Raynhart's life flowed steadily and without much trouble, which was excessively boring for him. Just yesterday, he had delivered clay to his new acquaintance, Amira, and they agreed to meet next week. He had received payment for the delivery from Arvio and realized he had no more business to attend to. With an unexpectedly free day ahead, thanks to his skill in planning and managing his resources wisely, Raynhart descended back into the mine in search of something for the museum. When he returned home, he noticed two letters in his mailbox. One was from his friend, and it was predictably long and emotional:

"Raynhart,

Hey, 'builder'! Oh, it feels so weird calling you that! I think I’ll just call you Raynhart. Your mom said you should have arrived by now, but it's so strange — my mailbox is still empty! Hmm, should I have hoped for something? (I’m not forgiving you).

I know you're probably totally heartbroken because your best friend left you, but I hope you’ve already gotten over it and settled into Sandrok a bit. In my mind, it’s all cowboys and revolvers, but I guess it’s probably a lot more boring than that. I admit, it’s just not the same here without you. I even came by your place yesterday, and felt like such a fool.

Remember how we used to play together? We always got into all sorts of trouble. Ha! There are 'sand bandits' in Sandrok, but you and I should’ve been called ‘air pirates’! By the way, now I don’t have anyone to fly with! They recently banned flying in pairs because of 'safety issues,' but that never stopped us! So, when you come visit (and you HAVE to come!), I think we can sneak off and go flying!

I hope you managed to survive my absence and make some friends (but not best friends, alright? I’m watching you!). How are the people there? Are they all ‘yak-boys’? Ha-ha-ha, I remember how you used to imitate the Sandrokians before you left! That was hilarious, but I hope it’s not too bad there. These sand bandits sound dangerous. You MUST be careful, got it!? Well, no, I’m not really worried about you or anything. But you still owe me 30 gold!

By the way, my studies are going great! Director Luo said I have a real talent for plants (I told you!). Maybe I should try being as independent as you? I think I could go off to these wild lands and become a real botanist! I heard that in Sandrok someone is studying how to grow plants in extreme conditions. I know you think that’s super boring, but it’s actually really cool! I’ve always said that growing things and building things are almost the same, but you never listen to me! Maybe someday you’ll show me those legendary desert flowers!

By the way, I need to go take care of my flowers. Remember that orchid I planted before you left? When you come back, you can see how it’s grown. It’ll be a great reminder of how LONG YOU LEFT ME! Just kidding. I miss you!

Your friend forever,

Nia"

Raynhart smiled quietly, recalling how that talkative girl, with her endless flow of words and bright energy, once tracked him down in childhood and had since circled around him like a playful fox. Nia was a perfect example of an extrovert, fearlessly and effortlessly entering into any interaction. Nevertheless, she genuinely considered Raynhart her only best friend. Together, they had survived many foolish childhood adventures, always supporting each other, especially when they needed to escape punishment in the form of losing their sweets.

Setting aside her letter, he promised himself that he would reply, but first his gaze fell once again on the second letter. This time it came from Owen, the owner of the local saloon, and contained a request for help.

"Hello, Raynhart,

If you're interested, I have some work! I need to restock. Specifically — we're out of sand carp! Mason used to sell me fish since his workshop, (now yours), is not far from the good sand pits. I thought this might interest you. I need just ten of them. For this, you'll need a sandfish trap. I’ve attached a blueprint, in case you don’t have one.

Thanks, Owen"

Before diving into solving this new task, Raynhart took up the letter to Nia, knowing she would expect his reply as eagerly as his mother, and would impatiently peer into the mailbox, hoping that the letter would magically teleport there.

"Hi, Nia,

I miss you too. Time really flies, doesn’t it? I can’t believe how much time has passed since I left. Life here is generally not too bad. I’m getting used to it, but I was still genuinely happy to receive your letter. How about you? How are you doing?

The people here are good, and I’ve been well received. As for friends... You know, I prefer helping people through actions rather than spending time on empty talk. As for work, everything is going fine. Even if it sometimes feels like there’s nothing to do, there’s always something to find — even if it’s just gathering materials for the next projects.

From: Raynhart"

After sending the letter and returning to the blueprint, Raynhart decided that this task would be a great way to diversify his days. Creating the trap turned out to be a real test of his skills, as the new mechanism was not as simple as he had expected. But despite the difficulties with the setup, the builder was satisfied with the result when, finally, he finished the work closer to the evening. With confidence, he made his way to the place where he had once met Elsie and stood by the sandy pond. This time, the fish were not afraid, and he could clearly make out their unusual silhouettes wriggling in the sand.

Raynhart already had an idea of how the trap worked, and without wasting any time, he grabbed the mechanism's handle. He skillfully launched it straight into the fish, not forgetting to hold the rope. The trap, pushing through the sand, snapped shut, holding the fish in its grasp. It only opened when the builder pulled out the mechanism and turned it off. He took the fish, which started flailing, and following the old lessons from his father, he struck it against a rock, stunning it. Although their family usually fished with rods, the trap turned out to be a perfectly effective substitute, and Raynhart felt confident, adapting to the new method.

Spending a lot of time on this difficult task, he continued fishing. The fish quickly got scared and disappeared into the depths of the pond. Remembering that Elsie had used bait that day, Raynhart had prepared worms in advance. He often encountered these meaty worms when breaking stones with a pickaxe. Taken out into the sun, they quickly tried to hide in the shade, seeking shelter underground.

Throwing a few worms into the sand, Raynhart watched as they gradually sank. From below, as if following the bait, the fish appeared. But despite the feeding, the fish kept hiding again and again as soon as the trap was triggered nearby. Soon, the worms ran out faster than he had expected. However, after inspecting the sand and counting his catch, the builder concluded that there should be enough fish. He grabbed them by the tails and, looking closely, guessed that these blue fish with red lips were indeed the sand carp he had been looking for. He had hardly encountered another type of fish, more elongated and faster. As a result, he had caught only two of these mysterious fish, which were hard to even call carp.

At night, deciding to postpone the task until morning, Raynhart left the fish for later. With the first rays of the sun, he was already in the saloon, carrying a bucket with the caught fish.

— Here, I caught some fish, but there’s one thing I’m curious about... — he said, extending the bucket.

— Oh, hey! You really did it! You’ve just saved my life! — Owen exclaimed, peering into the bucket and smiling widely. — What’s the question?

— If these are carp, then what are those other fish that swam in the pond, the ones that are elongated?

— Ah, you’re probably talking about sandacuta? As far as I know, they prefer rice grains. They’re not very responsive to other bait. You should try it sometime! Oh, by the way, in the future, I’ll be posting more supply requests on the bulletin board, so keep an eye on them. Hold on.

Owen took the bucket and headed to the kitchen. After a while, he returned, holding an empty bucket in one hand and packed food in the other, which he handed to Raynhart.

— Here, take this. You never come here, I can’t even imagine what you eat out there in the desert!

— Thanks for your care. Let me know if you need help, — Raynhart replied, trying not to stare at the package, hiding his curiosity.

Despite his restraint, the builder felt how, because of the aromatic smells wafting from the saloon, his saliva started flowing more than usual. Although his diet mainly consisted of meat and the carp that Elsie had gave, rice and wheat had already started to get quite tiresome. Owen’s food, with perfectly balanced spices, warm and rich in flavors, seemed far more appealing. These days on a watery diet, though rewarding in terms of energy, couldn’t compare to the delight Raynhart felt when eating meat buns. Once, pondering, he was sure he would also learn to cook. He had definitely seen a machine at Qi’s place that could help him with that, and decided it was worth investing in the study of this equipment.

The week was coming to an end, although for craftsmen, used to relentless work, the difference between weekdays and weekends was barely noticeable — on Saturday and Sunday, they continued working just as they did on weekdays. However, amidst the daily tasks, Raynhart noticed an invitation to a party in honor of Mason’s departure and a letter from the trade guild. The latter message stated that he could now take on one more commission, which certainly caught his attention. Yan, as always, showed his indifferent nature toward subordinates, focusing on the growing desire for personal enrichment. The letter also contained a reminder that Raynhart could now conduct inspections among the students just starting out on their craft during his weekends.

When he arrived at the Commerce Guild, he already had two assignments under his belt that he was actively working on. However, this time his goal was different: Raynhart aimed to try his hand as an inspector. He headed to the stands where various items were displayed and began his inspection. The first item he encountered was a stone sword, which was truly awful, but despite this, the builder maintained impartiality. In his report, he noted that "the structure of the sword was poorly polished," and then, upon discovering an issue with the handle, he carefully trimmed off the excess material, sealed the formed details, and wrote: "The handle was wider than necessary." Spending some more time thoroughly examining other items, Raynhart, recording his observations, completed the inspection. In the end, he left the guild, receiving a small bonus for his inspection.

Walking through the railroad tracks, he shifted his gaze to what was happening on the other side of the bridge leading to the desert of Yufala. At that moment, something strange caught his attention. A dark wall, as if swallowing the space, relentlessly moved, concealing the horizon. The wind picked up trash and small stones from the ground, which dissolved into the sandstorm. Instinctively alert, Raynhart stepped closer, feeling an unknown force pulling him into this strange, almost supernatural storm. As he approached, he saw how the sandy fog enveloped the entire space with each step.

