The settlement came into view slowly, like a mirage rippling through the heat of the late afternoon sun. A jagged line of mismatched fencing rose against the horizon—wood planks bound with rusted chains, corrugated metal sheets bolted haphazardly to skeletal remains of airplane fuselages and other Old World relics. Some pieces gleamed faintly, reflecting the sun in flashes that could blind if you stared too long.
“This is... different,” Laura murmured, the words barely audible over the creak of wagon wheels. Her deep brown skin caught the fading sunlight, the glow highlighting the sharp angles of her jawline and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. The heat seemed to cling to her, though she carried it with practiced indifference, her movements fluid and deliberate despite the long day.
“Not a fan of retirement homes for ex-raiders?” Elias asked from beside her, his tone light but carrying the weight of an inside joke only he thought was funny. His heavy coat hung open, revealing the faint glow of the medallion resting against his chest.
She snorted, her attention drifting to the gates as they creaked open. The movement was slow, deliberate—enough to make any raider think twice before trying to charge in. A woman waved them forward, her braided hair threaded with scraps of fabric and metal. Her voice was loud but welcoming, a practiced bark meant to reassure.
“Welcome to Glasspine!” the woman called. “Trade fairly, follow the rules, and you’ll leave with your head still attached.”
Elias chuckled, falling into step beside Laura as they entered the settlement. “Oh, come on. Look at this place. Quiet streets, sturdy fences... You could get used to it.”
The caravan filtered into the settlement, a jumbled mix of wagons and pack beasts. Laura’s boots crunched over the dry, cracked dirt as her gaze swept over the town. Booths and tents lined the “streets,” each one a riot of color and clutter. Tables crafted from Old World debris were stacked high with wares: rusted tools, jars of pickled vegetables, bolts of faded fabric. A few vendors leaned on their counters, sizing up the newcomers with thinly veiled curiosity.
Above one booth, a discolored LED TV screen hung like a sign, its surface scarred and scorched. A vendor had painted “Fresh Root Stew” on the screen’s shattered corner in crude, looping script. Another used a sheet of bulletproof glass as a makeshift table, its surface scratched but still sturdy enough to hold rows of polished bones and dried herbs.
The air was quieter than Laura expected. No shouting, no frantic bartering—just the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of metal. The guards walking the perimeter wore a mix of scavenged armor and old fatigues, their weapons slung low but never far from hand.
Her lips parted as if to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. A heaviness settled in her chest—not suffocating, but enough to press down on the edges of her resistance. The bazaar’s faint hum of activity pulled her attention outward: the rhythmic clink of tools, the soft murmur of voices, the aroma of fresh bread mixing with the bite of rusted metal. It felt... normal.
Normal wasn’t something Laura trusted. Normal got you killed.
“Maybe,” she said, more to herself than Elias, her voice subdued. The word landed on her tongue like a foreign thing, bitter and unexpected. She hadn’t meant to say it—hadn’t even been sure she was going to answer him at all. But there it was, out in the open.
Elias didn’t respond right away. She could feel his gaze resting on her, patient, unflinching, like he already knew what her answer would be before she did. His footsteps followed hers, deliberate and unhurried, but close enough to keep her tethered. She adjusted her pack, focusing on the weight of it against her back, the ground crunching under her boots. Little things to ground herself.
“You’ll see it eventually,” Elias said, his voice easy, almost conversational. “A place like this... it grows on you. No scrambling to survive, no knife at your back. Just people making something that lasts.”
The words prickled against her skin, and she forced a sharp exhale through her nose, focusing on the uneven ground beneath her feet. The stalls lining the street were busy with traders and scavengers, their faces shadowed by the low-burning braziers casting flickering orange light. Bits of gleaming salvage and strange curios cluttered the tables—remnants of the old world, broken but still holding whispers of purpose.
“Something that lasts,” she muttered, her voice low, clipped. “You really think this place has it figured out? It’s just another settlement waiting for a bad harvest or a raider gang to burn it down.”
Elias didn’t press forward but stayed beside her, his tone as steady as ever. “It’s stronger than that. They’ve built something here. A community. People who protect each other, build each other up. You’ve seen what’s out there. You’ve seen worse than this.”
