so determined to sleep there was anyone's guess as it was beyond Arin's faculties to understand it. They had been at sea for two weeks, longer than it should have been thanks to a few storms that had caught them as they were at the midpoint and added a few days to the trip, and-

Her mind paused for a moment as she thought about the kitchen on the ship, the quiet moment they shared and how- unlike her and what she knew of herself- she initiated contact with Emily, the sea was by all accounts, horrifying to her. As horrifying as being touched felt to Arin when she didn't start it herself. It had worked for some time but Emily's fear seemed to be a constant for her so long as she remained on the ship.

Resulting in the current situationship which Emily was metaphorically glued to her at the hip, having gone as far as to grab onto Arin's arm, wrist and shoulder at separate moments when the ship shifted just a bit too far for her liking. Most were followed immediately by apologies and the swift release of Arin's person. After the eighth time it happened Arin finally snapped and told her that she is allowed to touch her person until they dock within reason.

She looked away from the sleeping form toward the windows of the control room. Her eyes on the horizon where the faintest of outlines were visable. It would be almost half the day before they were docking, perhaps during the night. Regardless they had made a majority of the journey and Arin had things to check on before then. She needed to inspect the engine as there's been a noticeable lag in it over the past day or so. She needed to inspect the cargo hold and take stock of everything in it and plan out-

"...Ari?" A groggy voice asked, sleep drowning it as Arin turned to peer down at Emily who slowly stood, Arin's eyes following from below herself until she was looking slightly up at Emily.

"We are a approximately a half a day out from port."

Emily blinked slowly, rubbing at her face with one hand as she tried to shake off sleep. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking out in odd directions, and her freckled face was creased from where she had been resting against the chair’s arm. She let out a yawn, her shoulders sagging as she adjusted her stance.

“Thank the stars.” Emily muttered, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Feels like we’ve been out here forever.”

Arin turned back to the controls, her fingers adjusting a dial to account for a minor drift in the ship’s course. “You exaggerate. The voyage has progressed within acceptable parameters, given the delays.”

“Sure, Acceptable parameters and all that. Definitely doesn’t feel like two weeks of being tossed around like a cork.”

Arin glanced at her sidelong. “If the ship’s motion is causing discomfort, you may relocate to the sleeping quarters. They remain undisturbed.”

Emily snorted softly. “Nah, I’m good.” She stepped closer to the controls, leaning against the edge of the console. “Actually, I'm starving. Come with me?”

“No.” Arin’s response was curt, her focus fixed on the blinking lights and gauges. “You are capable of retrieving food without assistance.”

Emily crossed her arms, tilting her head as she peered at Arin. “Yeah, but what if I cook breakfast for you too?”

That gave Arin pause. Her hands hesitated over the controls before she glanced at Emily, eyes narrowing. “You intend to prepare a meal?”

“Yep,” Emily said, her grin widening. “Something fresh. I’ve still got a few ingredients tucked away. Better than the rations you’ve been living on.”

Arin exhaled quietly, the faintest crease forming between her brows. Emily’s cooking methods were... inefficient, involving unnecessary steps and a tendency to prioritize presentation over practicality. And yet—begrudgingly—Arin had to admit the results were- somehow- superior.

“You may proceed without me,” Arin said slowly turning to fully peer at Emily.

“C’mon, Ari. You’re not gonna let me eat alone, are you?”

“I am,” Arin deadpanned, turning back to the controls.

But Emily didn’t move. She stood there, waiting, her green eyes fixed on Arin with a patience that was almost unsettling. With each passing second, Arin could fill her willpower sapped by the stare.

After a long silence, Arin sighed, her hands falling to her sides. “Very well,” she drawled. “Lead the way.”

Emily’s face lit up, her hand reaching out and grabbing Arin's wrist, gently leading her toward the door. A bounce in her step the entire way out. “You won’t regret it.”

"I already do."

---

The ship came to a gentle halt, its hull groaning softly as it met the dock. Arin adjusted the final lever on the control panel before stepping back, her movements slower than she'd have liked as her wrist was still stolen by her blonde companion. She turned toward the gangplank, her dark eyes sweeping over Emily, who stood beside her with one hand gripping the railing still as she leaned forward just a bit to peer at the main project site.

Arin descended the gangplank first, her boots landing with a muted thud against the dock’s worn planks her gait slow as Emily hesitantly moved down the plank, inching closer to Arin as she walked, casting a glance off the side and immediately regretting it if her complexion was anything to go by. The salty air mingled with the faint creak of ropes and the distant cries of gulls, the dock was busy, ships from far villages and cities unloading goods and loading others.

A few of the dockhands paused upon seeing Arin, as she wasn't due back for another year, she had been placed ahead of schedule despite all the delays she was saddled with. One even going as far as to give her a way only to be met with a stare as he quickly went back to work.

Drawing her eyes away she peered up at Emily as they came to a stop at the bottom of the gangplank. "We are docked,”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Emily replied, her voice light but tinged with a nervous energy. She exhaled deeply, her grip loosening but not fully releasing. A ghost of a foreign feeling skittered along Arin's nervous system as the thought of Emily letting go passed by and two conflicting signals mauled each other within her brain. She didn't want her to let go. And she didn't want to be touched further.

So her brain went with the third option of doing nothing.

“Solid ground. What a concept.” Emily muttered out, tapping her boot tips on the ground.

Arin's gaze shifted briefly to Emily’s hand before returning to the expanse of the dock and the city beyond. The towering spires gleamed in the afternoon light, their metallic surfaces reflecting the sky in fractured shards.

“This is where your project’s been?” Emily asked, her green eyes wide as she took in the sight. “You didn’t mention it was… this.”

Arin didn’t respond immediately, her focus drawn to the ship as she turned to inspect the gangplank and its connection to the dock. After a beat, she said, “You did not ask.”