When he got very close, something deformed and sinister leaped out of the darkness of the sandstorm. The creature hissed maliciously: "s-s-s-s!!", and in the blink of an eye, its sharp blades flashed through the air. Raynhart jumped to the side, instinctively blocking the strike with his shield. At that moment, gunshots rang out from afar, blood sprayed onto the sand, and the attacker retreated back into the sandstorm. In the half-light, Raynhart discerned several more tailed silhouettes hiding in the fog.

— Hey, builder! What are you doing so far from your workshop? It's not safe here! — Justice, jumping down from the ledge, quickly approached the builder, instinctively checking him for wounds.

— These animals are using weapons! Unbelievable, are these the Giglers Owen was talking about?

— Why do you look so excited? This is dangerous! — Justice couldn’t understand why Raynhart’s reaction to what he saw was so joyful. — For some damn reason, these lizard-like creatures have been frequenting our territory: they’re painting the walls, breaking structures all over the city... I even saw them messing up our bridge! Yeah, they call themselves “Giglers,” and they’re acting like they own the place. We’ve already got enough problems with Logan’s gang roaming around the desert. Be careful, and it’s better if you leave here!

— Of course, I didn’t mean to cause any inconvenience, — Raynhart replied calmly, nodding, and without waiting for further objections, left.

Although the builder was full of curiosity and wanted to learn more about the giglers, to explore their intelligence, he had no intention of breaking the law. After all, the Civil Corps had other tasks besides watching over him and saving him from aggressive lizards.

Raynhart spent the rest of the day without incident. Waking up in bed, he heard a familiar sound — something was scratching the walls of the house from the outside. In Highwind, it could have been mistaken for the aftermath of a heavy snowstorm, but now the sounds seemed different, ominous. When he opened the door, the sight he expected to see appeared: the sand fog had hit Sandrock with unprecedented force. Protecting his face from the sand, Raynhart tried to return inside the house, but suddenly heard a cough. Through the gap he had left while shielding his eyes with his hand, he made out the colorful figure of Pen.

— Hello, Skinny Hands! — came a loud, pompous voice that grated on the ears. — We strongly recommend staying indoors until the sandstorm subsides. But just in case you have to go out, the church has prepared a free sand gear set for you. Isn’t that great?

Pen handed the builder something resembling a hat.

Raynhart, coughing from the sand, accepted the gear, carefully moving his hands from his face and trying to make out the object. It was indeed a cone-shaped hat, with a semi-transparent net hanging from the edges. Putting it on, the builder brushed the remaining sand from his mustache and, feeling the weight of his situation, once again focused on the storm he would have to endure.

— This will help you move around in the sandstorm, but it won’t protect you from those predatory creatures that roam here during the storm, — Pen continued, raising an eyebrow mockingly. — And if you’re wondering why I’m not wearing any sand protection, well, for a seasoned hero like me, these sands are just a light massage for my chiseled jaw.

Pen’s eyes reddened, and tears streamed down his face. Sharp, ragged coughs escaped his chest, but it seemed that none of this made him reconsider.

— Well, it was nice chatting, Skinny Hands. Try to remember everything I just told you — I wouldn’t want to repeat myself. On my way here, I saw a huge wild yakmela wandering nearby. So I’m going to take care of it in a minute. Enjoy your gear!

Raynhart showed neither interest nor surprise. Pen’s behavior frankly tired him, as did his constant attempts to draw attention and earn the craftsman’s approval. However, despite his irritation, Raynhart left it uncommented.

— Thank you for the gear, — he said, somewhat reserved, and headed back to his workshop without giving Pen a second glance.

The craftsman, somewhat disoriented, didn’t immediately realize that some of the materials left on the machines had disappeared — most likely, they had been blown away by the wind. Raynhart stepped out of the gate and headed in the direction the wind was blowing. The sand stung the exposed areas of his skin, but over time, one could get used to it.

However, instead of the ropes left the day before to make new tools, he stumbled upon a huge yakmel with a more striking, vibrant coloring. Raynhart had seen such creatures before, when they were herding their flock, angrily stomping the ground with their hooves as he passed by. But this yakmel was clearly more aggressive.

Upon seeing the craftsman, it immediately charged at him, its sharp horns raised. Raynhart dodged, but instead of fear, determination awakened in him, his face lighting up with unwavering resolve in an instant. The sword and shield were in his hands instantly; he had defended his life more than once. The strike hit the shield, throwing Raynhart to the side. He quickly jumped up and grabbed his sword again, feeling the ground shake beneath the powerful hooves of the beast. The yakmel tried to grab him with its teeth and throw him to the ground, where it could stomp him with its hooves, but as soon as the tip of the sword touched its throat, the beast froze. Not believing what was happening, it recoiled, its blood staining the sand, and it looked at the craftsman like a frightened young one. But in a moment, the creature returned to reality, to its powerful body, and with renewed force, it charged at the man again. Raynhart struck it in the face with his shield, trying not to expose himself, and then dealt another blow to the throat from the side. The stunned yakmel retreated, and the craftsman managed to circle around it, piercing its ribcage, hoping to finally end the creature’s suffering. However, it continued to resist, and Raynhart was forced to retreat, leaving it alone. The yakmel vomited blood, and despite its efforts, it kept fighting until its legs gave way and it collapsed to the sand. Several times, it tried to get up, gripped by the fear of death, which was drawing closer with every heavy beat of its heart. But soon, its strength left it, and its eyes dimmed.

The craftsman approached, sadly placing the sword in the sand, leaning over the fallen enemy. He quietly spoke words of regret.

— Your path is over, but you chose it yourself. I’m sorry, — he said and stepped back.

Raynhart was not a cruel man, but he understood well that meat doesn’t grow on trees, and there is always an animal that sacrifices itself for this. He did not harm those animals that didn’t threaten him, but if one decided to attack, he was ready to meet its challenge. It was the animal’s choice, and if it was ready to kill, it must also be ready to face its own death. Animals didn’t know compromise, they weren’t driven by great goals, their actions were only motivated by instincts. Leaving aggressive individuals alive was dangerous for people. It was an inescapable cycle of life. Raynhart turned away and saw Pen’s frowning face behind him.

— What, did you get stuck there? Why didn’t you tear it apart? Oh, don’t look at me like that, I was watching you, and I was ready to step in if necessary, — Pen pointed with his thumb, gesturing behind his back — You know, that was a little test! You already killed it, but why are you still fiddling with it? Get yourself together, at least straighten your shoulders! You look... like a gloomy butcher, not like a hero!

— Pen, this isn’t heroism, it’s part of life. We’ve put our lives on the line, and I just got lucky to be more prepared. I’ll take the carcass, so you can go, — Raynhart replied calmly, cleaning the sword and shield from the blood in the sand.

— You know, you're so boring! — Pen began, but seeing the complete indifference of his companion, he stopped.

The brute waved his hand, throwing a careless farewell, and, continuing to shake from coughing, disappeared into the desert curtain.

Raynhart, not lingering on empty thoughts, headed to the workshop. In his head, a clear plan of action was already forming: which tools would be needed, and how best to butcher the carcass. However, at the very entrance, his attention was drawn to the mailbox — there were letters inside.

The first envelope he tore open had the seal of Minister Matilda. If it contained an order that required immediate action, he couldn’t afford to disregard it.

On thick paper, in even, deliberate handwriting, it read:

"Dear Master Raynhart,

This sandstorm has struck at the most inconvenient time! Unfortunately, we will have to postpone the farewell reception for Mason until the weather improves. Further notifications will follow shortly.

May Light be with you,

Minister Matilda."

Raynhart quickly scanned the lines, then folded the letter and put it away. The alarm turned out to be unfounded.

The second letter was from his mother. He unfolded it and read the familiar handwriting.

"Dear Raynhart,

Nia came by to see us. It seems that everything is going well for her — she continues her studies with... Dr. Luo? I hope I’m not confusing the name. Anyway, it’s probably better for you to ask her yourself. They’re doing something with that tree you used to climb when you were a child, and now it looks much better. Maybe she can get a photo for you.

With your father and his bonsai trees, and your friend with her own gardening skills, I’m starting to feel a little unnecessary! Maybe I should plant something too? Like that pea that makes a nice popping sound when you open the pod. What’s it called again… I’ll have to ask one of the experts.

There’s still no news on the blankets. The last time I checked, they were in Atara. I hope that means they’re on their way.

Love you so much,

Mom."

Deciding that this time he absolutely had to reply to his mother — otherwise, she would raise the whole Alliance — Raynhart went to the station to send the letter again. Fortunately, despite the raging storm, the city did not come to a halt: people, armed with protective gear, continued with their business. Some hid their faces under masks, others sheltered under wide-brimmed hats. These details were as diverse as their owners — some preferred practicality, others aimed for beauty, and some even managed to maintain elegance in such conditions.

Reaching the station, he easily found Jensen — the person in charge of all the processes there. The response to the letter, as always, was brief:

"I’m glad to see that they also pay attention to landscaping and nature restoration.

It’s also highly regarded here. I observe this constantly.

In Sandrok, it’s not just an important issue, but a vital one. People treat it with the utmost seriousness.

As for the pea you’re looking for, it’s called a pod pea. You can try to grow it, but it won’t be easy.

From: Raynhart"

With that, the matter was settled, and he promptly returned to his usual duties. Before attending to the carcass left on the sand dune, he loaded the machines, redirecting materials for further processing. By evening, the orders were ready for delivery.

