Wren walked into Emerson's perimeter with a stiff gait. His legs felt heavy from hours of scouting in the dead zones.

He brought back a handful of meal pouches—nothing special. Better than nothing.

Several townsfolk stood by a rusted sheet-metal barricade, eyes hollow, hoping he had more. Most were disappointed to see only a small bag slung over his shoulder.

He moved past them, offering a nod. He wasn't good with words, and no speech would conjure extra food.

He stepped around piles of broken car frames that formed the outer fence. The settlement's so-called gate was just a gap wide enough for one person to squeeze through at a time.

Beyond that, the place wasn't much safer than the roads. But at least walls kept out some of the stray beasts.

Fernandez waited near a makeshift guard post. He wore battered leathers and gripped a secondhand shotgun. Five shells.

That was all the settlement had for a weapon like that. If bigger trouble came, they'd have to rely on Wren's ash summons or improvised traps.

"You look half-dead," Fernandez said.

Wren shrugged. "Ran into one of those chitin crawlers. Otherwise quiet. Found a few ration packs." He held up the dingy plastic bag. "Not fresh, but we'll manage."

Fernandez glanced at them, relief flickering in his eyes. "Better than the air biscuits we've been chewing. Toss them to Argus. He'll figure out distribution."

Wren headed deeper in, past scraps of old tents and plywood huts. At the center of Emerson stood a building made of stacked shipping containers.

Argus used it as a storehouse and planning spot. Wren found the old man hunched over a fold-out table covered in scavenged paper—maps, tallies of supplies, and crude sketches of the surrounding ruins.

Argus looked up. He had short, gray hair and a face cut with lines of stress. "Back in one piece, I see," he said, voice low. "Anything worth reporting?"

Wren put the meal pouches on the table. "Nothing major. Saw a scavenger in the city. Didn't talk. Ran across a crawler. Killed it. No sign of larger beasts in that sector."

Argus sifted through the meager rations, grimacing at the torn packaging. He scratched some notes on a ledger.

"We'll do a ration day tomorrow. Thanks." Then his eyes flicked to Wren's bandaged forearm. "You get hurt?"

Wren glanced down. A bruise and a cut from the crawler's thrash. Nothing urgent. "I'm fine."

Argus nodded once, then went back to writing. That was all the conversation they'd have.

Wren turned to leave, but a soft chime echoed in his mind:

[System Notification: Settlement Delivery Complete] EXP Gained: +1 Total EXP: 6/25 (Next Skill Upgrade)

He repressed a faint smile. Even small deliveries counted for something in the System's eyes. That would inch him closer to leveling up his ash manipulation or unlocking a new trick.

He stepped outside. The midday ash storm drifted in. Gray flakes swirled, coating everything in a dull film.

Folks scurried to cover open crates or press tarps down on roofs. Wren walked toward the settlement's western fence line, where a few watchers kept an eye on the horizon.

"Wren," a soft voice called. He turned to see Naia, a younger woman wearing a worn jacket too big for her. She held a battered pistol at her hip, no bullets. It was mostly for show.

"We need you on watch for a few hours. Shouldn't be too quiet with that storm."

He nodded and took position on a crude platform of pallets lashed together. From this vantage, he saw miles of collapsed ruins. Wind scattered dust across crumbled roads.

A few toppled lamp posts and rusted cars were the only signs this had once been a normal city.

Time Passed: 1 Hour.

He ran a mental check of his own condition:

[Wren - Status] Health: 32/50

Stamina: 25/40 Ash Reserve: 55% (Regenerating) Skill: Ash Manipulation (Basic) - LV 1

Next Level: 19 EXP Required

He considered using the watch shift to refine his ash shaping. If he sat idle, that was time wasted.

Might as well practice. Carefully, he summoned a small swirl of dust around his hand, forming a short dagger.

It was stable enough for basic self-defense, but nothing fancy.

He pictured adding an edge or a point. The System recognized incremental improvements. If he shaped the ash into better forms, he'd get small skill boosts.

He took a breath, focusing on compressing the blade. The ash flickered, almost slipping away, but he clenched his fist and tightened its structure.

[System Notification: Ash Blade (Improved) Formed] Minor Skill Proficiency +1%

He banished the blade and did it again, forging an identical shape, repeating the process until the motions felt smooth.

Then he tried forming a small curved shield—thin as a sheet of metal. The winds battered it, but it held for a moment.

He had no illusions about it stopping a strong creature, but he needed practice.

