The waning light of a day which had passed years ago saw Gan standing beside a much larger man, a man whose very presence was wide and filled with a heavy feeling as though every weight and burden his wide shoulders had ever lifted were carried in the air around him. His eyes wielded a sharp darkness, the threat of wisdom that might be greater and more dangerous than one's own was hidden in them. Gan's yet grown form of the time was thin and short beside the warrior of a man. Both were gazing off into an empty market square. A remorseful place, where weeds and vines had grown up through the cracks of the paved stones which made up the road, and where the wood of stalls and tables which lined the square was rotted and blackened. This entire town which housed more than a thousand denizens was built around a strong, clean river, and around which were long fields of wheat and barley growing in great quantity, was devoid of life. And had been for a long enough time as to fall into a half state of being both a manmade sanctum and also now a piece of wild nature.

"Son, look around all these buildings, especially the shops and see if there is anything we can still get some use out of." Gan's Father ordered, and Gan immediately began a quick-paced search through the stalls, and the time-worn shops, and the alleyways. Many doors were broken their wood jagged and hanging from bent henges, and old burnt piles from the fires of travelers were scattered around sometimes even directly inside a home or place of businesses, lit in the center of the floor of all places. Gan poked his head through the open shutters of one little abode, its stone walls grown over with vines and its front wall caved in so that only a pile of rubble was left in the main room. A pile of grey stones which blocked the entrance to the other attached rooms. The roof of this shop must have been thatching because other than thin rotting beams there was no roof left at all. Gan was glad for the light that such a situation allowed in, and after walking around to each window declined looking any further as the place was barren.

Walking briskly the wooden bottoms of Gan's thick leather boots clumped against the hard ground and broken stone roads, as he searched even the small shacks and sheds which barely stood upright anymore, and the piles of rubble where houses had crumpled to the unstoppable passing of time. When he was done searching everything in the square, he had nothing more than some old rope, a few pieces of rusted scrap iron that were corroded and weathered so hard they were hardly recognizable as anything useful, and a pair of sealed jars containing something reddish brown. At first, he'd thought because of the decayed color and the wood stopper that seemed a bit swelled around the lip of the clear glass container that whatever was in the jars must have gone bad like any other food or perishable stored for so long. He'd almost left them in the rubble pile behind a bakery shop that he'd found them under, but by chance, he'd spotted the unrecognizably eroded and broken down but familiar clay foundation of what was likely a bee hive a few yards away.

If it was honey in the jars then perhaps it was still edible, after all, if properly kept Honey could last a thousand years without souring. All of what Gan's thorough and orderly search uncovered was tucked into an old and oddly sweet-smelling basket which was still sturdy enough to prove the masterfulness of its crafter long ago in this town. And he went back towards where his father had left with the basket handle tucked into the crook of his arm, the image of a man on a picnic if not for his blackened face and hands that were covered in soot all the way up the elbow, which were soiled in his search through debris and rubble.

His path led him along where the stones of the square ended and nothing but grass and brush was between the houses and short stubby buildings. The ones which were still intact enough to still look like houses were completely foreign to Gan's memory. He'd traveled with his family since the day of his birth and uncountable miles had taken him from the land of the mountains, through the lands of the waste, under jungle canvas thicker than mud and blocking out the sun so that lamps had to be carried even in midday, Gan had seen temples abandoned which were carved into cliffsides, not a brick or board of wood needed except for the massive doors, he'd sheltered in little towns where people still eeked out life pretending as though the spreading wasn't at their doorstep, and he had treked around lakes which were not far removed from oceans their vast troubled waters glowering at him from well over the horizon. This town's houses were short and made from a dark-colored wood and bright grey stone, they were often long like a worm and had rounded corners with roof beams that hung well over the walls.

It was an interesting sort of culture, and the length of time since Gan's family had seen a town was quite a long stretch so the homes had looked and been nothing like this, made invariably by a different people too far away to even share a border. Gan turned around the corner of a house, his legs stroking through the tall and yellowed grass where a pounded flat road should have been when he saw his mother setting up a tent, next to a crooked and lonsome tree which oddly enough his father was climbing up into with his axe in his hand.

"Gan! How'd the scouting go my boy?" His mother's gentle and musical voice called out as she spotted him. The woman was tall and broad-chested, her hair dark with an almost red hint like burnt cherry wood. She wore a thick skirt made of rough leather and a flowing blouse of white that Gan's Father had traded many skins for the last time they were with other people. Her body was thin but held up with strength and dignity like any wise mother and she had the cressed but kindhearted face of someone who smiled often, Though That smile never reached her Auburn eyes unless she was with her children.

Gan trodded over and placed the nearly empty basket down next to where a place for a fire had been cleared. "Not much around we needed, I gave it my best." His mother stopped pulling down the strings which held the tent stable against the wind and walked over to look. "I hardly believed you would be finden anything Gan, a town like'n this one has been empty long enough that we're probably the last travelers to the plate." She bent down to examine the ragged-looking rope. "I wouldn't trust this old thing to hang my cloaths." She grinned, pulling it taught between her fists.