Butchering the animal, as always, was done with no waste — everything from the meat to the seemingly insignificant parts was valued in his trade. Only the internal organs and some unnecessary fragments remained on the dune, but this spot was far enough from the workshop to not worry about scavengers. Soon, there would be no trace of the carcass left here.

The sandstorm raged for two long days, and only on Tuesday morning, when Raynhart stepped outside, did he feel the fresh air. Removing the protective hat that he had instinctively placed on his head, he was preparing to enjoy a typical morning — but instead, he discovered unwelcome guests.

Huge ants were wandering in the workshop. Their chitinous bodies glinted in the rising sun, their antennae diligently explored the mechanisms, and their powerful mandibles tested the durability of materials meant for future orders.

Raynhart frowned. There was no devastation yet, but he couldn’t remain idle. However, causing harm to the creatures was not his intention. Carefully nudging the nearest ant with the toe of his boot, he was frustrated to note that it showed no reaction — as if it didn’t even realize the touch.

He had to resort to more decisive measures. He grabbed the chitinous body of the ant with both hands and tried to carry it to the fence, hoping to release it back into the wild. However, this time, the creature reacted. It released alarm pheromones, and Raynhart realized this when he saw the consequences: the surrounding ants immediately abandoned their research and came into combat readiness. They froze, then began to move slowly, snapping their powerful mandibles — like a boxer waiting for the right moment to strike.

Raynhart clenched his teeth, holding the wriggling creature, but it slipped from his hands, crashing onto its back with a dull thud. It immediately flipped over and, without hesitation, darted toward his leg, attempting to grab him.

- Just go! - Raynhart's voice sounded harsh but firm, overriding the labored clicking of mandibles.

He kicked up sand with his foot, aiming it at the many faceted eyes, hoping to scare away the intruders. The ants, however, did not show the slightest fear, immediately cleaned their faces with their movable antennae and, without wasting a second, rushed back to the attack.

It was not an easy task to fight an opponent who was smaller than you, and also so agile. However, the ants had one weakness: their neck. Raynhart fought back by chopping their heads off with his trusty sword. The difficulty was that the neck was not an easily accessible place, and because of this, many blows went to the wrong place - the torso or the head. The ants, despite trying to grab him with their chews, only scratched him, coming up at the last moment before the builder dodged.

In this world, one must always be ready for battle, and so people often have practice battles, challenging each other. Raynhart excelled in such fights, and in this situation, he was also adept at identifying his opponents' weaknesses, controlling the course of events.

When the fight was over, the builder was furious. His heart was still pounding hard in his chest and the scratches on his skin were sore, but what bothered him the most was that he had to use such extreme measures. Angry, he took his anger out on the fence he had to repair. As it turned out, it was through a hole in it that the ants had entered his yard. Hitting the boards he had taken out of storage with a hammer, the foreman quickly repaired the damage and surveyed the battlefield. Insect bodies lay around, oozing not blood but something that replaced it and had a whitish tint to it.

Bites were visible on the builder's ankles, and a few ants had managed to reach his arms earlier. But the wounds were now bandaged, and he had soaked them in Fang's ointment. Now, however, it was now to be decided what to do with the bodies of the slain. The Master, after running his fingers over their smooth chitin, came to the conclusion that this material might be useful in his work. He cut open the outer skeleton right outside so as not to dirty the workshop area, gathering what he needed and leaving the rest on the same hill. The body of the yakmel had been completely eaten by the scavengers, and even traces of blood had disappeared in the darkness of the past storm.

As Raynhart walked down the street, he noticed that the storm had left serious damage. Many had to patch up roofs that day, but the heaviest losses were suffered by the Blue Moon, or more precisely, its outdoor stage. As he got closer, the builder could already see the gathered people.

— My... beautiful... stage... — Owen said with sorrow, watching the destruction.

— Well, well, at least no one was hurt. And we can always rebuild... — Matilda tried to reassure him, but her gaze suddenly fell on Mi-an and Raynhart, who were curiously surveying the scene. — Oh, I could just die right here if these aren’t our beloved builders, here to help! We’re in real trouble. We were planning to host Mason’s farewell party, but now all the plans have fallen apart. Could you, dear builders, find a way to fix everything? — Without giving them a chance to speak, she continued: — I’m sure you’ll have plenty of other things to do, but if we fix the stage, we can reschedule the ceremony. So, I’m afraid I must insist on an official request with the highest priority! Heidi, darling, can you draw up a new project? — she said the last words addressing Heidi, who was standing nearby, deep in thought.

— I kind of expected this stage would collapse sooner or later, so I’ve already prepared a new project. Two blueprints: one for the foundation, another for the decorations. I’ll send them to the builders today.

— Oh, that’s wonderful! Then why don’t the builders decide who’ll take which part of the work? — Matilda urged them playfully, as if they might hesitate before such a task.

— You choose first, Raynhart, I’ll take any part of the work, — Mi-an shrugged.

— Well, I’ll take the foundation. — although the decorations seemed more interesting, the foundation was what would need to support the whole structure.

— Fine, then I’ll handle the decorations! — Mi-an nodded eagerly.

— Excellent, you two, let me know when you’re done! Good luck, and thanks again! — Matilda hurried off, as she had many other matters to attend to after the storm.

— Hey, if you need materials, you can recycle the remnants of the old stage, — Owen said, nodding towards the ruins. — My dear stage... how I wish I could see it again in all its glory.

— I’m not sure exactly what we’ll need for that, but I’m sure we’ll manage quickly, — Raynhart replied, already considering what parts of the foundation might be reusable.

— Yeah… listen, Raynhart, — Owen said, carefully surveying the destruction. — This storm really did a number on my saloon… Besides the stage, it feels like something else is missing… Something important…

Raynhart followed his gaze and immediately realized what the problem was.

— Blue Moon Sign!

— Bingo! Without it, Sandrock just won’t be the same. While I’m fixing everything that got damaged, I hope you can find it and bring it back… Or, if it’s truly gone, maybe even make a new one. But let’s not lose hope! The sandstorm was blowing toward the ranch. Do you think you can help me find it?

— No problem, I’ll get on it as soon as I unload the machines.

— Great! When you head in that direction, watch out for the exploding birds — pretty nasty company. Think of them as armed… uh, winged and dangerous.

— Exploding birds? — Raynhart raised an eyebrow, already sensing that another fight awaited him.

— Yeah, they’re about the size of a turkey and spit explosive material like torpedoes. They’re not too bright, so just don’t get in their line of fire!

— More experiments, huh? — Raynhart mused, realizing more and more that he wouldn’t be avoiding conflict this time.

The vast majority of animals that had survived the Day of Calamity were hybrids, the results of various experimental programs conducted in Old World laboratories. These creatures had multiplied in large numbers, possessing enhanced abilities to survive in the new world. Raynhart had long been interested in zoology, particularly in the context of the changes that had occurred after the catastrophe, but many aspects of this new ecosystem remained unknown to him.

Picking up a sack of clay from the sand, the builder set off toward Amirah. The young woman stood bent over a clay vessel, running a brush along its surface. Under her hands, it transformed from a dull monotone into mesmerizing patterns and lines.

— Hey, Amirah! As promised, here’s the clay, — Raynhart said, setting the sack down beside her and trying to find a spot among the many scattered items.

— Thank you so much! — Amirah looked up with a smile. — You know, I’ve realized something… Delivering clay isn’t exactly a builder’s job. I really appreciate it, but I won’t distract you with this kind of task anymore. Now, after the storm, you’ve got plenty on your plate already. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got everything sorted out. But as for your help… — She handed him some gols. — Please, take this.

— It’s nothing, I was happy to help. I dig around in the mines anyway, so it’s no trouble. But I’m glad to hear you’ve got it all figured out. It was a pleasure working with you, — Raynhart chuckled warmly, his gaze filled with the same care he always showed when meeting people in need of support.

He hadn’t taken more than ten steps away from Amirah’s house before he was stopped again. Already bracing himself for another request, he turned and saw Burgess approaching from the direction of the main stairs.

— Good day, Builder, I was just looking for you! — Burgess said, his expression a mix of seriousness and friendliness. — I’ve come to ask you to fill out a survey the church gives to all newcomers. It’s standard procedure. Would you mind taking a moment to answer a few questions?

Raynhart, though used to the most unexpected requests, was still a bit surprised by this one.

— A survey? Hm… alright, — he wondered with interest what kind of questions might be asked.

— Great! So, the first question: how often do you follow the rules? — the inspector read from his notebook with concentration.

— Hm… I hope always because I wouldn’t want to break them, — Raynhart replied thoughtfully.

— Mmm, I see, — Burgess made a note. — And what do you think about "bandits"?

— Logan? Or bandits in general? Though… there’s no difference. People shouldn’t live at the expense of others’ suffering, and any justification for such behavior is nothing but a lie. There’s no reason to act this way—better to choose starvation than to live in disgrace. Although, of course, in our world, everyone has at least some opportunity to change their fate… At least, I will do my best to ensure that for others.

— Whoa… — Burgess was somewhat surprised by such honesty and determination. — Well then, let’s continue! And the last question: how do you feel about "wasting water"?

— Huh? I don’t waste water. I’m well aware of how important this resource is in Sandrock, — the builder replied, not hiding his serious attitude toward the question.

