The gate opened with the slow grind of pulleys and chain, a panel set within the larger timber frame sliding aside just far enough to admit a man at a time. The only sound was the mechanical rasp of a settlement that had prepared for the worst and now treated all unknowns as potential threats.

  Beyond the narrow breach stood a handful of guards wrapped in heavy coats and wool scarves, their weapons not drawn but ready, posture careful rather than confrontational. Behind them waited a taller figure. He was older, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark coat fastened high at the collar with a modest pin shaped like a key over an open book.

  As the group approached, Ephraim stepped forward. The way he held himself was that of someone who had known this place long enough to pay respects to elders. Caleb followed a half-step behind, his hands twitching near his belt but never reaching for anything.

  Before anyone could say anything, Ephraim blurted out.

  "Deacon, they didn’t make it," Ephraim said, his voice soft but cracking. "Micah… the others… they’re gone. We buried them."

  The Deacon didn’t respond immediately. He simply let the words settle, gaze flicking briefly to Caleb, then to the worn lines of Ephraim’s face, before finally lifting toward the strangers who had followed them through fire and ash to stand now at the threshold of a place not meant for outsiders.

  "You brought them back," the Deacon said at last, voice even but low, like someone not used to speaking grief aloud.

  Ephraim nodded once. "We needed help to get back, and help was offered."

  The Deacon let out something that wasn’t quite a sigh, then fixed his gaze on the faceplate of Xander’s helm. Xander could feel the man's quiet judgement while the gears worked in his head. It was a man trying to read the eyes he couldn’t see and decide whether to open the door wider or shut it for good.

  Xander gave him a slight incline of the head. "Xander Kell. We found your people in dire straits while tracking a hostile. Pulled them out of the dungeon, brought them home on foot. I apologize we couldn't save more of them."

  That got a flicker of reaction from one guard. The Deacon didn’t so much as blink.

  "You’ve come a long way, then."

  Xander didn’t come to deliver ultimatums, and Prairiehold wasn’t his to fix. Yet, the majority of the world's population had disappeared, and he was certain that they could only move forward by working together. Isolated safe zones would eventually fade because no one knew they were still alive.

  "I’m with a group trying to bring some kind of stability back to this region…"

  "We decide our pace," the Deacon said, the response sharp. "Not outsiders."

  Xander said nothing for a moment, just let the wind fill the silence between them.The overcast sky above broke only in brief flashes of light behind slow-moving clouds, and the wind carried a bite that spoke of snow not far off. He’d fought worse arguments than this, but this wasn’t the fight he’d come for. His real purpose here was to find Victor and end him.

  "We’re not here to force a hand," he said finally. "But I do believe that while everyone tries to figure out the new world, we're going to be best off trying to do that together."

  The Deacon’s eyes narrowed slightly, measuring that statement, then flicked to the guards at his side. A slight gesture released a fraction of the tension in their postures. Tension was still high, but not on the cusp of violence.

  "You’re not permitted into the settlement proper," he said. "But we have space outside the inner palisade. We built a structure as a welcome center… in case the day came. Seems it has."

  He turned before Xander could reply, walking without ceremony along a gravel path that split the outer compound. The guards fell in behind him, and the rest of the group followed at Xander’s nod, boots crunching lightly on the stone path as they moved past low sheds, storage bins, and weathered fencing. Beyond the path, Prairiehold unfolded in quiet layers. A cluster of fortified farmhouses and barns hemmed in by a ring of palisade walls.

  There were no children playing outside the walls. No workers in the fields. Over the wall, the sounds that would normally be heard in a village were missing as well. The only sounds were the creaking of trees in the wind. Something was off about this place, Xander thought. It didn't feel like anything nefarious, but something wasn't right.

  The barn itself stood apart, close to the perimeter. Broad-shouldered with reinforced doors, it had the air of a place half-inhabited. Something useful but not yet used. One door stood ajar, the interior dim but warmer than the wind outside.

  "This is yours for the night," the Deacon said. "Set your camp just outside. If you’re willing, I’d speak with you privately inside."

  Jo didn’t need to say anything. She met Xander’s eye and gave the smallest tilt of her head. An unspoken signal they’d established long ago that simply meant 'You good?'

  He nodded once, then stepped through the doorway into the welcome center.

  The barn’s interior was simple but functional. A long worktable down the center, benches flanking either side, with mismatched chairs dragged into position where needed. A squat iron stove in one corner radiated steady warmth, fed by a slow-burning log that snapped now and then in the quiet. The air still carried traces of hay and machine oil, faint markers of its prior purpose, but someone had taken care to sweep the floor and hang canvas partitions near the back where crates and tools were stacked.

  The guard took up position near the door without being asked.

  The Deacon sat across from Xander at the long table, fingers laced together atop the worn grain of the wood. The posture of a man who had learned that leadership often meant keeping his own doubts buried beneath the surface long enough to give someone else the space to speak first.

  "I shouldn’t be telling you any of this," he said eventually. "But there’s not much sense in hiding the cracks when the roof’s already leaking."