Her stride faltered for half a second before she forced herself to keep moving. The words shouldn’t have struck a chord. They were the kind of thing she’d heard a hundred times before, always from someone with an angle to play. But Elias didn’t sound like he was angling. He sounded... certain.
A quiet voice in her mind whispered that maybe he was right.
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The alchemy tent smelled of sharp herbs and old, dried things that clung to the back of the throat. Bundles of leaves and brittle stems hung from the ceiling in chaotic rows, their shadows swaying faintly in the flickering light of a brazer. Jars filled with thick liquids and powders lined the shelves, their labels long since faded. Laura stood at one of the tables, her fingers hovering over a collection of wax-sealed vials.
Her fingers were long and slender, dark like polished mahogany, and they moved with a precision born of habit rather than thought. She picked one up, turning it in her hand. The faint shimmer of the liquid inside caught her eye, though its color and texture gave little away. Laura set it back down carefully, her movements measured, as if weighing every option in silence.
The tent flap rustled, and Chan slipped in. His presence was quieter than most, but Laura didn’t miss the soft crunch of his boots against the dirt or the faint scrape of his jacket brushing against the frame. She glanced at him briefly, then back to the table.
“Found anything worth trading for?” Laura asked, her tone light, almost disinterested.
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Chan leaned casually against one of the shelves, his movements unhurried but deliberate. His eyes, however, weren’t so casual—they tracked her carefully, sharp and calculating, like he was piecing something together. He ignored her question entirely.
“What was that about?” he asked, his voice low but direct.
Laura glanced at him, frowning slightly. “What?”
“All that settle-down talk,” Chan said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Is he planning to propose to you by any chance?”
Laura snorted, shaking her head as she turned back to the jars in front of her. “I’m here for work,” she said evenly, her fingers pausing briefly on the edge of a small jar. “Same as anyone else.”
“Work,” Chan repeated, his lips twitching into something like a smile. He folded his arms, leaning back slightly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Didn’t think ‘community-building’ was your style.”
Laura turned to face him fully, her expression neutral but with a flicker of irritation behind her eyes. “I haven’t been spending time with him,” she said. “Not like you’re implying.”
“No?” Chan asked, his tone still light but with a hint of skepticism. “You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s got you on a leash. One of those invisible ones you don’t notice until it’s too late.”
Her jaw tightened. “Work needs doing. He’s the one giving orders. Doesn’t mean anything.”
Laura stared at him for a moment, her dark fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table, their rich tone contrasting with the weathered wood. “You’re reading too much into it,” she said firmly. “I’m here to trade. To work. That’s all.”
Chan studied her for a long moment, then shrugged, the tension easing from his posture. “If you say so.” He moved to the opposite table, picking up a jar of ground herbs and turning it idly in his hands
She didn’t respond immediately, her attention dropping back to the vials and jars before her. “If you’ve got something to say, say it,” she muttered finally.
“Already did,” Chan replied, setting the jar down. He made his way to the tent’s entrance but stopped just before stepping outside. “Just don’t let yourself forget who you are. That’s all.”
The tent flap rustled shut behind him, leaving Laura alone with the faint crackle of the brazer and the sharp, lingering scent of herbs. She exhaled through her nose, her hand tightening briefly on the edge of the table before she let it go.
“I’m not forgetting anything,” she muttered under her breath, though the words felt strange as they left her lips. She picked up another vial, holding it to the light as if the answers might be written there.
The room didn’t feel as quiet as it had before.
Her gaze drifted back to a bundle of herbs tucked in the shadows near the back of the vendor’s stall. The faintest flicker of deep blue caught her eye. She stepped closer, setting the vial down carefully as her fingers brushed the edge of the dried petals.
The vendor, an older woman with wiry hair tucked under a scarf, turned sharply at Laura’s approach. Her eyes narrowed as she took in what Laura was reaching for. “That’s not for casual buyers,” the woman said, her voice low but firm.
Laura raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Good thing I’m not casual.” She pulled the bundle toward her, holding it up to inspect it more closely. The petals were brittle and darkened with age, but their faintly iridescent edges caught the dim light. Definitely Blue Lotus.