— Alright, then let me tally up all the answers and… — Burgess quickly compared the results and, realizing the outcome, couldn’t hide his excitement. — I have a feeling you’ll fit right in here in Sandrock! Your personality type: Benefactor! I’m sure you’ll have no trouble helping the Church at this time!

— Come on, I’ve always been ready to help, even without any surveys, — Raynhart replied with a slight smirk. — What’s going on?

— In short: some sand ended up on the plants and flowers in our temple garden. If you could help clean it up, that would be great. Thanks in advance! And may the Light always be with you. Oh, and you might need a feather duster to remove the sand. They’re quite popular these days!

— Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, — Raynhart answered, already focusing on solving the problem.

Not long ago, the man noticed birds wandering around the area near his workshop. After the storm, their feathers were scattered everywhere. While gathering feathers to make an improvised duster, Raynhart noticed that the birds were showing rather aggressive behavior but tried to keep his distance from them.

When Raynhart finally arrived at the church garden, he discovered that someone had already attempted to clear the sand. However, that person had been distracted by other, more important matters related to the aftermath of the storm, leaving a significant portion of the work unfinished.

The builder carefully brushed the sand off the plants, gently collecting it with his hands into the sack he had brought with him. He abandoned his usual haste, deciding to take his time to avoid damaging the plants and flowers. However, if these plants had managed to survive such a terrible storm and hold onto the heavy sand, then perhaps his concerns about their condition were unnecessary.

Having finished and making his way down the stairs, he spotted the inspector working at the water tower and decided to report the completion of his task immediately.

— It’s all done, the garden is clean, — he said, placing the sack on the ground, as if confirming his words.

— Well done, Raynhart! If the plants could talk, I’m sure they’d say, “Thank you!”

The builder was already heading toward the exit when the inspector’s words stopped him.

— No good deed should go unrewarded. Here, take this. See you later. — The inspector handed him a canister of water and gave him some money.

— Thanks, but don’t think I did it for a reward. Either way, I’ll use the water and money wisely.

Raynhart wasn’t lying. He planned to donate 2,000 gols to charity, but at the same time, he hadn’t forgotten about his workshop, where the machines, requiring more and more space, were becoming a real problem. This money was also part of a bigger plan—a means to realize his ideas.

Finishing up at the workshop, he headed toward the ranch, where he intended to help Owen with his problem. Climbing a small hill to the right of the ranch, he began surveying the surroundings, but remained cautious. He had already spotted the birds in advance and managed to hide behind a rock without drawing their attention. The birds wandered through the sand, pecking at it in search of food, but soon backed away, unsatisfied, and continued elsewhere.

Picking up a nearby rock, Raynhart threw it to the side and immediately hid behind a boulder. The birds stirred, rushing toward the stone, but upon realizing it posed no threat, they returned to their places. The builder sighed in disappointment—the plan hadn’t worked. He had failed to drive the birds away to retrieve the sign. And right in the middle of the feathered crowd, he spotted the blue moon sign — the object of his interest.

There was no fear in his movements, only determination and confidence that he would succeed. Perhaps that was exactly what he lacked—the instinct of self-preservation. But despite this, he always moved forward, as if an invisible force was guiding him. It wasn’t faith in the supernatural. Raynhart knew one thing: if you don’t protect yourself and those you care about, you won’t be able to move forward. And that thought became his inner core—both in battles and in the decisions he had to make.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

With firmness in his voice, he shouted at the birds and, waving his arms, strode toward them without stopping.

— Get out!!! Get lost!!! — he roared, fiercely barking at a particularly bold bird. — Shoo!!!

At first, the birds didn’t understand the threat and began retreating slowly. However, soon their circle started tightening, and Raynhart realized that a fight was inevitable. He felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest, but his mind remained clear: his training had not been in vain, and in a real battle, he could give his all without fear of harming anyone.

— You’ve chosen your path! Let the battle begin! — he shouted with fury and, without hesitation, charged forward.

He was still heated from the recent clash with the ants, yet he wasn’t fully prepared for the maneuvers of these birds—their jumps and gliding flights. Their angry clucking accompanied every movement. Kicking one of them, he immediately raised his shield, hearing a faint thud. Something hard shot out from the bird’s throat, leaving a charred dent on the shield. The builder instantly realized that it was time to upgrade not only his tools but also his weapons.

At that moment, one of the birds tried to leap straight at his face. Despite its efforts, it only left dents on the shield before Raynhart shoved it away and forcefully stomped on its head, snapping its neck with a crunch. Clenching his teeth, he slashed at the next bird’s body, but not completely—causing it to screech and thrash in its death throes.

One remained. Despite the failures of its kin, the bird kept attacking, sparing neither itself nor him. But Raynhart didn’t allow it to reach its goal. Losing patience, he hurled his shield with all his strength. With a sickening crunch, it struck the bird’s head, leaving a deep dent in its skull.

His gaze quickly swept over the plateau, ears alert, but this time, there was no movement. Letting out a quiet sigh, he cleaned his weapon of blood, once again paying his respects to those who had fallen in battle.

— It was a good battle, — he said, almost silently, — it’s a pity we couldn’t come to an agreement.

When the builder was descending from the ledge, heavily dragging the blue moon sign behind him, his gaze accidentally met the bird's nest, from which, as he thought, the birds could have flown to the sign, upset that some bulky object had appeared on their territory. Left unattended, the eggs would quickly burn under the scorching desert sun, and Raynhart, thinking that otherwise they would die anyway, decided to take them with him. Of course, he didn’t intend to become a bird breeder, and expecting gratitude from these mindless creatures would probably be absurd.

The trace of the sign stretched behind him, and the builder, realizing how much mess he was leaving in his wake, felt a slight embarrassment. Nevertheless, upon reaching the saloon, he carefully laid the sign on the sand and then, with some effort, straightened his back. Stretching his stiff arms, he looked at the roof, thinking about how best to install the blue moon sign there.

Returning with sturdy ropes, he tied the sign and threw one end of each rope onto the roof. Finding a reliable anchor, the builder pulled the ropes with force, raising one side first, then the other, aiming to secure the structure as it rose higher. Some moments were difficult, and the sign slightly dropped on one side, but Raynhart was satisfied: this was more than enough.

Climbing deftly up the hanging ropes, he soon reached the roof and began placing the moon in its original spot. Tightening the screws, he tried to hold the structure on his back, but with each movement, the task became easier, as the fasteners took on most of the sign's weight. As the work was nearing completion, the builder loosened one rope, letting it fall down, and then descended by the other, removing the numerous loops from the frame that he had thrown over before the lift.

Everything was ready. And he was not the only one who noticed the changes. Hearing the scrape of metal and the thuds, Owen came out, observing the process and then evaluating the result of the work. He enthusiastically responded:

— This is wonderful! Everything is finally in its place, ha-ha! Thank you so much! I can't express how grateful I am! — He paid the builder for the work. — I'm sure you'll handle the stage just as quickly, but don't overdo it!

As they parted ways, the builder paused for a moment: it would be wise to start updating his combat gear without delay. Lately, he had been forced to draw his weapon far too often, and the fact that he was still fighting with a stone sword seemed like a blatant mockery — both of his own skills and of those who happened to be on the receiving end of this primitive blade. The enemies suffered more, which was unfair to them.

But before he could leave, a familiar voice stopped him. Vivi, as calm as always, but something in her manner said she hadn't come for nothing. The builder turned to her, ready to listen.

— Oh, hello, builder! I hope you liked our community. How have you been feeling lately? Did the sandstorm scare you too much?

— Everything’s fine, don’t worry! — He quickly adapted to her friendly tone, knowing she didn’t like formalities. — I managed with the storm, but it looks like it really hit the city hard...

— Well, I’m glad to hear that. I know, Sandrock isn’t the easiest place to live. But I’m happy that you can see the good in the people here, even if sometimes we seem... rough.

She paused, and the builder realized that there was something more behind these words. He patiently waited for her to continue.

— Anyway, do you know Mort? He’s been here as long as the city itself. He lives at the cemetery, taking care of those who have passed. We all love him, but it’s become a habit for him not to ask for anything, even when he really needs something. Usually, I bring him snacks and food so he doesn’t get lonely, but right now, after the storm, I have too many things to do. Could you help the elderly lady?

— Of course, Vi... grandma, I’ll help. What needs to be done?

— You’re so kind to me, dear. Mort loves salted fish, but to prepare it, we’ll need a dryer. I usually use mine, but with Jasmine in the house, there are now four of us, and there’s too much laundry. If you have a dryer, just salt the sand carp and let it dry properly.

— Got it. I’ll do it properly. Have a good day!

After saying goodbye, the builder headed towards Arvio, intending to replenish his salt supplies. The last of his salt had been used for tanning the leather from the yakmel. However, as soon as he stepped into the shop, he felt something familiar — the premonition that he would once again be involved in someone else's troubles. Arvio didn’t even try to hide his intentions: the anticipation of a request for help was clear on his face, with barely contained impatience.

— Hello, builder! Shopping again? How lucky! — The sweet voice of the merchant enveloped the ear, trying to lull any sense of caution. — Alas, I have so much to do that I can’t find a second to help you...

Arvio dramatically sighed, as though struggling with his own workload.