  Xander said nothing, just let the man speak.

  "We’ve lost three storehouses of food in the past month to some kind of blight. The water tower collapsed two weeks back and took out the granary roof and killed two of our people. And two nights ago, a man was found dead in the mill."

  "How?"

  "Neck broken. No signs of struggle or defensive wounds."

  Xander leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "Your people think it’s supernatural?"

  "They don’t say that," the Deacon said, eyes unfocused. "But they think it. You can see it in how they look at the trees now. How they avoid the fields after dark."

  "And you?"

  "I think we built our foundation on ground we no longer understand. Prairiehold was made to survive without the world. But the world we knew doesn’t exist anymore. I can't help but think something is trying to drive us out of here. "

  Xander didn’t answer right away. He let the room settle, let the fire in the stove mark time as he studied the Deacon’s face.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "The person we're tracking may be in the area. If they are, then they're here for a reason, and that reason might be related to the issues you're facing."

  "You’re holding together a safe zone," he said. "But whatever buffer you had is gone. You’re already seeing the first waves hit. What comes next won’t be gentle."

  The Deacon’s expression didn’t change, but his hands curled tighter.

  "You think reaching out to Starlight would save us?"

  "Save you?" Xander said. "No, but it may buy you enough time to save yourselves."

  The Deacon’s eyes lifted. "You think they’d even accept a place like ours?"

  "I think they need you. You’re proof that resilience without dependence is possible, but it doesn’t scale. You're the linchpin that will show the other safe zones they can remain themselves but still have a mutual support network in place."

  For a long moment, the Deacon didn’t speak. Outside, the wind pressed against the walls in brief gusts that rattled the high slats. The scent of cold soil drifted in through the cracks in the barn doors.

  Then the older man drew a slow breath, steadying himself as if preparing to step across a threshold.

  "Unfortunately," he said. "You and I are of similar thinking, but the bishop who leads our community is on a different page."

  "I hate to be abrupt, but I need to speak with the village fathers." He stood and left the barn without looking back.

  Xander stood outside the barn, arms crossed loosely as he watched the guards resume their quiet patrol. The air had grown colder as the afternoon wore on, the wind dragging pockets of winter across the short grass and stirring brittle leaves into low eddies. The rest of the group had spread out around the structure, unpacking with the casual efficiency that came from too many nights spent making unfamiliar ground feel temporary-safe. Jo was inside checking the seams on the roof. Kane had already found a chunk of wood he seemed determined to split with his boot. Ford leaned against the barn wall, thumb tracing a silent prayer into the frost forming along his staff.

  The local guard who remained by the barn door hadn’t said a word since the Deacon left, but his gaze kept returning to Xander.

  Xander walked over.

  "Something on your mind?" he asked.

  The man hesitated, glancing toward the palisade before speaking. "The Deacon thought we should tell you the truth. So here it is. He wanted to ask for your help but the Bishop was against it.. He wanted to ask you to look into a salvage team that didn’t come back."

  "Missing?"

  "Three days," the guard said. "They were headed toward an old grain transfer site they thought would be good to scavage from. It's about half a day west. They check in regularly. Always have. But this time they're overdue."

  Xander frowned. "You think something hit them?"

  "I think, given the food situation, they would have reported back by now if they had found food or not."

  Xander’s mind cycled through the possibilities. Monsters were a safe bet. Bandits were a possibility, but since the undead event there weren't many people outside safe zones. Cult activity was the more likely culprit, especially since his crusader ability was pointing west as well. It didn't make sense though, why target a scavenging patrol? For the hundredth time, Xander thought that were was something going on inside the Prairiehold safe zone and they needed to find a way to get inside.

  "And the Deacon can’t act on it because the Bishop said no help from outsiders," Xander said, not asking.

  The guard’s expression stayed neutral, but his silence was enough of an answer.

  Xander shifted back toward the window, the fire behind him cracking low in the stove as Zoey’s boot heels clicked softly against the barn floor. Out past the fenceline, he watched the guards rotate at the main gate.

  "If we check it out," he said, keeping his voice even, "do you think that buys us a seat at the table?"

  The guard’s gaze flicked up, considering. "If you bring back answers, the bishop may agree to meet."

  Xander nodded once and turned away without another word.

  The barn had settled into a rhythm by the time Xander stepped back from the guard and window. Jo looked up from a loft beam where she’d been inspecting a split in the wood, one hand braced against the angled support like she was deciding whether it was worth climbing the rafter to reseal. Zoey was perched on the edge of a worktable, boots swinging with a casual energy that didn’t quite match her narrowed focus. Kane was still messing with the same piece of firewood he’d found earlier. Ford had moved to the stove and lowered his staff, resting it gently against the wall before dropping into one of the mismatched chairs.

  Zoey tilted her head as Xander approached and gave him a dry grin. "That face says we’ve got homework."

  "We do," Xander said. "Prairiehold’s missing a salvage team."

  That snapped everyone back into business mode. Jo climbed down, boots touching the ground without a sound. Ford straightened, already listening. Kane abandoned the firewood and turned, brows knitting. Zoey stopped swinging her legs.