After another hour, his arms ached from holding stances. The settlement remained quiet.

Then, in the distance, faint screeches cut through the haze. He narrowed his gaze. Some beasts? Or just metal scraping in the wind?

He hopped down to warn the others. If it was nothing, they'd lose a bit of time. If it was a threat, they'd be glad to prepare.

So he headed for the perimeter, telling Naia they might need to brace. She looked uneasy but nodded.

Fernandez climbed onto a vantage point with his shotgun. "Which direction?" he asked Wren.

"North. Keep watch near those buckled highways."

They settled in. The wind howled, drowning out subtle noises. Minutes later, the screeching returned, louder.

Through billowing dust, Wren spotted dark shapes moving near a collapsed section of elevated freeway.

They had the silhouette of large rodents or small dogs, scuttling in a pack. Not as tall as the crawler, but there were maybe five or six.

They scrambled over broken concrete, sniffing the air.

Wren motioned for quiet. The watchers crouched behind rusted car hulks.

If these beasts were scavengers, they might pass by. If they sniffed out humans, they'd charge.

Wren gripped the handle of his machete. He had two crossbow bolts left, and maybe a half tank of ash reserves. Enough for a fight, but not a prolonged one.

One beast's head snapped up, pointed in their direction. Then it let out a high-pitched screech. The pack turned as one, bounding toward the settlement.

Wren cursed under his breath.

He stepped forward, forming an ash dagger in his off-hand. "Fernandez, cover me," he said. Fernandez's shotgun had a short range, but a blast or two could help.

The pack crossed the final stretch in seconds. The first beast lunged, mouth wide with rows of needle teeth.

Wren slashed down with the machete, severing its head in one stroke. Another jumped from the side. He parried with the ash dagger.

It broke on impact, but it diverted the beast's leap. Fernandez fired. The shotgun's roar shook the air.

The slug tore a chunk out of the creature's flank.

Two more circled wide, trying to flank. Wren planted a foot, raised a swirl of ash from the ground, and shaped a quick barrier.

The beasts collided with the dust wall, giving him a second to reposition. He stabbed one in the neck, a clean thrust that ended it.

Another lunged from behind, teeth snapping on his coat. Pain flared as it bit into his shoulder.

He grit his teeth, drove the machete back in a reverse stab, and felt the blade sink into flesh. The beast released him, flailing.

A final creature remained, stumbling from a bleeding wound. Wren flung a handful of ash shards at it, not elegant but enough to shred its face.

It collapsed in a twitching heap.

[System Notification: Pack Eliminated]

Enemies Defeated: 5 Total EXP Gained: +10 Skill Proficiency +2%

Ash Reserve: 40%

He sank to his knees, breathing hard. Blood trickled from the bite on his shoulder.

Fernandez lowered the shotgun. One spent shell rolled by his feet. They had four shells left. That was it for the day.

Naia and another survivor rushed over with bandages. They stripped Wren's jacket back, exposing the wound.

No venom, just torn skin. Hurt like hell, though. They patched it up, using cheap disinfectant from a battered tin.

He slumped against a piece of rubble, letting them dress the injury. The adrenaline wore off, leaving him drained. He checked the System.

Still short of leveling up, but progress was progress.

By evening, the storm had calmed. People gathered around a few scrap-metal fire pits.

They roasted random edible roots, plus the bits of salvage Wren found earlier.

Not pleasant, but it kept them alive. The question was, for how long?

Wren sat on a broken concrete slab, arms resting on his knees. He sipped a canteen of water that tasted like rust.

Argus approached, a concerned look on his face. "We can't keep living on scraps," the older man said. "The beasts are getting bolder. Supplies run low. Sooner or later, we'll starve or get overwhelmed."

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Wren watched the flicker of the nearest fire pit. He had no words to argue. Argus was right.

They had no farmland, no stable water source. The city was a graveyard of half-useful junk.

He needed a plan.

"What if we push east?" Wren asked. "Some talk about an old fortress near the river. Might have safer ground or leftover hydroponics."

Argus frowned. "That's a hike, and the roads are bad. But maybe it's our only shot."

Wren didn't commit further. He stood and paced, ignoring the ache in his shoulder.

If they tried a migration, they'd risk losing half the people on the road. But staying put felt like a slow death.

Night came. Watch shifts rotated. Wren spent a few hours lying on a torn blanket in an improvised shack, rest never coming easy.

An hour before dawn, he gave up on sleep. He rose and walked the perimeter, checking the battered fences.