— Ah, if only I could split into three parts! One would watch the shop, the second would deliver orders, and the third would head to the Gaming Center and indulge in pleasures for the whole day... But, alas, all three parts are tied up with just one of these tasks.

The builder sighed heavily, already knowing where this monologue was leading.

— You need help, right?

Arvio beamed.

— You’re reading my mind! I would be endlessly grateful to you! It’s very simple: it’s just a delivery. You see, Owen ordered a special seasoning for the saloon, made in the Nut Grove. They say with it, even stone can be turned into a culinary masterpiece! “Blue Moon” is an important client of “By The Stairs” and I wouldn’t want this seasoning to go to waste… I hope Grace knows how to handle such a treasure.

For a moment, Arvio’s expression became worried — he was indeed quite eccentric, but it seemed he was genuinely concerned about the fate of the goods.

— In general, the shop’s rules state that the delivery must be made within twenty-four hours of the cargo’s arrival in the city. Please don’t forget to let me know when you’re done!

Without waiting for an answer, Arvio skillfully placed the heavy box into the builder’s hands, not even leaving space for hesitation. The builder didn’t object.

— Alright, I’ll take care of it right now.

He understood that he was simply being used, but didn’t see anything wrong with it. After all, the process itself was, in its own way, quite enjoyable to him.

Arriving at the saloon, which he had been visiting more frequently lately, the builder confidently walked up to the bar, where, as expected, Owen was standing.

— Isn’t this the package I ordered from “By The Stairs”? — the saloon owner raised an eyebrow in surprise. — But why did you bring it?

There was genuine surprise in his voice, though the warm tone of hospitality didn’t fade.

— Well, I decided to help Arvio with the delivery. And talking to people doesn’t hurt sometimes — Raynhart smirked, placing the box on the counter.

Owen nodded knowingly.

— Ah, so you’re helping Arvio? In that case, here’s some yakmel milk, on the house. Consider it my small tip.

— Thank you. — The builder accepted the bottle filled with thick white liquid without a word and headed for the exit.

He had tried yakmel milk before and now fully understood why it was so highly valued not only by the people of Sandrock, but also by visitors. It had an amazing property — as soon as you took a sip, the inner tension would ease, anxieties would retreat, and problems would seem less significant. No wonder Mason, the gloomy and solitary one, drank it at every opportunity — surely there were many heavy thoughts in his head.

Taking a sip, Raynhart headed back to the store. Climbing up to the terrace, where he could shelter from the scorching sun, he quietly called out to Arvio, informing him that the delivery was complete.

— Did you deliver the spices already? — the merchant looked pleasantly surprised. — That’s fast! Honestly, I don’t even know what I’d do without you.

He didn’t hesitate to pay, rewarding the builder for his efforts.

— No problem, just reach out if... — Raynhart didn’t even finish.

— Oh! Then come by tomorrow, I’ll be waiting! — Arvio instantly picked up on his words, clearly not wanting to miss such a good opportunity.

The builder merely smirked indifferently — it really wasn’t hard for him to deliver parcels if it was useful to someone.

Finishing the milk, he returned to his tasks. The drying rack, made on one of his free days, had long become a familiar tool, allowing him to prepare the fruits he found in the desert. Now, it would come in handy for the fish.

After deciding that four carp would be enough, he didn’t catch more so the fish wouldn’t spoil. Carefully seasoning it with salt, the builder left the catch to dry before returning to his work.

The next day, Raynhart again headed to Arvio, ready to take on another delivery.

— Rain, good to see you! Last time, you really broke the speed record! — the merchant declared grandly, greeting him with his usual smile. — Can I bother you with one more request?

— Of course. That’s exactly why I came. — The builder extended his hands, ready to take the next box, but Arvio unexpectedly stopped him with a gesture.

— This time, the task is special. It’s a box for storage and some dried meat — an order for Fang. You know him, right? He lives in the clinic, a man of few words, but damn handsome.

Arvio pronounced the last words with special emphasis, as though admiring the image of the doctor, captured in his mind.

— At first, I wanted to be friends with him, — he continued with a slight shadow of sadness. — I brought him parcels, tried to start a conversation... But every time he just silently looked at me or told me to leave him alone. It was... awkward. And then his bird told me to leave...

This time his disappointment seemed genuine — no pretenses.

— Rain, it’s very important that you deliver the goods within 24 hours again. And... try not to get chased away by the bird too...

He hesitated before adding:

— By the way, could you check if he’s changed Fang mind about me?

— Alright, let’s see what I can do. — Raynhart didn’t want to get involved in other people’s relationships, but he decided to approach it cautiously.

Entering the clinic, Raynhart thought about whether he should buy some more ointments and bandages. But his thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Fang standing by a table covered with medicine bottles.

The builder had forgotten that it was already Wednesday.

— Delivery! Delivery! — suddenly came’ voice, alerting the owner of the visit.

Fang slowly raised his head and, for the first time in a long while, showed some emotion — a slight surprise flashed across his face, and one eyebrow lifted slightly.

— ...Why... you? — His voice was calm, but there was distrust in his tone.

— I’m helping Arvio with the delivery.

— Thank you! I’m so happy! — X shouted cheerfully.

Who exactly he was imitating — himself or Fang — remained a mystery.

— Hm, are you really angry at Arvio? — Raynhart asked, recalling the merchant’s request.

— Are curious! Are curious! — X shook his head, clearly disapproving of the question.

Fang looked away, unwilling to answer.

Raynhart knew that Arvio could be persistent, sometimes even outright annoying. Apparently, he had truly managed to wear the doctor out. Once convinced of this, the builder wordlessly shifted the conversation to another topic:

— Still experimenting? — Raynhart asked calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fang silently nodded, then, as though reconsidering, handed him a vial with another potion.

— Try it...

It was neither a request nor an order — more like a statement of fact, confirming that he was now certain of his experiment.

Raynhart stared at the liquid in the glass vial, then shifted his gaze to Fang, but saw no hint of expectation or insistence. Yet in his silent gesture, there was a clear desire for the builder to accept the offer.

— Alright, let’s try it. — He shrugged and, resigning himself to his fate, drained the vial in one go.

This time, he was even curious — what exactly would happen? And maybe he should learn to control his own urge for challenges before voluntarily agreeing to such things?

He placed the empty vial back on the table and, while waiting for the effect, said:

— While we wait, could I buy some ointment and bandages?

Fang tilted his head slightly, considering, then gave a short nod:

— Come… with me.

He walked deeper into the clinic, expecting the builder to follow, unwilling to leave his test subject unattended.

The clinic’s interior was modest—too modest, even. Raynhart couldn’t help but notice the limited budget, yet it was clear that Fang was doing his best. The shelves were packed with vials, herbs, and ingredients for medicine, while the only hospital bed in the center of the room, thankfully, remained unoccupied.

Without a word, Fang retrieved the bandages and ointment, accepting gold in exchange. Then, he simply walked past Raynhart without lingering.

Raynhart watched him go. The long, tattered coat, black hair freely falling over his shoulders, the dark, closed-off aura—this doctor seemed completely out of place in a setting that was meant to inspire hope.

Definitely not the kind of person you'd want to see when you show up at the doctor’s with a bone sticking out. Raynhart was certain that even if he arrived with a fracture, screaming in pain, not a single muscle would twitch on the doctor’s face.

Once back outside, they lingered for a while, waiting, but nothing happened.

— So this time, you really did improved the medicine… Though maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, — Raynhart noted with a nervous smirk.

— Great… — Fang summed up briefly, apparently satisfied with the results.

— Good birdie, good! — Iks exclaimed cheerfully.

Raynhart glanced at the doctor, trying to catch even a hint of reaction, but his face remained as unreadable as ever.

— I suppose this is just the beginning? — he asked, almost certain of the answer.

— Mhm, — Fang hummed shortly.

— Alright. Then, see you.

He knew that Arvio was probably tormenting himself with thoughts about what had been learned about his precious doctor. So he didn’t prolong his suffering and soon appeared at the doorstep of the shop.

As soon as Arvio spotted him, he immediately put his work aside and stepped closer, unable to hide his impatience.

— Well? How did it go? Did you deliver the order? What about Fang? Am I still exiled?

— It seems he’s really irritated by this whole situation.

Arvio sighed, spreading his arms wide in an exaggerated gesture of disappointment.

— Oh, this is simply discouraging! How can anyone resist my irresistible smile?

There was no irony in his voice, only genuine bewilderment.

— By the way, Rein! — he suddenly changed his tone, squinting slyly. — Don’t think I forgot about your reward. But you know... I feel like you deserve something special. Give me a little time, and I’ll figure out how to properly thank you. In the meantime, here’s your payment. Hope to see you tomorrow!

Raynhart accepted the money without a word but didn’t linger—he remembered the dried fish he had left on the rack.

Under the scorching sun, salted carp had quickly reached the right condition. Taking four fish by their tails, he carefully laid them on paper, wrapped them up, and headed for the cemetery.

He had noticed this place many times while passing by Fang’s clinic. But now, his attention was drawn to a lone old man wandering among the tombstones. His mind seemed to drift along with him—his gaze was fixed on nothing, his face reflecting deep contemplation.

The old man had gray hair and a thick beard of the same color. His fair skin contrasted sharply with his violet eyes, in which something inexplicably distant was reflected. He wore an old, patched green hat, a light green shirt, and a tattered brown coat. Blue trousers with suspenders, worn brown boots with straps—his entire appearance bore the marks of time. In his hands, he held a staff with a metal pipe attached to the end.

