Chapter 55 – The Quiet That Follows

The journey back was quiet. The shortcut tunnel spared them the worst of the road, and Doro carried them steady across the dusty stretch beyond.

The Wasteland's wide emptiness spread before them. Pale soil, scattered rock, scrub grass clinging where it could.

The wind rolled low across the ground, picking up the dust in thin, tired ribbons.

Dugan rode in silence most of the way. His sharp eyes missed nothing, not the cracks in the earth, not the old fence posts long since half-buried in sand, not the faint glint of sun on the pipes that ran toward the village.

When the village finally came into view. The tower, the scattered homes, the faint lines of new irrigation ditches.

Dugan let out a breath that sounded almost like a sigh.

"So that's it," he said. "The edge of the world."

Ren glanced at him. "Disappointed?"

"No," Dugan said. "I've seen richer towns. Cleaner ones. But this… this looks like a place that fights to stay standing. That's worth more."

They rode on in easy silence. After a while, Ren asked, "How old are you, anyway?"

Dugan chuckled. "You're asking now?"

"Well, after you said your family lived to two hundred… I'm curious."

"Ninety," Dugan said. "Still young for a dwarf. Got a few centuries left, if I'm lucky."

Ren blinked. "Ninety?"

Tobren grinned. "That's older than everyone here combined."

Dugan smirked. "For a dwarf, ninety is barely grown. We don't rush things. That's why our work lasts."

Ren shook his head, half smiling. "And I thought I'd seen a lot already."

"You have," Dugan said. "Give it another hundred years. Then you'll really have stories."

They passed the outer fields, the fences, the quiet rise of the tower.

The village drew closer, step by step.

***

Morning came clear and dry. The smell of porridge and flatbread filled the air as the villagers gathered at the tent for food.

Ren sat quiet, watching as the camp settled into its rhythm. The scrape of bowls, the low murmur of voices, the clatter of tools as work began again.

When most had eaten, he called over Elias, Tarn, Mikkel, Tobren and Dugan.

The mechanics approached, wiping their hands clean, curiosity plain on their faces at the sight of the new smith.

"I want you to meet Dugan Stonebrew," Ren said. "From now on, he'll work with us. Smithing, fittings, anything we need that's not a weapon."

Dugan nodded, arms crossed. "You're the ones trying to build a pump that works without a crank?"

Elias hesitated, glancing at Ren, then nodded. "Yes. I've been working on a small motor design. Learned it from a blueprint Master Thomas let me copy in Ironpeak."

Dugan frowned, fingers brushing his beard. "A motor, huh. Small, self-turning. I've heard the stories."

"Stories?" Mikkel asked.

"Old ones," Dugan said. "When I was a lad, the elders. The ones born near here before they moved south. They spoke of craftsmen who built motors. Gear hearts, they called them. Used 'em to move water, turn mills, light the old watchposts. Said the secrets were lost."

Elias leaned in. "So, it's not new?"

"New to us. But not new to this land." Dugan's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "Maybe the secrets weren't lost. Maybe they were just buried. Like everything else out here."

Ren smiled faintly. "Then it's our job to dig them up again."

Dugan grinned back. "And build better than before."

Ren gestured to Elias. "Show him what you have. Work as one team. We don't have time to waste."

Elias unrolled a worn scrap of parchment, the sketch of the small motor spread out. Coils, magnets, tiny gear teeth drawn in fine, careful lines.

Dugan leaned over it, eyes sharp, already working through the design in his mind.

"This," he said, tapping the page. "This I can help make real."

The morning sun caught the edge of the blueprint, the first glint of something new beginning to take shape.

***

Night came quiet, creeping in slow as the last light bled out of the sky.

The day had slipped by unnoticed, leaving only the weight of tired limbs and aching backs after cutting trees, peeling bark, sawing, hammering, nailing.

The fields held steady.

The watering rota kept the ground from drying out.

The fences stood where they should. The water ran clear.

The farm was in good shape.

The animals were fed, their pens secure.

What was left now was the houses. That was the only work they could push forward at this stage.

Even that showed its cracks. Too many hands focused on one place, too little balance. The rhythm they'd built was off, and Ren felt it in his bones.

From the top of the tower, Ren watched in silence, arms resting on cold stone, eyes sweeping over the quiet shapes below.

Everything that could be sped up had been done. The Greenwake seed was sown and watered.

The animals would fatten in their own time.

The pump would take what it took. Trials, errors, slow adjustments.

The houses? No magic could raise them faster.

Just hands. Board by board.

The night air bit at him, sharp and clean. His gaze turned distant, the village lights soft and scattered below.

Evelyn.

Ren missed her.

The way she'd listen. The way her presence filled the empty space beside him.

The small looks, the small words, that made even nights like this easier to bear.

Sera, Becca, Fera.

He knows how strong Sera is, but he still worried about them.

Sera, the steady partner who shared every weight, who understood without being told, who knows some secrets that no one else knows.

Who would have stood with him at the rail now, looking out at the village, seeing what still needed doing.

His fingers drummed on the stone.

He could call Tobren… he would listen. But Tobren carried enough already.

Ren drew a long breath, filling his lungs with the cold.

Above him, the stars were scattered bright across the dark, clear as hammered silver.

He stood a long time, letting the quiet fill him.

The village below lay still. The peace that only comes after a day of hard work, and the promise of more waiting tomorrow.

And still, he felt alone.

The wind picked up, rustling the trees at the edge of the fields.

Somewhere in the dark, a nightbird called.

Ren stayed at the rail, watching until his eyes grew heavy.

Then, without a word, he turned and made his way down, the tower stairs echoing beneath his feet.