Abby made her way through the buildings rising from the dusty outskirts of Fort Anjelica, most of which were still in various states of construction. She began her inspection at the outer edge of the burgeoning town, where fresh timber framed new homes and the sound of hammers echoed in the morning air. With her walked Tina, an Inscriber-class newcomer whose talent for record-keeping was matched only by her obsession with the quality of ink. As Abby surveyed progress, Tina noted every detail with the precision of a scribe chronicling history.

  "Mark those three as sixty-percent complete," Abby said, gesturing toward a trio of identical houses. "They’ll need windows and full roofing by next week."

  Tina jotted the notes quickly. "Do you want me to flag them for priority framing materials? We’re low on oak again."

  "Yes. And check with the gatherers, if they can’t source more by Friday, we’ll have to sub with fir. Not ideal, but better than nothing."

  This district was being built for small group housing. Most newcomers were sorted into parties of five for training and survival: healer, tank, and three damage dealers, per old dungeon-crawler logic. Abby and Asil had implemented that standard early on, ensuring no one ventured beyond town borders solo. The teams that succeeded together also lived together, in small single-family dwellings like these.

  Few had found family after the transition to Aerothane; it was rare to land near someone you knew. But these groups, forged in battle and camaraderie, became a new kind of kinship.

  Abby took note of which sites were short on supplies, and then had Tina build a shopping list that would be passed to the gatherers. They’d head out in teams, collecting lumber, stone, metals, and whatever else the builders needed.

  As they wound deeper into the heart of the town, the construction changed. Mess halls and bunkhouses came into view, temporary homes for newer outworlders. Further in, around the main avenue leading toward the fort’s gates, more permanent shops had started to appear. A blacksmith's forge hissed steam, a tailor's banner flapped in the breeze, and a humble tavern with an engraved sign, The Sleeping Pixie, welcomed its first patrons.

  "Pendle craftspeople set most of these up," Abby said, waving at the tailor, who nodded in return. "We needed native artisans to help get the place going. Asil and I are still debating a name for the town."

  "Why not just call it Anjelica?" Tina asked, eyes scanning her notes.

  "Simple, maybe too simple," Abby replied. "Asil wants Jack to weigh in when he gets back. He’ll probably just say, ‘Whatever you think, love,’ and hand it off."

  They shared a small laugh and made their way past the last row of buildings to a squat, rune-etched structure half-buried in earth and moss.

  "Water reclamation station," Abby said. "Let’s do a quick walk-through."

  Inside, glowing runes hummed quietly, powering pumps and magical circuits. Pipes snaked from the floor into the walls, drawing water from a deep aquifer. A mana battery embedded in the ceiling hummed as it siphoned energy from the local ley lines, powering the system.

  "Mana efficiency is at ninety-four percent," said an operator inside, wiping his hands on a cloth. "But the Blurp’s been overfeeding again."

  Abby winced. "We’ll tweak its intake. Last thing we need is another manure explosion."

  The sewage hut was next, less glamorous, but vital. Inside, the Blurp, a squat, gelatinous creature with shimmering skin, wobbled cheerfully in its containment pool. As it consumed waste, runes glowed under the surface, filtering toxins and converting the refuse into clean drinking water and rich, enchanted fertilizer.

  "Still can’t believe that thing produces better compost than half our alchemists," Tina muttered.

  "Just don’t pet it," Abby replied.

  Leaving the utility sector, they turned down the path toward the farmlands. Rows of crops shimmered under warded protection fields, some glowing faintly with enchantments. Here, newcomers with agricultural backgrounds, both mundane and magical, tended to plants that could survive extreme climates.

  Abby greeted several farmers, shaking hands and exchanging quick pleasantries. They stopped what they were doing immediately to speak with her, grateful for any attention from leadership.

  "Keep Tina updated with anything you need," she told them. "We’ll prioritize any requests we can fulfill this week."

  "We could use more enchanted hoe heads," one of them said. "The wards fry regular iron within days."

  "Noted," Tina replied, scribbling it down.

  With the conversations concluded, Abby spotted Petros further down the lane, near a shimmering barrier stone marking one of the newest ward fields.

  "I’ll meet up with you soon," she told Tina, already striding toward her brother.

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  Tina gave a nod and turned back to the cluster of farmers, ready to record whatever else they had to say.

  Abby approached Petros, who was deep in conversation with his new "nerd friend," as Abby affectionately dubbed him. The two were huddled over a notebook, arguing animatedly about animated scarecrows and actual golems, which were enchanted to guard the crops from pests like birds and locusts.

  “I'm telling you,” Petros was saying, “if we reduce the perimeter aggression protocol and reinforce the recognition glyphs, ”

  “They’ll stop chasing the harvesters like it’s a game of tag,” Eamon finished with a smirk.