Approaching the stranger, Raynhart, careful not to disturb the old man’s peace, cautiously said:

— Good day, you are Mort, aren’t you? — He stopped at arm’s length.

The old man turned, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he took in the sight of Raynhart.

— Ah, yes, that’s right. You must be Raynhart, the new builder, correct? — Mort was pleased to finally meet his new neighbor. — I’ve lived here for quite a long time, you could say almost from the very beginning. Ha-ha-ha. I’m the caretaker of this cemetery, and if you ever want to talk, don’t hesitate to drop by. I always have time, and I’m sure you’ll find me a good listener.

— Thank you, — Raynhart replied with a slight nod, — and perhaps you’re right. But today, I’ve brought you something different—salted fish.

He carefully handed over the wrapped parcel containing the treat.

— Ah, you’re wonderful, — Mort said, accepting the gift with slight surprise. — Vivi asked you to bring this to me, didn’t she? She’s too kind to these aging bones. — He planted his staff into the sand and peeked inside the package. — Oh, Light, this is beautiful.

— I hope you’ll like it. I’m not very experienced in this, — the builder added, truly unsure if he had done everything right.

— Hm? So you made it yourself? — Mort lifted his gaze to Raynhart, a certain softness appearing in his eyes. — How wonderful it is to complete something with your own hands. Salted fish is a precious gift for any hardworking person; you could share it with others sometime. It will give you strength and help you stay energetic throughout the day. You’ve shown kindness, and I’m grateful for that. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?

— With pleasure, thank you, — Raynhart replied, feeling it was his duty to accept the offer.

Mort took hold of his staff and turned, heading toward the other end of the cemetery.

— I’ll put the kettle on. Once again, thank you, young man. — With these words, the old man walked forward unhurriedly.

They arrived at a lone cabin, nestled among the gravestones. When Mort stepped inside first, Raynhart followed, taking his time. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy—modest furnishings and lived-in details spoke of many long evenings spent in this place.

Accepting his host’s invitation, the builder sat down at the small dining table while the old man slowly filled the kettle with water. Silence hung in the air, but neither of them found it burdensome.

When the cups before them were filled with steaming green tea, Mort sat across from him and finally spoke:

— Heh-heh, — he chuckled, holding the porcelain between his fingers, — I didn’t expect a young man like you to have the patience to spend time with an old geezer who’s already got one foot in the grave. Sandrock has long been devoured by catastrophe… but when you arrived, I glimpsed a spark of hope.

— I’m sure Mi-an and I will manage, — Raynhart said in an even tone. — And I see that the other townsfolk are trying as well. We need to make an effort to ensure Sandrock doesn’t fall to our enemies.

Mort thoughtfully shook his head, taking a sip of tea.

— The young… You always rush forward without looking back. — There was no regret in his voice, only weariness. — I used to be like that once. Sandrock has stood on the edge of the abyss more than once, and every step forward had to be fought for tooth and nail. But now I wonder if it was worth it. After the town’s decline, I asked myself: would it have been better to convince Martle to leave? Perhaps, in some other Free Cities, a peaceful life awaited us… Did our persistence have any meaning? — He looked away thoughtfully.

— But if I leave now, the efforts of generations, now resting in the ground, will have been in vain. This is not the world Martle and I dreamed of. That is why I stay. — The old man took a deep breath, as if returning from his memories.

— We have always respected builders. In better times, Sandrock needed people like you—determined, fearless. The bridge over the Shonash Canyon, the water tower farm, this entire town… All of it was built by builders. But we paid our price for it. Progress, earned through sweat and blood, has destroyed the land. I only hope that you and Mi-an will not repeat our mistakes. The environment is the foundation of a sustainable future. Though perhaps my words are already too late…

Raynhart listened attentively.

— I respect this balance, — he answered after a short pause. — I take only what is necessary. And if something is truly needed, I consider the consequences first. At the very least, I hope that my actions will not lead to something worse.

Mort looked at him intently, then nodded.

— Wise words, — he muttered, standing up. — I’m glad we talked. — He gathered the empty cups and turned toward the sink.

Raynhart rose, pushed his chair back into place, and headed for the door.

— Thank you for the company. Have a good day.

— Hm… Could you stay a moment? — Mort, just as Raynhart was about to step outside, spoke clearly, stopping him.

The builder paused at the threshold, turning back.

— Yes?

— Speaking of the past… I once had a relic camera, a sort of chronicle of my life with Martle. I kept all those photographs in an album. But before the last sandstorm, my memory failed me—I left the album outside. After the storm, it was gone… I’ve already made peace with losing those memories, but perhaps there’s still time to create new ones. Would you, for this old soul, make a new photo album?

— Of course, I’ll come up with something. See you! — The builder agreed to help without hesitation.

As he walked away, Raynhart realized that this brief conversation held something more than just a request. It was important to understand how this town had come to be, what had led it to its current state. These fragments of the past, gathered like scattered pieces, formed a mosaic that could shed light on the different ways people viewed this place. To help Sandrock, one had to understand what had caused its hardships—to avoid making the same mistakes that could destroy it for good.

Thinking over the task of creating a new photo album, the builder concluded that he would need to acquire alkali for it. He hoped that the general store would have baking soda—a substance widely used not only in cooking but also in the craft of builders.

With a package of soda in hand, Raynhart immediately got to work. Handling the knife with practiced skill, he carefully shaved thin layers of wood, then filled a pot with water, poured in the soda, and set it on the stove. It was the very same stove he had once assembled following Qi’s blueprints. The built-in mechanisms allowed not only for cutting ingredients but also for weighing them, while the variety of operating modes enabled setting a timer that automatically adjusted the heat. However, all he needed now was to bring the liquid to a boil. Later, he would strain it and evenly distribute the resulting pieces across the board, letting the mixture solidify into neat rectangular sheets. Once dried, the leather would become an excellent material for the binding, while he planned to carve the cover from wood and add soft elements to it.

The work on the album progressed slowly, alternating with the construction of the foundation for the stage and the assembly of two machines that had been commissioned to him recently.

To his surprise, Raynhart felt an unusual surge of energy coursing through his muscles, like a sudden release of hidden reserves he had never suspected he possessed. After taking Fang’s experimental remedy, he soon realized that his productivity had reached unimaginable heights, and his body responded to every movement with remarkable ease. Without a doubt, such a result justified the risks of past experiments.

The next morning, he headed to Arvio’s shop. Upon seeing the massive crate standing right at the entrance, Raynhart mentally praised himself for his timely visit—had the sun been higher, he would have had to carry the load under its merciless heat.

— Whoa... what do you have there? — he asked, stepping closer.

Arvio instantly perked up, greeting the builder with his signature smile, though there was an unmistakable hint of an attempt to soften an impending request.

— You always come at the right time, dear builder! — he proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. — The furniture for Miguel has just arrived! Ah, that Miguel! Always frowning… He’s probably buried in financial calculations again. He’s very picky about his purchases. Good thing I have my ways of getting my clients exactly what they want! Otherwise, he’d be completely out of luck. Well, as always, delivery within a day! We must maintain our impeccable reputation, mustn’t we?

Raynhart raised an eyebrow as he listened to his rambling monologue.

— I’m afraid I have no idea who you’re talking about. Where do I need to deliver this?

Arvio looked at him with genuine astonishment, as if someone had just confessed to not knowing what a desert was.

— Oh, you’ve been living here for almost a month and still don’t know him! Truly, the world is full of wonders! Miguel is our pastor. Short, always wearing a cap… Have you never noticed his heavy gaze on you?

— I have… — Raynhart pondered. — Now I understand who you mean. I see him often, but we’ve never been introduced.

The image of the man surfaced in his memory all too clearly. His piercing, assessing gaze always landed on Raynhart with a palpable weight—like a blacksmith’s hammer striking hot iron. And yet, there was no judgment in that gaze, rather… a contemplative sternness, behind which an unknown kindness seemed to be hidden.

— I'm sure he's in the church, as always, — Arvio continued carelessly. — Just be careful! Don’t damage the goods, builder.

That remark sounded almost like an insult to someone who was used to treating his work with the utmost precision. However, Raynhart didn’t argue—he preferred to prove his mastery through action rather than words.

Standing next to the bulky crate, he tried to figure out the best way to grip it. However, as soon as he assessed its size and weight, his confidence wavered slightly. Arvio, on the other hand, suddenly seemed extremely absorbed in arranging his merchandise, carefully avoiding the builder’s gaze. Clearly, he was afraid Raynhart might refuse the task at the last moment.

Deciding to at least give it a try, Raynhart wrapped his arms around the crate, tensing his muscles while keeping his back straight. The weight was considerable—it reminded him of that old blue moon sign he had dealt with before. However, unlike back then, when he didn’t have to worry about minor scratches and chips since the sign was already worn down, here he needed to be extremely careful. Breathing deeply and steadily, he began his ascent up the stairs, with each step feeling the increasing weight of both the crate and his own situation. How had he ended up like this?

Reaching the next landing, he set the crate down on the stone surface with relief, exhaling sharply. But just as he was about to catch his breath, a loud, all-too-familiar voice hit him from behind:

— Skinny Arms!