"...ask if you built a city? I mean, I figured since you needed the food but- dear stars."

Arin adjusted the strap of her pack as Emily led them toward the city’s main thoroughfare, her grip on Arin’s wrist steady and absentminded. It was not an anchor as Emily believed—Arin was sure of that—but something habitual, ingrained over their weeks on the ship.

The citizens noticed. They always noticed.

Their gazes were sharp, cutting through the hum of activity around them. Dockworkers paused mid-step, merchants halted their negotiations, and passersby cast sidelong glances as the pair moved past. The reaction was uniform: quiet disbelief, curiosity, and something closer to reverence.

No one had ever touched her so casually. Not even her assistant.

Emily, of course, was oblivious. She moved through the city with a bright, unguarded curiosity that seemed entirely alien here. Her green eyes flitted from building to building, lingering on the spires and intricate machinery woven into the city’s design. Her freckled face lit up with every new discovery, a smile playing on her lips.

“What’s this place for?” she asked, pointing to a structure with towering gears turning slowly against the sky.

“Steam regulation,” Arin replied automatically. “It maintains pressure for the primary engine and prevents system failures.”

“Wow,” Emily murmured, tilting her head to get a better look. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

The words hung in the air longer than Arin expected. She glanced at Emily, noting the soft awe in her tone.

“Over time.” she intoned, her gaze returning to the path ahead.

Emily hummed thoughtfully, her attention already caught by a street vendor with intricate mechanical wares on display.

“You designed all of this,” Emily said, her voice quiet but insistent.

Arin hesitated, her gaze flicking over the vendor’s wares before landing back on Emily. “In part. I have only given them the fundamentals. They have made more than I thought they would.”

“That’s... incredible. You're incredible.”

Her expression softened. Emily’s praise wasn’t unexpected—it was logical given her unfamiliarity with the city’s systems. And yet, it felt... heavier than expected.

The citizens’ reactions grew sharper the deeper they ventured into the city. Their glances lingered longer, their movements slower as if they were trying to decipher the anomaly before them.

Emily.

Emily, who had a concept of the invisible lines she crossed, yet her curiosity in all it's honest glory had pushed such worries far away. Emily who clung to Arin’s wrist like it was the most natural thing in the world and led her about her own city.

Arin allowed it.

Not because she didn’t care, but because she did not know how to care. The logic of it escaped her. But it was there, a knot in her chest tightening each time Emily’s grip shifted, threatening to release. She spent more time than she would ever admit thinking about Emily and her's conversation in the cave all those months ago. About wanting to be known. To have someone to understand.

Her eyes drifted to the hand on her wrist, her body shivered a single time against her will as she slowly looked back at Emily who paused for a second.

“Is something wrong?” Emily asked suddenly, stopping mid-step and turning to face her.

Arin blinked, startled from her thoughts. “No.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, a crease forming between her eyebrows in worry. Worry for Arin. The thought made her skin itch and her chest twist on itself, almost nauseously so. “You sure? You’ve got a look.”

“I have no look.” Parroted, ignoring how her throat felt dry.

Emily shook her head slightly. “Right. Sure you don’t.” She hesitated, glancing at her own hand where it still rested on Arin’s wrist. Her expression faltered.

“Oh, stars. Sorry—I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto you.” Emily quickly pulled her hand away, her freckled face flushing as she took a step back.

The knot tightened, then unraveled, only to reform in a slower, heavier rhythm. Arin flexed her fingers absently, the ghost of Emily’s touch lingering like static beneath her skin. It was distracting in a way she couldn’t define—both foreign and unwelcome, yet not entirely unpleasant.

“It was... not bothersome,” Arin said slowly, the words careful and deliberate.

“Guess I got carried away,” Emily said with a sheepish smile, her tone light but careful. Her hand briefly flexed as though considering whether to reclaim Arin’s wrist but deciding against it.

“You did not.”

They stood in silence for a beat before Emily gestured ahead. “Lead the way, then. Or is this where I get lost and you leave me to fend for myself?”

Arin tilted her head, a faint crease forming between her brows. “I do not intend to leave you.” Her mind hissed at the genuine intent behind the words. The lack of reason, of logic behind it. One day they would leave eachother, it was by nature of being an Outlander.

One day they would wake up and be elsewhere, another world, another time, another place. Yet, the words had left her mouth without her rational mind able to input on it.

Emily's smile turned softer, brighter, kinder. “Good to know.”

She moved forward again, her steps light and unhurried, her gaze sweeping over the city with the same infectious curiosity. Arin followed, her thoughts a quiet hum as she observed the way Emily interacted with the world around her.

It was... intriguing. How it made her feel was horrifying.

Every tilt of Emily’s head, every question she asked, became a data point in a growing, undefined project within Arin’s mind. The purpose of this project was elusive, but her focus on it was absolute.

---

The streets had emptied as the curfew settled in, the quiet punctuated only by the faint hum of distant machinery and the rhythmic clanking of golems patrolling their routes. Emily followed Arin through the workshop’s door, the warm amber glow inside a stark contrast to the cool, quiet night outside.

Emily barely had time to take in her surroundings when her attention was drawn to the pair standing near a workbench. A man with dark, neatly combed hair leaned in close to another man, their hands brushing lightly before the shorter one pulled back knocking multiple objects off the workbench they stood beside, a startled expression plastered across his face as he noticed Arin and Emily.

“Oh!” the shorter man exclaimed, stepping back and nearly tripping over a stool. His face turned bright red, his eyes darting between Arin and Emily. “M-Miss Arin! I didn’t realize you were—uh—”

Her sharp gaze settled on him the moment her name left his mouth.

Adam chuckled nervously, adjusting his glasses and shifting his weight. Emily could practically see the sweat beginning to roll down his forehead.

Arin tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes flicking to the taller man who still stood beside Adam. “Who is this?”

