Wren woke to a dull ache in his side. A few people dragged themselves around, starting small fires, checking shaky barricades. The usual routine.
He rose, rolling his shoulder to loosen stiff muscles. Memories of that last expedition lingered: the spider beasts in the railyard, the wounded scavenger they couldn't save, the teen who'd lost a sibling.
This world spared no one, and Wren felt on borrowed time. He glanced across the yard and spotted the teen, blank-faced, sitting alone near a broken water barrel. No words came to Wren's mind, so he just looked away.
A hoarse shout caught his attention. Fernandez waved him over to the gate. Wren trudged across the uneven dirt, ignoring the gnaw of hunger in his belly.
He passed a battered tarp that served as the communal cooking area. Already, a half-dozen survivors lined up with tin cups, hoping for boiled scraps of edible roots. He had no appetite right now.
At the gate, Fernandez stood on a metal sheet hammered into a watch platform. "Something's moving out there," the man said. "Could be scavengers. I see four figures, maybe five."
Wren peered through a pair of old binoculars. Sure enough, a small group approached from the south, picking their way around wrecked cars. They weren't making a secret of it, so probably not an ambush. Could be travelers or another settlement's scouts.
Sometimes, people came to trade or scavenge. Sometimes, they came to steal.
Argus arrived, short of breath from hurrying. He grimaced at the figures in the distance. "We'll see if they're friendly," he muttered. "But keep your guard up."
Wren gave a curt nod. His crossbow was slung across his back, only a few bolts left. He had his machete at his side, and the ability to shape ash. It wouldn't be the first time he had to threaten travelers away if they turned hostile.
Time Passed: A Few Minutes
The strangers neared, halting about twenty paces from Wren's improvised gate. One man raised both hands, open palms. A woman next to him held a crude spear. Another carried a backpack, and there were two more behind them, each armed with short blades.
Argus stepped forward, flanked by Wren and Fernandez. "State your business," Argus called.
The lead man cleared his throat. "We're from a settlement west of here. Name's Bronte." He had a lean face, a scar across his nose. "We heard rumors of a group in this area. Seems we found you."
Argus made no move to open the gate. "You want to trade? Or are you just passing by?"
Bronte shrugged. "Could be trade, could be we share information. We're in a fix. Our water source got contaminated. We need a lead on fresh supplies."
Argus glanced at Wren. "We don't have much water to spare. We're barely scraping by ourselves," Argus said flatly.
Bronte frowned but didn't push. "I get it. We're all desperate." He hesitated, then reached into a small pouch. He held up a piece of battered metal—looked like some type of old device.
"We found this in an abandoned outpost. Some pre-Fall tech. Don't know if it still works, but maybe it's valuable. If you have any spare water or food, we could trade. Or we could talk about joining forces."
Argus studied the device from afar. Hard to see details, but maybe it was a battery pack or a portable sensor. Wren suspected it might be worthless junk. But ignoring them could mean missing an opportunity.
After a pause, Argus sighed. "I can't let five armed strangers in freely. But if you disarm, we can share a small meal and see if we have common ground."
Bronte looked back at his group. Some exchanged uneasy glances. Eventually, he nodded. They placed their weapons on the ground—spear, knives, a makeshift axe.
The group stepped back, letting Argus's folks pick them up. Argus motioned for Wren to keep watch. Wren slid open the gate just enough for them to enter one by one. They were patted down quickly for hidden weapons. Then the gate clanged shut.
Inside, people eyed the newcomers warily. Naia brought out a small pot of thin stew, handing each a tin cup's worth. Bronte and his companions drank hungrily, though the meal was barely enough to stave off hunger.
Argus and Wren stood nearby, weapons not drawn but ready.
Bronte cleared his throat. "This used to be a bigger settlement, right? Hard to hold onto a place this size."
Argus shrugged. "We do what we can. Your place is west?"
Bronte nodded. "Not exactly a place. More like a compound with corrugated walls. We had farmland until the soil turned toxic. Then we relied on a shallow well. But something seeped in from below, maybe chemicals or monster byproduct. Now it's undrinkable."
Fernandez mumbled a curse. "Same story everywhere. Water's always the problem."
Bronte took a breath. "We can't keep living like that. We thought about moving. But the roads are full of predators. If we had more people, more resources, we could relocate. Or find a permanent fix. So we're looking for alliances. Trade, or maybe merging settlements."
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Argus folded his arms, considering. Wren studied Bronte's face, looking for any sign of a con or threat. The man seemed sincere enough, though desperation can drive people to do reckless things.
Argus spoke quietly, "We've got a possible location east—a fortress. But it's half-ruined, no guaranteed water, and it's been overrun in the past."
Bronte perked up. "A fortress? That's interesting." He glanced at his group. "We were hoping to find a place with intact walls. If we pool forces, we could hold it."
Wren interjected softly. "Walls alone don't fix the water issue. We'd need to scout for a purifier or a well deep enough not to be contaminated." He thought about the city's rotting infrastructure. "We might need to scavenge old water treatment gear. If any still exists."
Bronte grimaced. "We tried picking a wastewater plant near the coast. Infested with giant leech-creatures. Lost two people. We retreated."
Argus rubbed his temples. "It's always something."
They stood in an uneasy circle, each settlement's woes laid out. The onlookers from Wren's group hovered, not sure whether to trust these strangers.
Derek, the man rescued from the fortress, hobbled over, casting them a curious look.
"So," Argus said at last, "maybe we see if we can cooperate on checking that fortress for a deeper water table, or find old equipment. But that's a major operation. We don't have the ammo or supplies for a big push."