Pen, full of his usual self-satisfaction, stopped a few steps above, giving the builder a scrutinizing look.

— I see you’ve finally decided to work on yourself! But let me give you some advice: you need to increase your protein intake. I’m afraid no amount of training will help you otherwise. See ya!

Feeling accomplished, he continued on his way, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Raynhart didn’t even try to process what he had just heard. Wasting energy on indignation seemed pointless—his entire focus was on the crate. Gathering himself, he lifted it again and, controlling every movement, continued his climb, step by step drawing closer to his destination.

Reaching the churchyard, he carefully set the load down on the ground and stood still for a moment, listening to the protests of his muscles. Then, pushing through his internal tension, he reached for the door handle. The church was not a place he entered without hesitation. It had a certain atmosphere—one that felt foreign to him—and the awareness of this made his movements slightly less confident. Nevertheless, he stepped inside.

His gaze quickly caught movement to the left—behind a writing desk, with his head bowed, stood the pastor. Many of the people Raynhart had seen preferred to work standing, and it seemed this man was no exception.

The pastor made a few quick strokes with his pen as if trying not to lose his train of thought, then shifted his gaze to the visitor.

— Good morning… — Raynhart allowed himself a brief pause. — I assume you know who I am.

— That’s right. No need for introductions, — the response came without the slightest hesitation. — I know who you are. — The pastor straightened up, studying the builder with a faint, barely perceptible interest. — I am Miguel, but I assume you already know that. You could say I’m the brain of this little operation. — His gaze drifted for a moment before returning to his conversation partner. — So, what brings you here?

— I brought your package. It’s outside.

— Hm… — A hint of surprise slipped into Miguel’s voice, but he didn’t voice his thoughts.

Together, they stepped out of the church, and the pastor stopped in front of the massive crate, already understanding from its size alone that this was the long-awaited delivery.

— Finally! Let me make sure everything is in order, — the pastor said, nodding toward the crate.

Without unnecessary words, Raynhart got to work. He carefully unlatched the locks, then lifted the lid and one by one detached the side panels, allowing them to lower smoothly. The packing material immediately scattered, but not wanting to make a mess, the builder carefully gathered the foam and placed it atop the already stacked wooden panels.

Meanwhile, Miguel slowly stepped closer. He placed his palm on the surface of the dresser, allowing himself to lean on it ever so slightly, as if standing still for too long was difficult for him. His gaze, sharp and focused, thoroughly examined the furniture.

— Excellent. No damage, — he finally said, lifting his eyes from the crate’s contents. — Where do I sign?

— Hm… Arvio didn’t give me anything, so… — Raynhart hesitated for a moment, realizing he hadn’t even thought to ask about it beforehand.

— No signature required? What a carefree service, — there was a faint trace of disappointment in the pastor’s voice. — Do you offer any transport services for it?

— Uh… — Raynhart hesitated, thrown off by the way the question was phrased. He had assumed the obvious: the crate couldn’t just be left here. But apparently, his thoughts had been interpreted differently.

— No? Perfect. Forget I said anything… — Without waiting for an answer, Miguel knelt down, intending to lift the crate panels and close it back up.

— No, it’s just… I thought it would be strange to leave it right here. Where should it go?

Raynhart carefully took hold of the panel Miguel was holding and then swiftly gathered the rest of the crate’s parts. His movements were precise, almost imperceptibly efficient. The packing material was placed back inside, and soon the lid was securely in place again.

— Follow me… — the pastor said in an even tone, already anticipating that the builder had offered his help of his own accord. He didn’t argue and moved forward at a steady pace.

Raynhart, following proper technique, lifted the heavy crate again, taking deep breaths and exhaling, trying to evenly distribute the load. Now, no longer worried about seeming impolite, he could directly observe the pastor walking ahead of him. The broken, unusually tense gait clearly indicated pain, but Miguel seemed to disregard it — or simply didn’t want to show weakness. However, the builder didn’t have time to dwell on this thought, as his attention shifted to the need to carry the load safely without injuring himself in the process.

The building they entered was to the right of the church. Narrow corridors, dim lighting, neatly arranged items — it seemed that this was where the clergy lived. They stopped at the stairs, and Raynhart, carefully lowering the crate to the floor, looked up, evaluating the upcoming climb.

— The room is upstairs, to the right. I’ll show you where to put it, — Miguel said without further explanation, already beginning to ascend the stairs. There was tension in his movements, but he was clearly trying not to show it.

Raynhart mentally prepared himself for yet another impromptu workout, hoping that such loads wouldn’t lead to the same back problems he had inadvertently noticed in the pastor. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the crate again and followed the silhouette in the yellow robes of the Church of Light.

Upon reaching the second floor, Miguel took out a key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, stepping aside and thus inviting the builder in.

— Set it down here, — the pastor said, nodding toward an open space by the wall.

Raynhart, without wasting words, carefully lowered the crate to the floor. During the unpacking, he allowed himself a quick glance at the surroundings. An impressive, dignified abode. Nothing superfluous, everything was strict and tasteful. His attention was involuntarily drawn to the books neatly arranged on the shelves — from their quantity and arrangement, it was clear that they were not just part of the décor, but held real value for their owner.

There was a certain style to it, which, oddly enough, resonated with the builder himself. Despite his own restraint, deep down, he had always appreciated art.

After setting the dresser against the wall, Raynhart stepped back, carefully evaluating his work. The surface remained undamaged, and the structure stood straight — the result of his labor was quite satisfactory.

— Excellent, — the pastor briefly summarized, clearly agreeing with his assessment. Then, without wasting time, he extended gols to the builder. — Here, these are your tips.

Raynhart accepted the money without objection. Miguel, on the other hand, felt a subtle displeasure, quietly noting to himself how careless Arvio had been by not even bothering to arrange proper service. However, he wasn’t especially pleased with the builder spending time on something outside of his duties either. Still, he couldn’t leave his efforts unrewarded.

— Alright, we’re done, — Raynhart said calmly, gathering the empty box. Heading towards the exit, he threw over his shoulder: — Have a good day.

When the builder returned, Arvio was already waiting for him eagerly. His face clearly showed excitement, but as soon as he saw Raynhart, his expression shifted to one of anticipation.

— Delivery complete, the client is satisfied, — the builder reported briefly.

— Miguel like his purchase? Excellent! Ha-ha, another perfect review for "By the Stairs"! — Arvio was beaming with joy.

— And we’re done here…? — Raynhart had no objections to helping, but after the multi-story climb with the heavy dresser, his enthusiasm had significantly waned.

— Oh, just one more! Just once, I swear on my pinky! I’m almost done with everything!

— Oh… I hope I won’t have to carry a piano for someone tomorrow, — the builder muttered with a hint of irony, though there was clearly dissatisfaction in his voice.

— No pianos, you can be sure of that!

Despite his impulsive nature, Arvio did keep his word: the next delivery turned out to be surprisingly light — just a small box. Lifting it with ease, Raynhart stood waiting for instructions.

— Thank you! Thank you! — Arvio practically showered him with gratitude, handing over the load. — Next time I’ll bother someone else, I promise! This is the last time I’m taking up your precious time. These dyes need to be delivered to Vivi's atelier, "Tailor Made," on Main Street. I think she’s planning a new style!

— This will be easy, — the builder replied briefly, and without wasting any time, headed toward the shop’s exit.

Arriving at the right store, he stopped at the entrance. "Tailor Made" was near the city entrance, and there was always a lively atmosphere here.

Standing in front of the store, carefully adjusting the clothes on a mannequin, was Vivi herself. Her movements were slow and deliberate, but she still worked with passion. When she saw the builder, she turned around, and her kindly face lit up with a gentle smile.

— Hello there! Aren’t these my paints from "By the Stairs"? — Vivi raised an eyebrow questioningly, but her surprise quickly turned into mild irritation. — Why are you delivering them? I told that guy I could just come and pick them up myself!

The old woman shook her head disapprovingly, showing her annoyance with the sincerity of a caring grandmother scolding a grandson caught misbehaving.

— But, of course, he didn’t want that, — she continued, hands on her hips. — He said he’d bring them to me anyway. And now I see that this trickster, this Arvio, is making you do it for him! Do an old lady a favor: tell him not to shift his work onto others!

— Don’t worry, grandma, this is the last time. — Raynhart smiled indulgently.

— I certainly hope so! — Vivi muttered, but her expression softened noticeably. Then she brightened, as if remembering something important. — By the way, what a coincidence! I was just about to drop by with a package for you today. But I won’t say anything in advance, let it be a surprise!

— I’ll be looking forward to it, — the builder replied calmly, handing over the paints. — Have a good day.

Approaching Arvio's shop, Raynhart couldn't help but wonder what the man would come up with this time. The question was resolved quickly: the shop owner greeted him with his usual joy, but this time there was something more in his gaze—anticipation.

— You know, making you carry packages alone is no easy task! — exclaimed Arvio, smiling widely. — And although you’ve probably already heard this a million times, I want to express my sincere, deep gratitude to you! Oh, guess what I’ve prepared for you as a reward!

— I can't even imagine, — Raynhart replied dryly, not expecting much.

— You’re undoubtedly a real superhero! And that means you deserve a fitting reward! Allow me to present… an exclusive discount at "By the Ladder," valid for exactly seven days starting from now! Isn't that wonderful?!