Adam’s jaw worked for a moment before the taller man, calm and composed, stepped forward. “Theo,” he said simply.

Arin's eyes tried to burn a hole through his skull. “Your relationship to Adam?”

Theo responded immediately after the question. “I’m his partner.” Emily was almost certain he had practiced this.

Emily barely stifled a laugh, her freckled face lighting up in amusement as she watched the exchange. Arin, however, remained stone-faced, her sharp gaze fixed on Theo in a way that reminded her of how a wolf would stare intently at any kind of meat passing in front of it. Or maybe how a creeper stared at a person right before it exploded.

“For how long?” Arin interrogated.

“Almost a year,” Theo answered smoothly.

Arin’s brow creased faintly as her eyes shifted back to Adam. “You never mentioned this.”

Adam winced, his hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck. “I—well—it didn’t seem relevant to my work, Mo- Miss Arin. It’s not like—”

“Just Arin." She interrupted.

Adam sighed. “Right. Sorry. It didn’t seem relevant to... Arin.”

Arin narrowed her eyes slightly, but whatever reprimand she had in mind seemed to dissipate. She turned back to Theo. “Do you intend to cause him unnecessary distractions?” Emily could feel the intent behind the words, the unspoken threat right beyond it. And apparently Theo heard it too as he answered with a grim tone.

“No. I respect his work, and I’d never interfere with it.”

Arin stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Acceptable.”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “That’s it?”

Arin turned on her heel, already moving toward the far end of the workshop. “Emily, follow me.”

Emily glanced back at Adam and Theo, both of whom looked thoroughly relieved, before jogging to catch up with Arin with a light wave.

As they walked through a corridor lit by dim, overhead lamps, Emily tilted her head down toward Arin. “Okay, so... what was that?”

“Adam is my assistant. He has been since he was a child.”

Emily blinked, her steps faltering slightly. “Wait, how long have you known him?”

“Since birth,” Arin said matter-of-factly.

Emily blinked as she peered at Arin. She didn't strike her as a momma bear, yet that entire interaction now made complete sense. “So you’ve, what, raised him?”

“His parents were unfit for the task,” Arin explained. “He required guidance, and I required an assistant. It was logical.”

Emily shook her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’ve got a funny way of showing you care, you know that?”

Arin’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stopped in front of a door and keyed in a code. The door hissed open, revealing a room that was unmistakably Arin’s. It wasn’t the stark, utilitarian space Emily had expected. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with journals, books, and neatly rolled blueprints.

The desk in the corner was buried under half-built contraptions, tools, and small mechanical components. Even the bed—narrow and perfectly made—had a pile of books stacked at one end, as if it doubled as another workstation.

Emily stepped inside, her eyes unable to remain on one object for any period of time. “This is your room?”

“Yes,” Arin said simply, stepping back into the corridor. “It will serve as your quarters for now. I have no use for it tonight.”

Before Emily could respond, Arin added, “Rest. I will be checking on the engine and other systems.” She turned and strode away, leaving Emily standing in the middle of the organized chaos.

Emily sighed, running a hand through her hair as she set her pack down near the door. “Rest, she says,” she muttered, her green eyes scanning the room further.

Her gaze landed on the desk, where a journal sat slightly askew, its cover plain but well-worn. It was one of many scattered throughout the space, but something about its placement—deliberate yet set aside—caught her attention.

Against her better judgment, Emily crossed the room and picked it up, her fingers brushing against the edges of the pages as she opened it.

The contents were unexpected. Instead of schematics or calculations, the pages were filled with phrases—sayings, observations, fragments of conversations. Each one was surrounded by neat annotations in Arin’s sharp, precise handwriting.

“You have all the answers, don’t you?”
Statement delivered with sarcasm. Suggests frustration. Context: Disagreement over logistical decisions. Why is certainty met with hostility? Does it intimidate or alienate?

Emily tilted her head. She could almost hear the sharpness in the words, the exasperation of whoever had said them.

“You make it so hard to care about you.”
Implication: Interpersonal connections require reciprocity. Incompatibility with current behavior noted. Unknown solution.

She moved to the next, ignoring how this all seemed so impossibly...sad. For all of Arin's intelligence, her ability to make wonders like the city she was stood in, she couldn't understand people.

“Not everything has to have a purpose.”
Common response. Counterpoint: Lack of purpose undermines efficiency. Others prioritize purpose inconsistently. Further observation required.

“You’ll never understand, because you don’t want to.”
Rejection. Hypothesis: Understanding and acceptance are distinct. Can one understand without accepting? Or accept without understanding? Experimentation inconclusive.

Emily frowned, her fingers brushing the edge of the page as she turned it carefully. Each line felt like a fragment of a life she hadn’t known Arin had lived—a quieter, lonelier one.

“You may as well be a golem.”
Insult. Dismissive. Likely reflection of speaker’s discomfort. Significance of comparison unclear—golems are created for precise functions. Is this not preferable?

“You don’t care what happens to us, do you?”
Presumptive. Incorrect. Misalignment between actions and perceived intent. Effort misinterpreted as indifference. Requires further evaluation.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”
Statement delivered during emotional dispute. Frustration evident. Does ‘impossible’ indicate a failure to meet expectations? Or a reflection of speaker’s limitations?

“Why do you bother if you don’t even care?”
Presumptive. Incorrect. Effort does not require emotional investment. Purpose beyond personal connection evident.

Emily swallowed hard. The questions beneath each quote cut through the clinical detachment, something painfully and hopelessly mortal, the want to understand. She flipped further, finding longer passages written in bursts, as if the quotes had struck a nerve.

Emily stared at the page, her hand tightening around the edge of the journal. She thought of Arin sitting in the quiet, scribbling these words down like equations she couldn’t solve. Not just to remember, but to try and fix something—or maybe just to make sense of it.