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Gan nodded. "It's definitely old, but longer than what we have, Since the good one broke. And I think the Jars have Honey." His mother dropped the rope quite fast after hearing that and picked up both jars, she stood up with them and held them out to the sun. The light shone through a burgundy gel-like substance which one could almost smell if they imagined hard enough, and Gan felt proud when his mother shot him a wide grin. "Throw the rest into the fire for all I care but I would have bushwacked a priest for these two jars." Gan's father called out from the tree he was climbing. "You shouldn't have given those to your mother son! she's only half woman and the other half sweet tooth. the rest of us won't hardly get a finger in the jar before she swallows the last drop and licks a hole through the glass for good measure." Gan looked up amused and with a grin almost as big as his mother's. "What's got you in such a High mood today pop?" Gan's father who was currently standing on a thick branch 15 feet in the air, patted the trunk of the knarled and old-looking tree.

"Something I've tried to teach you Son is that survival depends on resourcefulness, never take what looks like a used-up ghost town or a dried-up old tree for granted." Then with his axe, the big man skillfully swung into the hefty bark of the tree and twisted the blade prying off an entire layer of material. The piece was about the length from His hand to his elbow and half a foot wide or so. He threw it down and Gan caught it. It was very light and incredibly soft for a piece of a tree, and surprisingly it was as thick as Gan's four fingers together. "This is a cork Tree." Gan's father stated. "I almost missed it myself. There's at least a dozen all throughout the town. And who knows what's all in the area around." Gan tested the material in his hand, it definitely seemed useful, he looked at the tree with appraising eyes to remember forever how to find one. His father then began cutting more and more cork off. "By tomorrow we'll all have cork lining the inside of our shoes, it will make you feel like you're walking on air compared to just thin leather. Shame we can't harvest more than one tree's worth but beggars can't be choosers." Gan's father mumbled happily while he worked, tossing down the material for Gan to put aside in a pile. As he worked more and more carefully to pull off bigger pieces of the tree bark instead of arm length ones, he also cursed every time he damaged the tree. Something Gan thought odd since they would never be back this way to ever see this tree again. They could chop it down for all the difference it would make. After all the spreading would swallow up this whole town in a month or two.

But who could reason with a strong-willed man like Gan's father, he always tried to leave something behind for others. And there was mourning in his eyes whenever they had to damage the path they were on to keep going. Once when they had traversed a dangerous trail over a mountain, a path clearly left behind by the people of the region, which meant they wouldn't have to spend a month walking around, they had barely made it over a fragile rope bridge over a gully, when mother cut the old worn ropes and destroyed the only way across for miles. Father had cursed the Bandits who chased them through the dangerous path in the first place and prayed forgiveness on his knees at the stumps of the bridge. He'd said then, words Gan would never forget. "The spreading has destroyed everything it touches, if we the humans and rightful heirs of this world who run away from it also destroy all that we touch simply to flee its clutches, are we not simply the front line ourselves? The first wave of the spreading, signaling all the others to come behind us. I refuse to become such a cursed part of an already cursed world."

Once the tree had been mostly cleared down to its pale yellow wood now a naked timber in the grassy field, Gan realized his father who stood at the pile of cork pieces stacked chest high, was staring with his strong dark eyes off into the distance and Gan looked that way as well. There his sister who he'd forgotten to look for when he returned was gathering flowers from the tall grass in front of a ruined house, the blonde toddler who seemed strong for her age was dancing as she stumbled from one bright-colored daisy to another. It could have been a trick of the eye, but the small breeze which was blowing through the grass seemed to be changing directions with her, as though it too was dancing. And the flowers... they seemed to almost reach out to her as if asking to be picked into her hands. Though Gan thought it was just his imagination. "There goes another one." Gan's father said in a small voice, not turning his head in the slightest. "Another what?" Gan asked. His father tilted his head to the side slightly, and Gan couldn't see his face but knew it had taken on a loving and kind expression, the type he only got when watching his daughter play. "Another one of your mother." He replied. Gan didn't under, but his father seemed to sense that and quickly explained, again without ever looking away from the dancing 3-year-old. "You might think it normal because you grew up with her Gan, but the way your mother knows things, the way she seems to find the best trails or the hidden places in the wild, and the way she can sense the coming weather... she's a blessed woman. Your grandfather used to say she was favored by the fairies. It might be difficult for you to see but your sister has it too. The way she moves with nature, the way her eyes light up when she sees the sky. Even the way the sun glimmers off her hair as though it's in some way happy to have even touched her. You can be certain she is just like her mom."

Gan grinned, "Are you certain you're not just a doting father? I'll give in that Mother is definitely not normal, But Roana is hardly anything more than a slobbering pet. Yesterday she tried to eat my left boot. It's hard to believe she's Favored by the fairies." Finally, Gan's father turned back to him and a smirk was clear on his face. "A doting father I may be, but I think it's you who is a slobbering pet. Every time I see you sleeping your mouth is catching flys and your face is in a puddle 2 leagues deep." Gan gafawld, "If I'm just a pet how come I bring back useful things like rope and honey?" His father's smirk only grew. "Like any pet of mine, Your well trained." At that, he poked Gan in the chest and began a wrestling match to try and rub his head bare with his knuckles.

This memory of a lost family shone like the golden reflection of the sun off of still waters in Gan's mind as he now walked alone through the wild forest. So many things had gone wrong since those days. So many unpredictable things. The crunching of the twigs and forest floor under his feet reminded him of the crushing of his father's bones, the wind now blowing above the trees with a rasp, reminded him of his mother's last raspy breath, and every shadow he passed every dark place behind a tree spoke to him of the very last night, the one only hours ago in which he'd seen his sister be taken. Gan marched onward, through the day into twilight towards the tower. Until the itchy call of something unnatural and high-pitched reached his ears.