The settlement dozed fitfully, except for a few watchers perched with tired eyes.

He settled at a vantage point that overlooked the ruined city. It was quiet, but not peaceful.

The quiet in this world usually meant something nasty lurked, waiting for the right moment.

He rested a hand on his coat pocket, feeling the stub of a pencil and a small notebook.

He'd used it to keep notes about monster types, building layouts, anything that might help him or others survive.

He scribbled a quick line about the small beasts that attacked earlier:

"Rat-lings, 4-5 in a pack. Light armor, fast. Bites can be serious if untreated."

The hush pressed in around him. Wind rattled scrap metal. He realized his hand trembled, so he stilled it.

Another System prompt nudged him:

[System Notification: Restless Condition Detected] Fatigue +1

Recommend Rest or Basic Recovery

He blew out a breath. The System was right, he was running on fumes. But none of that changed the fact that they might get attacked at any moment.

He hopped down off the vantage point. If he was going to be up, he might as well do something useful.

Maybe scour the perimeter for a place to rig a new trap. The cost of building an ash-based snare wasn't small, but it could save ammo in the next fight.

He found a spot near the settlement's east side, where some rebar jutted out from a half-buried building foundation. Good anchor points.

He gathered bits of wire, broken mesh, and set about weaving them together. He formed a film of ash to tighten the pieces, hoping it would last at least a few days.

He pictured a beast stepping through, pulling the wire taut, and hooking its limbs. A workable trap for small or mid-sized threats.

If something massive came, well, they'd have bigger problems.

It took an hour to finish. His palms were raw from pulling wire. By the end, he felt a bit of personal satisfaction.

He stepped back, rubbing his shoulder. The bandage needed changing. He'd handle it soon.

[System Notification: Improvised Trap Constructed] Ash Manipulation +1%

Trap Tier: Basic

He dragged himself back inside the walls. Dawn light crept over the horizon, illuminating the battered structures.

People stirred, yawning or rubbing their eyes as they prepared for another day of scraping by. Emerson was no paradise, but it was home for now.

Naia spotted him from across the yard, carrying a bucket of muddy water. "You're up early," she said, setting it down.

"Didn't sleep much." He shrugged, looking around at the bleak settlement. "We can't keep this up."

She nodded. "Heard Argus wants to send a small party to scout that fortress you mentioned. You on board?"

Wren hesitated. The risk was high. But if they found a real vantage or new resources, it'd change everything.

"Yeah," he said at last. "I'll go."

Naia's lips thinned into a faint smile. "You're the best chance we have."

He looked away, uneasy with that kind of praise. "We'll see."

By midmorning, Argus gathered a small group near the gate: Wren, Naia, Fernandez, and two others from the settlement.

The plan was straightforward. They'd head east, keep a low profile, and see if the rumored fortress was more than a myth.

Then they'd return with intel. If it looked viable, Emerson might consider a mass relocation, though that was a tall order.

Wren shouldered his machete, crossbow, and a small kit of supplies. He had maybe two days' worth of rations.

The others carried similar loads. Argus gave them a curt nod, his expression grim. "Don't take unnecessary risks. If it looks like a death trap, come home."

Without ceremony, the five slipped through the gate. Past the improvised wall, the city's rubble greeted them with silent menace.

The sky was dull. Fine ash drifted in lazy spirals. They moved in a tight formation, scanning every angle.

The place smelled like mold, rust, and old rot.

Time Passed: 2 Hours.

They made slow progress, weaving around collapsed highways and burned-out vehicles. They stopped once to check a half-standing pharmacy.

It was looted long ago. Some thick dust had formed lumps that might once have been pill bottles, but moisture fused everything into worthless gunk.

While the group poked around, Wren kept watch outside. He formed an ash dagger in his hand repeatedly, practicing.

Each time felt a little smoother, the blade a bit sturdier.

[System Notification: Ash Dagger Practice - Minor Progress] Skill Proficiency +2% Ash Reserve: 70%

They continued east, following a cracked road. As they edged past a leaning radio tower, a faint roar echoed in the distance. Everyone froze.

Wren motioned them behind a rusted bus for cover. The roar sounded again, a guttural note that reverberated in the ash-laden air.

"Any idea what that is?" Naia whispered, knuckles white around her spear.

"Could be a big crawler," Fernandez said quietly. "Or something else."

Wren closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the System. He tried to see if the interface gave any hint of local threats, but that wasn't how it worked.