Closing the journal softly, she glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the countless others stacked and scattered. her heart ached, it clutched and turned in her chest cavity. Arin who always seemed detached to everything around her outside of what she understood had over multiple lifetimes struggled to understand those around her.

It all made far more sense now, that her actions and choices weren't born from a place of malice or hate, she cared. That much was obvious to Emily at least, she had to. Otherwise, why would she have tried so hard to return quickly to this place with food for what she had said were food shortages.

Emily worried her bottom lip for a moment before scanning the room, hunting for the newest journal—the one she’d seen Arin writing in more than once. Her fingers brushed against its worn cover, and she hesitated.

It was an invasion of privacy to do this. How could it not be? These were internal thoughts from someone who kept everything behind lock and key.

But Emily’s desire to help outweighed her reason.

Flipping to the first page, she found Arin’s neat, clinical handwriting waiting for her.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re not even real.”
Dismissive. Context: Frustration during disagreement. Does detachment imply inhumanity? Must emotional display equal authenticity?

Emily frowned, rereading the words slowly. She tapped the pen against the edge of the desk, her thoughts swirling before she leaned in to write her annotation.

"Real” doesn’t mean what they think it means. People show they’re real in different ways. Some of us wear our hearts on our sleeves, and some of us keep them tucked away, safe. That doesn’t make one less real than the other—it just means they’re protected. You’re real, Arin. They just don’t know how to see it yet.

She leaned back, staring at her own handwriting. For a moment, guilt clawed at her. Who was she to step into Arin’s most private world? But then her gaze swept across the room, landing on the countless other journals stacked and scattered.

Over a hundred. Hundreds of quotes. Hundreds of questions.

Emily exhaled softly. It all made sense now—Arin wasn’t cold or indifferent. She cared. She cared so much that she’d spent lifetimes trying to make sense of how to show it.

If no one else had stepped in before, then someone needed to now. Emily set the journal down, opened to the next page, and got to work.

For every quote, she wrote an annotation. For every question, she offered an answer.

She didn’t know if it would help. But maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to start building a bridge.

Chapter Text

Two hard knocks sounded from the door.

"Ser Emilia, you're wanted in th' war room by th' liege." The words were clipped and followed by the fading rhythm of boots against stone.

I didn’t respond. There was no point; the messenger was already gone. Instead, I turned my gaze back to the desk, to the half-finished order that would never reach the frontlines.

My gauntlets rested heavily on the wood, scuffed and dull, the iron edges worn smooth from years of use. The helmet beside them caught my eye, its jagged visor a familiar sight. The blue plume had faded, its wool fraying at the edges, burned in places where fire had come too close. It had seen more battles than I cared to count.

I reached for the helmet, turning it over in my hands. My fingers found the scratches on the inside, the marks left from hurried donning in battle. It fit over my head as it has hundreds of times before, catching briefly on the tight bun of my hair before settling into place. The world narrowed; the edges of my vision framed by steel.

The candle on the desk flickered, casting long shadows across the room. The air smelled of oil, leather, and faintly of ash—a scent that had seeped into everything over the past few years.

I rose, the familiar weight of my armor settling over me like an old wound. It clinked softly as I moved, a sound as natural as breathing. The silence in the room was heavier than it had ever been. Like when you knew an event was coming to an end. It's the only way this is going to end. The grim thought passed over me like a shroud as I pushed open my door.

The halls outside were quiet, save for the occasional echo of footsteps or the distant murmur of voices. I barely noticed. My mind moved ahead of me, already mindlessly following the worn path to the war room, the questions I would have to answer, the orders I would have to give already plaguing me.

As I reached for the door, my hand hesitated for the briefest moment. The exhaustion ceased me by the bones for a moment. I hadn't slept in days now. There was never time to, there was always something to do. Orders to give, defenses to prepare, people to send to their death.

I let out a long breath before pushing the door open.

The war room was alive with tension as I entered, the low murmur of voices sharpening into a heated argument. Advisors, generals, and strategists clustered around the massive war table, their words overlapping in a cacophony of frustration and desperation. None of them noticed me at first, too consumed by their own grievances.

Father stood at the head of the table, silent, his weathered hands gripping the edges of the worn wood. His eyes, sunken and shadowed, were fixed on the map spread out before him—a grim canvas of our failure. Charcoal smudges covered most of the map, swallowing cities, forests, and fortresses. Only a thin strip of untouched land remained along the farthest edge.

I stepped closer, the sound of my boots muted against the rush of voices. My gaze flicked over the map, tracing the lines of our defenses, the scattered markers that denoted our last remaining strongholds. The sight should have stung, but all I felt was a dull, gnawing ache.

“She’s late,” one of the advisors snapped, his voice cutting through the noise. “How are we to plan a counteroffensive if she can’t even—”

“She’s here,” my father interrupted, his voice low but firm. The room fell silent as heads turned toward me.

I inclined my head, a gesture of respect, but said nothing. Words were wasted here.

My father’s gaze didn’t linger on me; it returned to the map. “Captain.” he said quietly, “look at what remains. Tell me how we hold it.”

I stepped to the table, letting my eyes drift over the scattered pieces and hastily drawn lines. I didn’t answer immediately, my mind pulling me back—back to the beginning of all this.

It was supposed to be a skirmish. The reports said the enemy was isolated, a small raiding party on the outskirts of the forest. We’d gone in confident, outnumbering them two to one.

And then the air had turned cold.

I remembered the sound first—a dry, rattling scrape like bone against stone. Then the smell, acrid and suffocating, burning my nostrils. The first strike came from the shadows, a lance of black that cut through armor as if it weren’t there.

He had been beside me. Sir Aldrin. The man who trained me, who taught me how to wield a sword and read the battlefield. I’d turned just in time to see it—a skeletal figure cloaked in black, its blade buried deep in his side.