Bronte offered a half-smile. "We'd be willing to contribute some manpower if we gather ours. You have a lead on a location. We have a few leftover guns and some skill with building. Might be enough to set something up. Beats letting monster packs pick us off one by one."
Argus looked to Wren. "What's your take?"
Wren recognized the risk. If Bronte's people turned hostile, or if it was a trap, that might end their settlement. But staying put was slow death.
"No guarantee we can trust them," Wren said. "But it's a shot we might have to take."
Bronte nodded. "Likewise. We could stab each other in the back, or we can try something. If we don't do anything, we all die separate. At least if we work together, we might stand a chance."
Argus inhaled slowly. "Alright. Let's talk details."
The discussion stretched for hours. They hammered out a tentative plan: a scouting expedition to the fortress, bigger than Wren's last attempt. Maybe a dozen from their settlement, a dozen from Bronte's side if he could gather them.
They'd bring as much gear as possible, try to clear the fortress of any lurking threats, and see if water solutions existed. If it worked, they'd shift focus to relocating or fortifying that place. If it failed, well, it was just another lost cause.
Eventually, Bronte's group left to go rally their settlement. Argus gave them a small water flask in goodwill, which they treasured. They also returned Bronte's spear and minimal weapons. No sense angering them.
Once they were gone, Wren's fellow residents argued among themselves. Some said it was insane to trust strangers, others said it was the only path forward.
Argus tried to stay neutral, but it was clear he favored the chance to build something better than these scrap walls.
Wren kept quiet. He was the best scavenger and fighter they had, but not a leader. This plan might be the only way to avoid rotting in these ruins. He left the debate to gather his thoughts.
He walked around the settlement's perimeter, checking weak spots in the fences. He tried shaping a few ash reinforcements, pressing dust into the cracks.
[Ash Reinforcement Created]
Ash Manipulation (Basic) - LV 2 (19 => 21/50 EXP)
He needed more if he was going to craft bigger defenses or stronger summons. Maybe with a higher skill level, he could do more advanced constructs. Summon a real creature instead of improvised spikes.
Then he remembered the mention of "+1 Summon Slot" from leveling to 2. He hadn't tried forging a real summon beyond small blades or barriers.
He found a quiet spot near a collapsed van. Carefully, he focused on the ash in the air. He visualized pulling it together into a shape that could move on its own. A hawk, maybe. Something to scout.
The idea felt vague in his mind, so he concentrated harder, forging an internal image of a bird formed from swirling dust.
[Attempting Summon: Ash Hawk]
Ash Reserve: 60% → Summon Allocation: 10% Success Chance: ???
He pushed more will into it. Slowly, a swirl of gray dust hovered in front of him, condensing into a small hawk shape. For a moment, it flickered, almost collapsing. Then it stabilized.
The hawk fluttered once, perched on the edge of the van. Its eyes glowed faintly with ash light.
Wren let out a breath, mind reeling at the new experience. So this was a "true" summon, not just a single-use weapon. The hawk cocked its head, responding to his unspoken commands.
He mentally nudged it upward. It flapped, swirling dust behind it, and rose a few feet.
[Summon Ash Hawk (Lv 1) Created] Upkeep: -1% Ash Reserve per hour Functions: Aerial Scouting, Minor Combat
His heart thumped. This was a real advantage. He tested it, guiding the hawk to circle the settlement. Through faint mental feedback, he sensed what it saw: the perimeter, people milling about, the dusty roads beyond.
Not full vision, but enough of a link to gather intelligence. He dismissed it after a few minutes to save on ash. The hawk dissolved, drifting away in a soft swirl.
He checked his status:
[Ash Manipulation (Basic) - 22/50 EXP] Ash Reserve: 49%
Active Summons: 0 New Summon Learned: Ash Hawk
He felt a shaky thrill. If he could refine this, maybe he could eventually summon something bigger to help in fights. That might shift the odds for their settlement or the fortress plan.
But for now, he was half-spent from just a simple hawk. He needed rest to replenish mental stamina.
He headed back to the storehouse area. People were finishing up the day's chores, distributing watery soup. He took a bowl, forced it down. It tasted like sour beans.
He visited Argus in the shipping-container office. The old man was checking supplies.
"We have enough canned goods for maybe a week if we ration," Argus said. "Ammo is practically gone. We'll have to rely on your ash powers, or melee."
Wren gave a tired nod. "I summoned a small ash hawk today. A real one, not just a dagger. It worked, but it drained me."
Argus raised an eyebrow. "That's new. Good. We'll need every advantage we can get. If we're heading to that fortress with Bronte's people, do you think we can hold off big creatures?"
Wren shrugged. "Maybe if we're careful. Or if we find a real water source. If we can't, no point holding anything. Thirst kills faster than monsters."
Argus sighed. "Right. We'll set out once Bronte returns. He said a week or so to gather his crew. Meanwhile, I guess we shore up our defenses the best we can, pack up for a possible move. Or for one final stand."
He thanked Wren and dismissed him. Wren stepped out, footsteps dragging on the ashen ground. The teen they'd rescued after that sibling's death was leaning against a scrap wall, expression hollow.
Wren considered talking to them, but no words came. Instead, he just gave a small nod in passing. The teen didn't respond.
Night fell. The settlement settled into a tense hush. Wren tried to sleep near a small fire, a crude blanket pulled over him. His mind churned with the fortress plan.
If it failed, that might be the end of everything. If it worked, they'd still face an uphill battle.
He dozed off, and dreamt of spider beasts and other fallen things.