He only had personal stats, not a full map. He cursed under his breath and motioned them to keep low.

They inched forward, hugging walls and debris. The roaring continued off and on.

Eventually, they reached a vantage where the road opened into a wide crater, possibly from a bomb or a

sinkhole. At the far side stood a monstrous shape, stomping through twisted beams.

It looked part reptile, part insect, with ridges of bony plating across its back. Its head was low to the ground, sniffing or scraping at something.

Easily the size of a small truck.

Naia's face went pale. "We can't fight that."

Wren agreed. They ducked back. "We go around. Keep quiet."

Unfortunately, the crater blocked easy passage. They had to decide: attempt a big detour or risk sneaking near the beast.

Time was short, and they had limited water. The group had a hushed debate, but no one wanted to starve on a winding detour.

They'd try to slip by.

It was a tense half-hour. They moved slowly, climbing through side alleys and behind rubble mounds.

Wren forced his breath to stay steady. If that thing caught their scent, they'd be done.

Even with his machete, crossbow, and ash shaping, a direct fight seemed suicidal.

The beast roared once more, but it never turned their way. They eventually cleared the crater zone without incident.

Everyone silently exhaled relief. They pressed on, a bit faster now. Danger lurked in every block, but they had to see if the fortress existed.

Time Passed: 4 Hours.

They reached an overgrown area of collapsed skyscrapers. Trees sprouted through cracked asphalt, warped by the ash.

Spiky branches rattled in the wind. It gave them some cover from roving creatures.

The group paused by an old fountain littered with rubble, deciding to rest a bit. They rationed water sips and shared a single can of something that tasted like beans.

Wren chewed in silence.

He inspected a minor wound on his forearm from the morning scuffle. The bandage was soaked in sweat.

He changed it using a scrap of cloth. A few system notifications flickered:

[System Notification: Minor Injury Detected] Health -2 Current Health: 30/50

He tried to shape a small ash patch, a trick he'd used once to seal a cut. It might reduce bleeding, though it wasn't as good as real medical supplies.

The gray dust formed a thin layer over the wound. It stung, but the bleeding slowed.

They set off again, weaving toward a broken highway ramp that might lead them closer to the rumored fortress location.

Another hour passed. No big threats so far, aside from that large beast. But the day was wearing on.

Finally, at the crest of the ramp, they got a vantage over the eastern side of the city.

Through the swirling ash clouds, they saw a structure on a hill—an actual building with partial walls intact, possibly fenced.

It stood near a dried-out riverbed. Could that be the fortress?

Naia's eyes lit up. "That's real? I see what might be walls around it."

Fernandez adjusted his battered binoculars. "Yeah... looks like a compound. Hard to tell if anyone's there."

They decided to get a bit closer for a better look. The approach wasn't easy; a field of jagged rubble stretched between them and the compound.

The group picked their way carefully. After half an hour, they neared a vantage behind some fallen columns.

From there, they saw it more clearly: a perimeter of metal sheets, watchtowers made from scaffolding, and perhaps a main gate.

The place looked battered, but it was definitely some kind of fortress or settlement attempt.

No signs of people moving along the walls. Could be abandoned. Could be crawling with monsters. Or maybe survivors inside.

Wren felt a flicker of hope. If they could confirm the place was safe, or salvageable, Emerson might have a future.

They gathered in a huddle. Fernandez wanted to check it out right away. Naia argued it might be a trap or monster nest.

The others stayed silent, uncertain. Wren weighed the options. They had limited supplies, and exploring that fortress could take time.

But turning back empty-handed was pointless.

He stood. "We came this far. Let's at least see if it's occupied. Keep quiet, stay together. If it looks bad, we leave."

Everyone nodded. They advanced in a tight formation across the last stretch. The fortress walls rose ten or fifteen feet high, lined with scraps of angled metal.

The gate was a thick steel slab welded together from old doors. Overgrowth covered some parts. No fresh footprints or tracks outside.

Wren checked a gap in the fencing. The inside yard looked empty, scattered with rubble.

No rotting bodies or sign of a big nest. He motioned them forward. With careful force, they pried a smaller side panel open enough to slip through.

Inside, the yard had a few rusted crates, metal drums, and a dilapidated shed.

They spread out, weapons ready. An eerie silence loomed. The place felt deserted for a long time.

Naia found a broken generator near the shed, worthless without fuel or repairs.

Fernandez checked the shed: mostly empty, just some moldy tarps. Another crewmate found old bullet casings near a cracked watchtower.