The wound spread faster than I could react. The veins around it turned black, spidering out like cracks in ice. His skin withered before my eyes, sinking into itself as if something inside him was devouring him whole. His scream was the worst part—raw, animalistic, torn from his throat as he fell to his knees.

I’d stood there, frozen, until another blade swung toward me, forcing me back into the fight.

“Captain.”

My father’s voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, the ghost of Aldrin’s scream fading into the quiet tension of the war room.

“The plan,” he prompted, his tone expectant.

I glanced at the map again, forcing my thoughts into order. “The eastern pass,” I said finally, tapping a marker near the edge of the charcoal. “It’s narrow and defensible. If we can hold there, it will buy us time to reinforce the capital.”

One of the generals snorted. “And what happens when they come through the western plains? Or the southern coast? You can’t patch a sinking ship with hope, Ser Emilia.”

“No,” I replied simply. “But we can slow the flood.”

The room fell quiet again, my words hanging in the air. My father’s gaze scanned what was left of our home before his ice-colored eyes fell on me.

“The eastern pass,” he repeated, his tone clipped. “Do you believe it will hold?”

“It has to,” I replied, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my chest. “It’s the only natural bottleneck left. We fortify it, dig trenches, and set traps along the approach. If we fail there...” I gestured to the map, the unspoken truth clear.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Then you’ll lead the vanguard. Take whoever you trust. Make it happen.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I nodded bowing slightly. Everyone I trusted had already fallen. But I would make do with what's left.

He didn’t dismiss me. Instead, he turned back to the map, his hands pressing into the table as though he could hold the kingdom together by sheer will. I lingered for a moment, studying him. For all his composure, I saw the cracks—the tension in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his fingers. He carried it all, the weight of the kingdom’s survival.

But there was no room for sentiment here. I straightened and turned to leave, my mind already cycling through the logistics of the eastern pass. Supplies, manpower, terrain—everything had to align perfectly if we were to hold.

“Emilia.”

I paused at the door, glancing back.

“Do not fail,” he said, his voice low but commanding. There was no malice, only the stark truth of the situation. Failure was not an option.

“...Yes, Your Majesty." I repeated. This time a sweet lie.

As I stepped into the corridor, the door clicked shut behind me, muffling the cacophony of the war room as the advisors returned to their squabbling. I didn’t blame them. What else were they to do? Faced with an impossible task against impossible odds, what was there to say?

My thoughts drifted as my feet carried me toward the barracks, and by extension, the armory. I veered from the direct path, choosing instead the longer, quieter route—the castle walls. My hand dragged absently along the stonework as I ascended the circular staircase, the rough texture grounding me in the moment.

How many times had I walked this path? Hundreds? Thousands? Yet not once had I stopped to consider that there would be a last time. A last time for this. A last time for so many things.

I stepped into the open air, the wind carrying the faint tang of ash. From the battlements, I looked out over the capital. It had once been a jewel, alive with color and movement. Now, it was a carcass—rotting long before its death.

It had started innocently enough. Reports from distant lands spoke of monsters rising from the Nether. Pig-men, charred skeletons, floating skulls wreathed in rods of fire. Ghastly creatures that bobbed through the sky, singing mournful songs.

Back then, it had been so far away. Blissfully and safely removed. Then the first nation went silent. And the next. One by one, the world fell into quiet devastation. The few survivors whispered of doom, of gods who had abandoned us, of the sins that had drawn the legions of the damned to our doors.

I released a slow breath, my gaze drawn to the horizon. Ships dotted the waters, their sails shrinking as they fled. Women, children, the sick, and the elderly—all that remained of those we could save.

I wondered if mother made it. The thought slipped in unbidden, cutting through the haze of my resolve. My eyes lingered on the royal flagship, drifting further and further away. She had tried to convince me to go with her, to search for safety alongside her.

But the Commander was dead, and the structure of what remained was already fracturing. I could not leave them. I chose to stay.

I chose to die here, buying time with what little life I had left to offer.

It was a cruel thing to know with certainty that this time tomorrow, I would be dead. Where fear and panic should have been, there was only a soul-deep tiredness. Six years of this. Six years of loss after loss, with no end but this.

I closed my eyes, my head throbbing in rhythmic pulsing. A long breath leaving me before I slowly opened my eyes and continued along the wall. Eventually finding the staircase I was searching for and slowly walked back down it coming out right beside the barracks.

The armory came into view, its open doors spilling faint light onto the cobblestone path. Inside, the muffled clatter of weapons and the murmur of voices rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. It was a sound I had grown up with, one that had shifted over the years from comforting to foreboding.

Descending the stairs from the wall, my armor shifted with each step, its familiar weight both a burden and a shield. The conversations inside stilled as I entered, heads turning toward me. Recognition sparked in their eyes, along with something heavier: an unspoken plea for answers I couldn’t give.

They were tired. More than tired. These were the faces of people who had given everything and knew it still wouldn’t be enough. My gaze swept over them until it landed on Daniel near the back. His hands were busy strapping on mismatched armor, but he straightened when he saw me.

“Emma,” he called, his voice clear and steady despite the quiet tension in the room. It carried the familiarity of years, a reminder of times when the stakes hadn’t been so high. “Do you think we’ll win?”

The question struck like a blade slipping through armor. I hesitated, my gaze flicking to the others around us. They had stopped their work to listen, their attention fixed on me.

I could have told the truth—that we couldn’t win, that this battle was little more than a final delay before the inevitable. But they didn’t need the truth right now. What they needed was hope, however fleeting.

“I do,” I said, the lie steady on my tongue. It wasn’t grand, but it was enough to chase the doubts lingering in the air. “We hold the eastern pass. That’s the only way through. As long as we stand, they don’t advance. They don’t take the capital. They don’t take our people.”