“Not easy to come by,” the vendor added, crossing her arms. “And people who buy it... tend to attract attention.”
Laura met her gaze evenly, slipping the bundle into her pack without asking for permission. “Attention’s not a problem, as long as it stays here.”
The vendor snorted softly, leaning on the counter. “Quiet costs extra.”
Laura tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Quiet’s worth it.”
The woman named her price, a number that made Laura’s brow twitch—but she didn’t argue. Pulling a few extra shards from her pouch, she slid them across the counter without another word.
The vendor pocketed the payment quickly, her sharp gaze lingering on Laura for a moment longer before she stepped back. “Don’t come crying to me if you see strange things in the dark,” she muttered, her tone laced with a grudging respect.
Laura slung her pack over her shoulder, the strap settling against her deep brown skin, already turning to leave. “I won’t,” she replied evenly, the bundle of petals pressing faintly against her back. As she pushed through the tent’s flap, the heavy, earthy smell of the alchemy stall faded into the dry air outside.
“It’s not for me,” she murmured under her breath, so quiet that the words barely left her lips.
She didn’t look back.
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The caravan folk gathered in the settlement’s central square, a loosely defined space marked by the largest fire pit and the most chairs anyone had seen in one place for weeks. Elias stood at the center, his heavy coat hanging open and his medallion faintly catching the light of the early evening. His voice carried easily over the quiet murmurs of the group, each word calm but precise.
“For one season, we stay,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is a good, quiet place. We’ve got goods to sell and time to find more. The fences are strong, the people seem fair, and a few months here could give us the edge we need to survive the next year.”
A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd. Laura, standing near the back, gave a small nod, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t need convincing; it made sense. She didn’t see the point in moving when there was a chance to profit and prepare.
Chan, standing beside her, caught the movement. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in his expression as he glanced her way. “Really?” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “You’re all in for this?”
Laura didn’t look at him. “It’s practical,” she replied, her tone clipped. She adjusted the strap of her pack and kept her gaze forward, ignoring the way his frown deepened.
Elias continued, gesturing broadly. “We’ll have proper housing for the season, too. Not just tents—actual rooms. It’s a good deal.” He turned slightly toward a wiry man standing to the side, one of the settlement’s apparent leaders. “Once we square away the details, we’ll get everyone settled.”
The announcement sent another wave of murmurs through the group. It was rare to hear the words “proper housing” in any form, let alone tied to a plan as simple as staying put. Chan muttered something under his breath that Laura didn’t catch, and she didn’t try. Whatever it was, it would have been a waste of time to respond.
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They followed Elias to a cluster of wooden structures tucked against the settlement’s northern wall. The houses were simple, their walls made from mismatched planks and scavenged nails. The roofs sloped unevenly, and the gaps in the boards let in the faint glow of the settlement’s braziers. But they stood. And that alone made them remarkable.
Laura’s eyes flicked over the structures, her expression unreadable, her ebony skin catching the faint glow of the settlement’s braziers. She didn’t say anything, but the sight struck a chord—quiet proof that people could still build something, even here. Even now.
Elias was already deep in negotiation with the landlord, his voice low but firm. Laura and Chan stayed back, hovering near the edge of the conversation. Chan’s gaze swept the area, lingering on the houses before flicking back to her.
“They’re splitting us up,” Chan said finally, his voice low.
Laura glanced at him. “So?”
“So, you and Elias,” he said, the skepticism in his tone as sharp as a knife. “Same room.”
Her brow arched slightly. “And?”
“And you’re just fine with that?” Chan pressed, his voice quieter now but no less pointed. “Because I don’t know about you, but the idea of rooming with the caravan leader isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘convenient.’”
Laura shrugged, stepping forward to inspect one of the houses, her smooth, dark fingers brushing against the splintered wood of the doorway. “It is convenient,” she said simply, brushing past him. “We’re here for a season. What’s the problem?”
Chan’s frustration simmered beneath his otherwise calm exterior. He glanced at her again, but she didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she busied herself adjusting her pack, her movements as steady and deliberate as her tone.
He exhaled sharply, leaning against the nearest wall as Elias’s negotiation carried on. “Convenient,” Chan muttered to himself, his voice dripping with disbelief.
Laura didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.