— Useful, — acknowledged the builder, noting that this time he had received something truly valuable.

— See! We really are like two peas in a pod! — Arvio raised a finger triumphantly. — But remember: only seven days! So come and buy, buy, buy!

— By the way… — Raynhart caught Arvio on his offer. — I was just about to try my hand at cooking. So, the discount comes in handy.

Arvio watched as the builder methodically filled his hands: spices, sauce, tea leaves, sugar, soap, toothpaste, several tubes of sunscreen. To top it all off, a heavy bag of salt, which, of course, was meant not only for cooking but also for work in the workshop. Combined with the acacia growing around Sandrok, it made solid double-tanned leather.

And while Arvio silently accepted the unfolding scene, his eyebrows involuntarily twitched when Raynhart lingered in the more expensive furniture section. For a moment, he considered the pieces, but in the end, he merely furrowed his brow slightly and turned away. His modest workshop was already cramped, and spending money on furniture when he should be considering expanding the space wasn’t the best idea. Arvio let out a quiet sigh of relief, though he didn’t show it.

That same day, Raynhart found three letters in his mailbox. As promised, one of them was from Vivi.

"Raynhart,

Thank you for helping me with the salted fish. I’m sure Mort appreciated your thoughtfulness. If you ever want to bring him more from time to time, he’ll surely like it.

As a token of my gratitude, I’ve prepared something for you.

From: Vivi"

The woman had included several pieces of fabric, thread, and a small sum of money. All of this was certainly useful for his craft, but there was also a sense of genuine appreciation in the gift. Raynhart had often said that he helped not for the reward, but the realization that his efforts were appreciated always brought a warm feeling.

He carefully folded the letter and opened the next one.

"Raynhart,

Ha! I knew you missed me! You can't live without seeing my face, right? And how nice it is to hear that! I was sure there were wonderful people living there, and of course, it's no surprise that everyone will love you!

Your friend forever, Nia"

Raynhart smiled. Nia’s voice literally rang in his head as soon as he skimmed over the lines. The same lightness, the same boundless energy, as if she were actually standing right in front of him.

The last letter was from his mother.

"Dear Raynhart,

Oh, how interesting! Is this your new hobby? Maybe I should get involved too, so there’s something to talk about when your friends start discussing it? What do you think? Or is it something you want to do on your own? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it!

I still haven’t started a garden. Oh, right, peas in pods! How could I forget? Although, to be honest, I probably won’t wait 4–6 weeks for them to grow. Gardening is not the fastest way to quench hunger... Most likely, I’ll just buy some at the store and send it to you.

With much love, Mom"

There was something strange, almost paradoxical about this — hearing the voices of loved ones without being able to see their faces. Receiving letters, realizing that these lines were once written by their own hands, that in that moment, they were thinking these exact thoughts.

Raynhart carefully set each letter aside. His small collection continued to grow, yet there was still no place to store all these messages.

Measuring the room with his eyes, the builder came to an undeniable conclusion: it was time to get a closet. Until then, he had modestly kept his things right on the floor. This time, however, he carefully prepared, took a cart with him, and headed to Arvio's shop. Seller thought he was going to be financially ruined, but Raynhart only picked one closet. Arvio agreed to help and bring the purchase to the cart. At home, after unpacking and assembling the wardrobe, the builder placed it in the needed spot, thus organizing the space. Although, of course, it became even more cramped, all the things found their place, and the collection fit into its new corner.

In the following days, when waking up, Raynhart was greeted each time by the sight of that wardrobe, and he tirelessly confirmed to himself that he had made the right choice.

Soon, as agreed with Mi-an, they decided to install the stage in one day. Although it was a Sunday, both builders, by nature, preferred work to rest. From early morning, Raynhart began setting up the stage, and even though they started early, by noon, they had to take frequent breaks. Once the foundation was finished, Raynhart helped Mi-an with the decoration setup. In the end, their joint efforts formed a decent team, and Raynhart felt incredibly lucky with his colleague. Mi-an was much more open and communicative than he was, but her hard work and determination resonated with him deeply.

— Here it is! It looks amazing! — she said, looking at the finished work in the evening. — You know what? I love working with such a good craftsman like you! I can't wait to start on new projects!

— I completely agree, — Raynhart responded. — We really worked well together.

— So, I think we’re done! Now we just need to inform dear Minister Matilda about our success. Could you do me the honor of telling her that we’ve finished? I’ve already been delaying my duties for too long. Thank you!

With these words, she swiftly left the worksite, and the craftsman, left alone with the finished stage, didn’t get the chance to tell her that he still had to finish his own work. The city was gradually winding down for the evening, and the time left until the submission of all commissions was quickly running out.

Loading the two machines, chair, and ingots into the cart, the craftsman headed toward the city, deciding to visit his clients. Sometimes he felt like many of those who had placed orders were already familiar to him. A thought flashed through his mind that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know other city residents, especially since he had been wandering the streets for almost a month without even bothering to say "hello" to them. Raynhart didn’t lack initiative, but he wasn’t the kind of person who could simply walk up to a stranger and offer his friendship.

The grinding and polishing machines were delivered to the research center, but when asked where Rocky could be found, the scientist Qi merely waved his hand, clearly having no idea who this Rocky was or where he might be. Leaving the question unanswered, the craftsman continued on his way, heading toward Katori, confident that she, at least, would tell him where Rocky had disappeared. And as it turned out, his assumption was correct. After handing over the chair and receiving the needed answer, the craftsman set off with the bronze ingots for their new owner.

On the way back, deeply absorbed in his thoughts, Raynhart almost forgot about Mi-an’s request. He hoped to find Matilda in the city. Suddenly, in the distance, his gaze caught sight of a woman climbing the stairs. The craftsman hurried to catch up with her to inform her of the completed work.

— Good day, Minister. Mi-an and I have finished the work on the stage, and it is now fully ready for use.

— You reconstructed the stage? You two are just a treasure! You finished quickly and without unnecessary delays! On behalf of all the residents of Sandrok who appreciate good entertainment, I thank you for your service. — Matilda, as always, chose her words so that they would sound pleasant to anyone who heard them. — Mason is in a hurry to leave the city, so let's throw him a farewell party the day after tomorrow morning. I'm sure I can gather everyone, even in such a short time. You'll come too, won't you?

— Of course, — Raynhart answered calmly, nodding slightly.

— Great! See you then! — The Minister turned and continued on her way.

Night had already begun to take over, enveloping the city’s border in darkness. After a long day of work, the builder struggled to tidy himself up and, barely touching the pillow, fell into a deep sleep that lasted until morning. In the morning, he prepared a delicious breakfast from the products he had managed to find and buy, enjoying cooking on his new stove.

Raynhart, having completed the previous orders, got back to work, gathering the necessary materials. However, his attention was unexpectedly drawn to a small piece of thin plastic, which had gotten lost among the sand. He picked it up, examined it carefully, and noticed that it depicted a man whose features resembled Mort. The thought that the old man might recognize the photograph seemed obvious, and Raynhart wanted to go to him, but then he remembered the photo album he had been working on recently.

The final touches had already been completed — the photo holders had dried and were ready for use. Satisfied that everything was in order, he immediately headed for the cemetery, where he usually saw the hunched figure of Mort.

As expected, the old man was there, leisurely brushing the sand off a gravestone. When he noticed Raynhart approaching, his face lit up with a slight, barely perceptible joy.

— Good day, Mort. — Raynhart handed over the photo album. — I brought you what I promised. I hope you’ll like it.

The old man carefully took the album in his hands, inspecting it with interest.

— Oh, Light... What a beautiful work. — He ran his fingers over the smooth, elegantly crafted cover, then opened it and flipped through the pages. — To be so young and yet such a talented builder... As they say: "The strength of the young waves will carry the old to shore." I will keep it with respect and wait for the moment when I can fill it with new memories. Thank you, young builder.

Raynhart took the found photograph from his pocket and handed it to Mort.

— Speaking of this... I think I came across something important.

The old man's eyes widened slightly when he saw the picture.

— You... found one of my old photographs? To think... — He took it with trembling hands, gazing at the image. — So, the rest may be out there, in the sands... — He was silent for a while, then chuckled. — Ah, haha! This photo was taken when little Zik first appeared in Sandrok. Back then, he was just a child... Who would have thought he’d grow to such heights?

The last words could be interpreted in two ways — as a hint at his achievements, or at his impressive growth.

— We found him, lost in the desert, when he got separated from his clan during our trip to the northern borders of Yufala. We were building straw nets there... We wanted to help him get back to his people, but the desert had other plans. — There was a slight bitterness in the old man’s voice. — In the end, Martle and I raised him like our own. We taught him the customs of this land... My wife... She was proud of him. I think for her, he was more precious than the oasis.

His gaze clouded, as if he had transported himself back to the distant past. Then, returning to the present, he looked at Raynhart again.

— This is a cherished memory. Thank you for finding it, young builder. And if you happen to come across any more photographs... please bring them to me. Then I will be happy both in life and after it.

— I will. — The response came confidently, for leaving such things to gather dust in the desert sands was unthinkable.

The sandstorm introduced Raynhart to another side of Sandrok — not the one that travelers or merchants saw. Despite the relentless forces of nature, which drove the monsters to hunt, the city’s residents did not give up. They drew strength from one another, finding support in the toughest of times.