The room fell silent, the weight of my words sinking in. I let the moment stretch, the stillness amplifying the importance of what I was about to say.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I continued, my gaze sweeping over them. “You’re thinking of the battles we’ve lost. The comrades who’ve fallen. The friends and family we’ve sent away, knowing we’ll never see them again. You’re thinking this fight isn’t one we can win.”

A few heads dipped. They didn’t need to nod; the truth was etched into their faces.

“You’re right,” I admitted, the words falling into the quiet like stones into a well. “We can’t win. Not in the way we’d like. Not in the way we deserve. But winning isn’t always about survival. It’s about making sure that what we’ve fought for, what we’ve bled for, doesn’t die with us.”

Daniel’s eyes stayed on mine, but I saw the flicker of doubt. I took another step forward, my voice steady and firm now.

“The people we’ve saved? They’ll remember us. They’ll remember that when the world stood on the edge of oblivion, we didn’t turn away. We didn’t falter. We stood. For them. For each other. For everything we hold dear.”

The tension in the room was palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with every word.

“This is our wall,” I said, planting the words like a banner. “Our pass. Our last stand. If this is where we die, then we die as knights. As soldiers. As defenders of what matters most. And when the enemy comes, when they see us standing here, they’ll know that we were not broken. That we were not defeated. That we stood.”

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It wasn’t fear or doubt. It was the weight of a collective decision, unspoken but understood.

“...But I will not keep you here. I will not demand you stay and die if you believe it not worth it. I will not scorn you for fear, for honest and reasonable fear. So go. If you wish to return to your families. To try your luck beyond the city walls, running as far as you can. No one will stop you.”

I let the words settle, my gaze sweeping over the crowd.

“But I will stay. I, Emilia the Second, will stay. I will hold our wall. I will fight until the last breath leaves my body, so that even one of you—one of your families—might live one moment longer.”

The silence stretched, pressing against the edges of the room. Then, slowly, heads lifted. Not all—some still stared at the floor, their thoughts hidden behind clenched jaws and furrowed brows. But enough. Enough to make it clear they had chosen.

Daniel stepped forward first, his armor clinking softly. “Well, Emma,” he said, his tone lighter, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you, like always.”

A faint ripple of chuckles broke the tension, soft but genuine. Others murmured quiet affirmations, voices of loyalty and resolve rising like embers. A few left, their decision to depart evident in the hurried shuffle of their steps, but no one stopped them.

I nodded to Daniel, my lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’ve always been stubborn. Why change now?”

“Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” he replied with a shrug, reaching for a sword.

The armory shifted back into motion—armor fastened, weapons inspected, quiet conversations resuming. I busied myself sharpening my blade, the steady rhythm grounding me. Daniel’s voice broke through the murmurs, softer now.

“You did good, Emma. They needed to hear that.”

I didn’t respond, only nodding as I looked around. The weight of the moment pressed on me, but I couldn’t afford to dwell. The end was inevitable. But for now, there was still a fight to face.

As the knights and conscripts prepared, the time came to move out. The sound of hooves echoed against the cobblestones as the vanguard assembled in the streets. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their riders gripping reins with practiced ease. Behind them, the conscripts fell into line, their makeshift armor clattering as they shouldered spears and shields.

The city’s remaining inhabitants lined the streets, their faces pale and drawn. Some clutched at children, holding them close as if proximity could shield them from what was to come. Others stood silent, their eyes glassy with exhaustion and grief. Here and there, someone would reach out—a hand brushing against a soldier’s arm, a whispered prayer offered to the passing column.

I'm sorry.

I rode near the front, Daniel at my side. His presence was steadying, even as the scrutiny of so many eyes bore down on us. We passed a woman kneeling by the roadside, her hands pressed together in fervent prayer. Next to her, A boy, barely old enough to stand, clung to her skirts, his wide eyes following the procession. My gaze lingered on them for a moment longer than I intended.

I'm so sorry.

The streets grew quieter as we moved closer to the eastern gate. The walls loomed ahead, their hastily reinforced battlements manned by archers and engineers. Beyond them, the horizon stretched and behind us a city in its death throes.

The eastern gate loomed ahead, its iron bars raised for what might be the last time. The creak of its chains echoed into the silence as the vanguard passed through, their shadows long against the barren road ahead. Behind us, the city remained, its people shrinking into the distance like ghosts retreating into the past.

We marched in silence, the road stretching before us like a scar across the land. The closer we came to the pass, the more the air seemed to change—thicker, colder, heavy with the promise of violence. The land itself bore the marks of war: trees stripped bare, earth scorched black, and the faint outline of trenches carved into the hillsides.

By the time we reached the fortifications, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, its dying light painting the jagged peaks in muted gold. The pass was narrow, a natural bottleneck where the mountains pressed close together. Hasty defenses had been erected: wooden palisades, sharpened stakes, and shallow trenches lined the approach. Behind them, a few siege engines stood ready, their mechanisms groaning as engineers made last-minute adjustments.

The soldiers fanned out, each taking their assigned positions with the practiced efficiency of those who knew their lives depended on it. The knights dismounted, their horses led away to safety, while the conscripts took up positions along the palisades, their hands trembling as they gripped their weapons.

I stood at the center of it all, Daniel at my side, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The quiet was almost unbearable, a silence that pressed against my ears like cotton. My mind ran through every possible scenario, every contingency, every plan we had devised.

And then the air changed.

It was subtle at first—a faint hum, low and steady, that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The ground beneath us trembled, the vibrations running up through my boots. I gripped the hilt of my sword, my knuckles white against the leather.

“Emilia,” Daniel said quietly, his voice tight. He didn’t need to say anything more.

On the horizon, shapes began to form, dark and jagged against the fading light. The hum grew louder, a sound that was not quite mechanical, not quite organic. It was like the groan of a massive beast stirring from its slumber.

And then they appeared.