Some fight happened here once.

Wren approached the main building. The door was ajar. Inside was dim light, dust motes floating in stale air.

He smelled old rot and something acrid. He advanced slowly. The corridor led to a central hallway.

Every step echoed.

Then, a noise from deeper inside: a soft rasp, like claws scraping on concrete. Wren froze, signaling the group to hush.

They readied their weapons. The corridor branched into a wide room that might have been a mess hall.

Tables were overturned. A few beams of sunlight cut through holes in the ceiling.

A shape moved behind one of the tables. Wren raised his machete, heart pounding. He crept forward, motioning the others to fan out.

Closer, he saw the shape more clearly—some beast? Or a human?

He circled a table, machete up. A ragged figure in stained clothing lay on the floor, trembling.

It was a man, scrawny, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes sunken. He clutched a small pipe, pointing it shakily at Wren.

"I'm not here to kill you," Wren said, voice low.

The man coughed, voice cracking. "Been alone… Everyone else gone. You'll kill me for what's left, right?"

Wren shook his head. "We're from another settlement. We came looking for supplies or a safer place."

The man's pipe dropped. He sagged, tears tracking through the dust on his face.

"No supplies left. We tried to hold this fortress. Monsters tore through. A few of us escaped. I stayed. Stupid. Hoping they'd come back."

Wren signaled the group it was safe. Naia approached with a canteen, offering the man a small sip of water.

He drank greedily.

He introduced himself as Derek. He'd been part of a band that reclaimed this old outpost, but two months ago, a swarm of mutated creatures overwhelmed their defenses.

Survivors fled. He stayed behind, half-dead, living on scraps. He had no illusions about the place.

"Walls look tough, but they got no strength if there's no one to man them," he said in a shaky voice.

Wren scanned the room, noticing bullet holes on the walls, black scorch marks. The fight must've been brutal.

"We thought we could bring our people here, have a better fortress."

Derek snorted, though it came out as a wheeze. "Better? Maybe if you reinforce everything, get more gear. The place might stand. But it's not some magical solution. There's not even a well. We pulled water from the river until it dried up. Or got tainted."

Wren felt the seeds of disappointment, but he also saw potential. The walls were stronger than Emerson's.

The building had multiple floors, a watchtower for vantage. If they could fix it up, expand, maybe scavenge a generator… it could become a real stronghold.

One step at a time, though. They'd need serious manpower and supplies. Right now, they were barely surviving as is.

They brought Derek outside, gave him what little food they could spare. He seemed too weak to walk far.

"Not sure I can make it all the way back to your settlement," he warned, voice hollow.

Wren considered. Leaving him here felt wrong. But dragging him along might slow them.

Then again, if they let him starve, that was on their conscience. He sighed.

"We'll try to get you home with us. If you can move slow, we'll manage. No one's got it easy, but I'm not leaving you to die."

Derek gave a faint nod, too exhausted to argue. The group took a final look around the fortress, noting the collapsed sections, the leftover fences.

They grabbed a few broken tools. Then they headed out, one more mouth to feed, but maybe an ally with knowledge of this place.

The return journey took a day and a half, mostly because Derek needed rests. They avoided the big crater monster, took a longer route around.

The group used up their water. By the time Emerson's walls came into view, everyone was parched and sore.

But they had news: a fortress not too far away that might be reclaimed with enough effort. A big risk, but a potential step up from constant monster attacks in the open.

They squeezed through Emerson's gate near dusk. People stared at the half-starved newcomer.

Argus listened to the quick report, eyes narrowed. "A real fortress, huh? Or a graveyard waiting to happen?"

Wren shrugged. "Both."

Still, it was something. Argus would mull it over. The folks who tried to hold it before obviously lost.

But the group had no illusions: If they did nothing, Emerson would fade. This outpost was never designed for a permanent hold.

Wren dropped into a seat near the storehouse, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and back. He checked the System:

[System Notification: Expedition Complete - Key Intel Acquired]

EXP +5 Total: 24/25 to Next Skill

He was one point shy of leveling. That almost made him laugh. Surviving monstrous encounters, forging a path to an abandoned fortress, escorting a starving man back…

it all came down to a trickle of experience. Still, every bit mattered. One more small success, and he'd push Ash Manipulation to the next stage.

He rubbed his eyes. Sleep called, but there was too much to do: injuries to treat, ration distribution, talk of maybe relocating.

The nights felt shorter and less restful every day. But that was life, and no one could do it for him.