  The problem was becoming increasingly common. While the scarecrow golems were incredibly effective at deterring pests, a few had developed overzealous routines, interrupting the farmers mid-harvest. The enchanted constructs weren’t dangerous, just persistent. But their interference slowed production, and more than one outworlder had reported being dive-bombed by a straw-fisted defender.

  Abby cleared her throat.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  Petros finally looked up, blinking like he was emerging from a fog. When he saw her, his eyes lit up, and he broke into a grin, sprinting toward her and wrapping her in a hug.

  “You act like we haven’t seen each other in weeks,” Abby teased, returning the embrace.

  “Well, it's been at least three days, which is a lifetime in this place.”

  She smiled but held him a second longer. Petros was her only blood relative in Aerothane. Their parents were still presumed to be on Earth. Their older brother, Mike, and her best friend, Veronica, were trapped in the Shadow Realm, thrown two hundred years into the past when they crossed over. And Aunt Fiona? Still missing.

  Petros pulled back and gave her a bright look. “So, what brings you to the farm?”

  “Weekly inspection rounds,” she replied, eyeing the fields behind him. “We’re tracking town progress.”

  “Perfect timing!” Petros turned and gestured wildly toward Eamon, who now stood with a clipboard. “We need escobar mud, arcane-treated straw, purified water…”

  “Whoa, slow down, little brother,” Abby interrupted with a laugh. “Give your shopping list to Tina. She’s built for this.”

  Tina, never far behind, gave a nod and peeled off toward Eamon, quill already poised.

  With the official business handed off, Abby and Petros fell into step together, strolling through rows of magical corn that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

  “So how’s your arcane academic empire coming along?” Abby asked.

  Petros beamed. “Unbelievable. Eamon and I are basically the pioneers of Myriad Theory.”

  “Myriad?” Abby raised an eyebrow.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “The new magic system. Since the old magic was called 'The Source,' we decided this one needed its own name. 'Myriad' fits; it’s made up of thousands of strands. Fire, ice, arcane, necrotic, kinetic... each with its own sub-strands. It’s not like the old way, where you channeled general magic into a type. Here, you manipulate the strand directly.”

  Abby whistled low. “So, specialists and generalists?”

  “Exactly. Some are focusing on mastering a single strand. Others, like Jack, are spreading out. He’s got lightning, fire, and even some earth and ice strands.”

  “He always was a show-off,” Abby said fondly.

  They walked in silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s company amid the golden stalks.

  A group of six adventurers came into view, returning from what looked like a leveling run. Abby’s smile faded.

  Petros noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed, glancing down. “Another group decided they didn’t need training. Hardcore gamers back on Earth, so obviously they know everything now.”

  He grimaced. “They left?”

  “They went into the Dark Woods.”

  His head snapped around. “Seriously?”

  “They skipped orientation,” Abby confirmed. “By the time Asil and I found out, they were already too deep to track.”

  Petros was silent. The Dark Woods were no longer under the shadow of the Demon God, but they were still dangerous. The deeper one went, the more the forest shifted, twisting paths, multiplying illusions, and stronger mobs.

  “And if they go far enough east…” Petros began.

  “They’ll hit C-Tier territory,” Abby finished. “They left before we could have warned them. We offer solo adventurers supplies, training, and maps for a reason. Most take the help. Some don’t.”

  Petros nodded solemnly, his eyes scanning the horizon as if hoping to spot them through sheer will.

  “I just hope,” Abby said softly, “they live long enough to realize how much they still don’t know.”

  Petros sighed, dragging a hand through his curls. “This is exactly why we built the orientation program in the first place. No one’s forced to stay,” he muttered, “but the least they could do is accept some gear and a map before marching into danger.”

  Abby offered a silent nod, her jaw tight. She hated this part, the waiting, the not knowing. If she let herself spiral into what-ifs, she’d never crawl back out.

  Sensing her shift in mood, Petros wisely changed the subject.

  “Speaking of the region east of the Dark Woods…” he said, a bit too casually. “Jack’s tackling a tower-capture dungeon out in C-Tier territory.”

  Abby perked up slightly. “Already?”

  “Yep. A full four-tower dungeon. Word is, capturing all four unlocks some kind of legacy loot. Eamon and I believe that the dungeon contains the last of the materials we need to complete the forging of the next portal crystals. If Jack succeeds, we’ll have enough for two new sets, and maybe a few spares.”

  “That’s huge,” Abby said, her voice warming with hope. “Asil was just chewing him out about not carrying the next portal key himself. She wants him to drop the anchor in whatever location he finds safest while he’s out there.”

  Petros chuckled. “Jack doesn’t want priority. Said Hajill, and Warren should come first. They compromised; the third set will be his.”

  Abby nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing. “That sounds like Jack.”

  Petros smiled faintly. “I miss that stubborn bastard.”

  “Me too.”

  For a moment, they stood side by side, surrounded by enchanted crops and the distant sound of hammering from the town behind them, two siblings bound by blood, memory, and the stubborn hope that they could build something better than the world they had left behind.