The first Nether portal flared to life, its jagged edges burning with an unnatural purple light. It flickered once, twice, before stabilizing, the swirling void within it almost hypnotic. More portals ignited one by one, their glow casting long, warped shadows across the land.

They came first from the central portal: Wither Skeletons. Tall, skeletal figures cloaked in black smoke, their swords leaking an ominous green mist that hissed as it touched the ground. They walked in perfect formation, their hollow eye sockets glowing faintly, fixed forward as if nothing could deter them.

Behind them came the Piglins, their guttural snarls rolling through the pass. Their armor was a chaotic patchwork of scavenged metal and bone, but the sharpness of their axes left no doubt as to their effectiveness.

Above, Blazes drifted forward, their forms alive with spinning rods of fire. Heat rippled through the air around them, and even from this distance, the scent of charred earth stung my nose. Further above, the sky itself seemed to groan as Ghasts began to appear, their mournful cries echoing like twisted dirges.

At the rear of the gathering forces, a figure emerged—a Wither Skeleton taller than the others, draped in dark robes that swayed as if caught in a wind that wasn’t there. It held a gnarled staff crowned with a pearl that gleamed faintly against the gloom, its presence commanding the field without a single word.

The portals pulsed in unison, and the earth shuddered beneath their glow. My hands tightened around the hilt of my sword, the leather worn and slick under my grip, grounding me despite the cold seeping into my armor. Around me, soldiers murmured prayers, their voices thin and breaking under the weight of dread. The sound swirled in the frigid air, a fragmented hymn to gods that had long since turned away.

“Positions!” I barked, the command tearing through the heavy stillness. Metal clinked and clattered as the knights and conscripts shifted into formation, their movements quick and desperate. Shields locked together, forming an unsteady wall bristling with spears.

"For Calindria!" someone shouted, their voice raw with defiance. The cry spread like wildfire, rippling down the line. Some voices trembled with fear, while others rang with stubborn resolve.

And then, the horde moved.

The air seemed to bend with their march, thick and electric. A low rumble grew, vibrating through the earth and into my boots. I took in a deep breath, my lungs filling with tainted air as I stood just slightly behind the defenses we had erected.

"For Calindria!" The cry surged through the air...

...

...

...

...and died somewhere in the night.

My eyes opened to a sky heavy with clouds, grey specks floating down over me. The scent of ash, mud, and blood clinging to every one of my senses. My body ached, throbbed even as pain burned through my body, hot and jagged, like molten iron carving its way through my veins.

I rolled to my side and took a moment to breathe. A half-decomposed corpse lay inches from my face, its hollow cheeks and dull grey eyes fixed on nothing. Flies buzzed around its exposed teeth. My body jerked upright, and the pain flared hot and bright, blinding me for a moment. My eyes squeezed shut as I wheezed out another breath and reopened them only to feel the world dragged out beneath me.

In the distance, Calindria was burning, the castle nothing more than an orange-red glow against the black of the night sky, pillars of coal-colored smoke disappearing into the heavens.

I forced my gaze away, the aching in my chest tightening with every flicker of the flames. Movement caught my attention—a group of figures near the crumbled remains of the forward defenses. At first, it was difficult to make them out through the haze of ash and smoke, but as they drew closer, the shapes became unmistakable.

Wither skeletons.

Their hollow forms moved with unnatural fluidity, their towering frames stark against the charred remnants of the battlefield. They stalked among the bodies, their skeletal hands rifling through armor, turning corpses as if searching for something specific. The brittle sound of bone scraping against metal reached me, faint but distinct in the stillness.

At their center stood a single figure that made my blood run colder than the night air. A wither skeleton draped in tattered robes, its towering frame marked with strange, glowing runes carved deep into its blackened bones. It held a staff crowned with a strange pearl-like orb, the light from the burning city reflecting faintly off its smooth surface.

It spoke out simple commands in a language that was unknown to me. The other skeletons obeyed, their movements frantic, searching with single-minded purpose.

I pressed a trembling hand into the dirt, forcing myself upright. The pain in my body screamed for me to stay down, but I didn’t listen. Not now. Not for this.

My eyes fell to the ground beside me, to the shattered remains of a knight’s blade. Its jagged edge glinted dully in the faint light. My fingers curled around its hilt, the leather frayed and sticky with blood—mine or someone else’s, it didn’t matter.

This is the end, isn’t it?

The thought passed through me like a chill wind, not with fear but with certainty. My time was measured in minutes, perhaps seconds. The knowledge was oddly liberating, like a weight had been lifted.

If this was the end, then I would decide how it happened. Not cowering in the mud. Not with my back turned to the enemy.

I gripped the broken blade tighter, using it as leverage to push myself to my feet. My legs trembled, but I stood. My breaths came shallow and sharp, each one clawing its way through the blood in my throat.

The wither skeleton’s head turned slightly, as if sensing something, but its glowing eyes remained fixed on its task.

Good.

I took a step forward, then another, each one steadier than the last. My boots crunched softly against the dirt, muffled by the distant crackle of flames and the faint drone of the skeletons’ movements. My body protested with every motion, the missing weight of my left arm throwing off my balance, but I forced it onward.

If I was to die, I would take the one who caused this with me.

My grip on the broken blade tightened as I approached, the jagged steel catching faint reflections of the fires behind me. Closer. Just a little closer.

It wasn’t much of a plan. It wasn’t a plan at all. But it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the strike. One final blow to end this nightmare.

One step at a time, I moved toward the figure at the center of it all, the burning city at my back and the weight of everything we’d lost pressing me forward.

For Calindria. For them.

For whatever remained of me.

It turned.

The hollow red light of its eyes caught mine for a fleeting moment, and I broke into a sprint—or something close to it. My body screamed in protest, the pain that should have dragged me down instead propelling me forward. Each step jolted through me like thunder, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

The wither skeleton raised its staff, its motion deliberate and unhurried, as if I were a fly buzzing too close to swat. The pearl atop the staff glowed faintly, its surface swirling like ink spilled in water. I didn’t care.