  Xander kept it short. "They were headed to an old grain transfer site half a day west. Haven’t reported back in several days. The Deacon wanted to ask for help, but the Bishop blocked it."

  "Because the Bishop’s got their head buried somewhere dark," Zoey muttered. "It's Saint Joseph all over again."

  Xander glanced around at them. "There’s more going on here. Three storehouses lost to blight this month. Water tower collapsed, killing two. Someone turned up dead at the mill two nights ago."

  Jo’s eyes narrowed as she stepped into the circle of lamplight. "And Victor’s confirmed in the area, right?"

  "My Crusader ability says there is an objective to the west," Xander said. "If it's not Victor, it is connected to the cult."

  Jo nodded, thinking aloud now. "It fits the pattern. Destabilize a settlement. Fracture it from the inside. Break faith, then exploit the chaos."

  "Worked on St. Joseph," Jo added, crossing her arms. "Would’ve worked on Starlight if that train job had gone any worse."

  "Wait, let's backtrack a second," Kane said. "You said your Crusader ability says there is an objective nearby. Care to explain that one?"

  "Ok, I need to let you guys in on a bit of a secret," Xander said after an uncomfortable pause. "I've been given a class quest. Long story short, I'm supposed to wipe the cult off the map. The quest text implies discretion. That's why I haven't shared it with everyone yet."

  It was a bit of a white lie since Xander had shared the details of the quest with Jo and Zoey, but he wanted to avoid a deeper discussion with Kane and Ford at when there were guards somewhat close by. Plus, he didn't really put it past Prairiehold to spy on them while they were in the welcome center. Mei Cupla's could come later. Right now he needed to keep everyone focused on the important bits.

  Zoey tapped the table with two fingers. "Nobody loses three food stores in a month by accident. That’s not bad luck. That’s cursed, stupid, or sabotage." She paused, then looked toward the barn doors. "And nobody here looks stupid."

  The group went quiet.

  Xander stepped back into the center of the space, one hand resting lightly against the back of a chair. "Whether it’s natural, engineered, or tied to the cult, something is destabilizing Prairiehold. If it’s sabotage, the saboteur’s still active. If Victor’s involved, then this isn’t random. It’s targeted."

  "They won’t let us dig around unless we give them a reason to trust us," Jo said. "Which means…"

  "We find the salvage team," Xander finished.

  They all knew what was really on the line. Prairiehold may have been a hidden safe zone, but it was within striking distance of Starlight. If Victor had chosen it as his next pressure point, then stopping him meant understanding the issues he was exploiting.

  Kane broke the silence first. "I don’t love the idea of doing favors for people who won’t even let us through the gate."

  "And that," Jo said, without missing a beat, "is exactly why someone like Victor could destroy this place. No one to question the story."

  "If Prairiehold falls, the region fractures with it. It’s not just about them. It’s about what comes after." Ford said.

  Xander didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to the stove, then to the pack of shadows in the far corner of the barn, the spaces between things where silence gathered.

  "It’s not our job to fix this place," he said finally. "But it is our job to find Victor. And if these people are caught in the crossfire, we don’t walk away."

  That landed the way it needed to.

  No one pushed back.

  Jo gave a small nod. "Then we follow the route at first light."

  "Half-day west," Xander confirmed. "Grain transfer station. We bring back proof, bodies, intel., or whatever hopefully gets the Bishop to stop treating us like a threat."

  "And if it doesn’t?" Zoey asked.

  "Then we figure out what comes next."

  No one said it, but the final step sat unspoken between them.

  If Victor’s here, they would end it.

  The conversation tapered off not by decision, but by quiet consensus. Gear was checked a final time, bedrolls spread where the floor was driest. Kane wedged himself between two crates like he’d done it a hundred times. Zoey found a corner near the stove and dragged a broken ladder over to hang her armor. Ford returned to his staff and sat cross-legged in the warmth, his eyes closed in meditation. Jo leaned against a support beam and took first watch.

  Eventually, the barn dimmed to emberlight and breathing.

  Xander waited until the quiet was complete before stepping outside.

  The barn creaked behind him, frame settling against the cold. The wind had shifted, carrying the edge of something sharp and brittle across the plains. Guards rotated along the palisade, boots crunching over gravel, lanterns swinging slow arcs across frost-bitten ground. The walls of Prairiehold stood layered in shadow, the buildings beyond lit only by the faintest flicker of lamplight. It looked less like a sanctuary, more like a place waiting to break.

  Jo joined him without a sound. She leaned against the post beside him, eyes forward.

  "You think Victor’s here?" she asked.

  "If he isn’t, something just as bad is."

  The wind lifted for a breath, carrying a flicker of movement from the far edge of the fields. A shape at the treeline.

  Jo caught it too. "You see that?"

  "Yeah," Xander said. "Something is watching."

  Jo turned toward the door, already moving. "We need to be inside."

  Xander’s eyes stayed on the tree line a moment longer.

  "I think you're right," Xander replied.