I didn’t stop.

The jagged blade in my hand rose, my knuckles white against the stained leather of its grip.

“For Calindria,” I whispered, the words spilling from my lips as my momentum carried me forward.

The broken blade struck true, driving through the hollow eye socket of its skull with a sickening crack. The staff fell from its grip as its head jerked back, a red glow splintering out from the wound.

For a moment, everything was still.

The other eye, the one still alight, flickered as it locked onto mine. There was no hatred in that crimson glow, no malice. If anything, it looked… curious. Almost as if it knew me.

I had no time to wonder why.

A sharp, searing pain exploded through my back, stealing the breath from my lungs. My body jerked forward against the staff-wielding skeleton’s frame as the tip of a blackened blade erupted from my chest. I gasped, the air bubbling wetly in my throat as my knees buckled.

The wither skeleton before me tilted its head, its eye still fixed on mine even as its form began to crumble. Bones splintered and dissolved, scattering like ash on the wind.

I fell to the ground with it, my broken blade slipping from my grip as the hilt of the blackened sword remained lodged in my body. Blood pooled beneath me, dark and thick, soaking into the dirt as my vision swam.

This was it.

My breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. The world began to fade at the edges, the burning city dimming into nothing more than a distant glow.

The broken sword slipped from my grasp, the weight of it too much to hold any longer. My knees buckled, and I collapsed forward, my armored chest hitting the wither skeleton's staff. The jagged wood cracked beneath my weight, and my blood seeped onto its dark surface.

The pearl atop it shone like a dying ember, faint and pulsing. The moment my blood touched it, the glow surged, turning a sickly, vivid green that spiraled into a deep, endless black.

The air shifted, thickening until it felt as though the world itself was closing in. The pearl vibrated against the staff, emitting a hum so low it rattled through my teeth. The hum rose in pitch, sharp and piercing, and the ground beneath me quaked violently.

And then, the earth gave way.

The world below splintered and crumbled, dragging me into a void of dark aqua and deep purple. The pearl’s glow expanded as I fell, its fractured light illuminating impossible shapes that twisted and churned in the abyss.

There was no air, no sensation of falling—only motion. The pearl burned brighter, its light consuming everything, and the impossible hum reached a crescendo.

Then, the void spat me out.

I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring every bone in my body. My breath came in a ragged gasp, the scent of grass and damp earth filling my lungs.

I lay still, the cold of the ground seeping through my armor. Slowly, I pushed myself onto my elbows, my fingers brushing against wet blades of grass. My gaze shifted to the sky above—a heavy expanse of grey clouds rolling lazily across an unfamiliar horizon.

I pressed a hand to my chest instinctively, expecting to find blood, a wound, anything. But there was nothing. My armor was intact, unmarred. No pain. No scar. No evidence that I had been run through just moments before.

My head swiveled, taking in the rolling hills and scattered trees that stretched out before me. A stream babbled in the distance, its gentle sound utterly foreign after the cacophony of battle.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw despite the humidity clinging to the air.

I was alive.

And I was nowhere.

---

The hallways of the workshop were silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery. Arin’s steps were measured, precise as she navigated the corridors, her thoughts already turning to the tasks of the day. Chief among them was collecting Emily for breakfast.

As she reached the door to her quarters, she paused. The faint creak of the hinges as she pushed it open revealed a scene she had not anticipated.

Emily was slumped over the desk, her breathing uneven and shallow in the stillness of the room. Her arm cushioned her head, while strands of blonde hair tumbled free from her braid, catching the soft glow of the early morning light.

Arin’s gaze immediately fell to the journal beneath Emily’s arm. It was hers—undeniably, unmistakably hers. And it was open.

Her stomach tightened as she stepped closer, her movements deliberate and silent. The first page caught her attention, its surface marred by fresh annotations in a looser, unpracticed script that clashed against her meticulous handwriting.

She tilted her head, the words drawing her focus despite her rising irritation:

“Why do you bother if you don’t even care?”
Presumptive. Incorrect. Effort does not require emotional investment. Purpose beyond personal connection evident.

Emily’s reply followed immediately below:

"Effort without care still requires something—some part of yourself. Otherwise, why would you keep trying? People care in different ways. You care, Arin. You just don’t think it counts as ‘caring.’ But it does."

Arin’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened. The intrusion stoked a flicker of anger, sharp and immediate. Her journals were private, reflections meant for her eyes alone. They were tools, repositories for observations and inquiries—not invitations for critique or commentary.

She glanced at Emily, still slumped in a fitful sleep. Her face was slack with exhaustion, her breathing shallow but steady. Whatever frustration lingered in Arin’s mind wrestled with the sight of her guest’s evident weariness.

Carefully, Arin closed the journal. The irritation didn’t fade, but it softened, replaced by a colder calculation. Emily had overstepped, but the confrontation could wait.

Arin reached down, sliding an arm beneath Emily’s shoulders and another beneath her knees. Lifting her was easier than expected—her form deceptively light beneath the layers of fatigue. Emily murmured softly, shifting in Arin’s hold, her head coming to rest on Arin's shoulder but she didn’t wake.

The bed was nearby, its covers still neatly in place from the night before. Arin deposited Emily carefully, adjusting her position so that her head rested on the pillow. She straightened the blanket, tucking it over Emily.

She stepped back, her gaze lingering on Emily for a moment longer than necessary. The annoyance still simmered beneath her skin, yet it was joined by something else—something quieter, harder to name.

With a last glance at the closed journal, Arin turned and left the room, her steps echoing softly in the hallway. Whatever confrontation awaited, it would come in its own time.

For now, she needed to think.