The scientific expedition left the next day, exactly as planned. They moved out as a massive convoy—dozens of Academy scientists and students, and just as many guards. At dawn, the procession vanished around the bend of the northern trail, leaving only swirling snow dust behind. The hired guns disappeared from the streets, and the settlement slipped back into its usual quiet.

  Garret meant to leave that same morning.

  Plans fell apart—Kel still hadn’t recovered. The wound looked minor, but it hurt him to walk.

  “Go see Kel. Take him this ointment,” Garret asked Harlan.

  “Why don’t you go?” Harlan blinked.

  “I told you. Me and his wife—we’re at each other’s throats. She thinks I’m the one talking Kel into staying in the Wildlands. She’s wanted to leave for a long time.”

  “Are you talking him into it?”

  “Hell no. I'm stuck here, sure, but keeping others here…? I'm not that cruel. This place isn't for everyone.”

  “Alright. Tell me where.”

  Garret explained how to find Kel’s house and handed him the wrapped jar.

  Harlan got it done quickly. Kel’s wife—the one Garret made sound like a loaded rifle—turned out polite and pleasant. She took the bundle and thanked him.

  But once the door shut, Harlan still caught the conversation through the wood.

  “Here. Rub it in. One of Garret’s idiots brought it.”

  “Harlan?” Kel asked quietly.

  “Hell if I know. I don’t remember new ones anymore. You all drop like flies. We buried three just yesterday. Kel, you hearing me? You’ll die, and I’ll still go home—just as a widow,” she wailed.

  “Katya, don’t start…”

  Their voices dulled. And it wasn’t like Harlan wanted to listen.

  On the way back, he passed the tavern. A few gawkers stood outside in the cold, arguing with lively hand gestures. He had time, so he wandered over to see what it was about.

  “…I’m telling you, either some rich bastard’s coming through, or they’re sticking their noses into something serious. I’ve never seen city folk bring this many mercs, not until the last couple years,” said a prospector with a mustache and a fur hat.

  “Oh, you know everything. I think they always travel like that. Don’t know how they ‘catch animals’—you can hear a crowd like that for kilometers,” the second prospector scoffed.

  “Say what you want. There’s more mercs now.”

  Harlan didn’t bother listening. Nothing new. He walked a little farther, then stopped and looked at the gate Elis had left through, and silently wished her luck.

  A couple minutes later he was back at Garret’s place. If you wanted, you could cross the whole settlement in five minutes—edge to edge.

  Garret wasn’t home. Harlan searched for food and found only a chunk of raw meat in the crystal fridge, a few potatoes, an onion, and a jar of dried bobel. He shrugged and started a soup.

  Soon the hut filled with the smell of boiled vegetables and meat.

  “What’re you up to now?” Garret grumbled, coming in.

  “We’ve gotta eat, don’t we? I figured I’d make soup,” Harlan said, not looking up as he stirred the pot.

  “You can cook?” Garret sounded surprised.

  “A little. After my parents died, I had to learn.”

  “Is that so?” Garret studied him. “Guess I’ll make you camp cook. First I need to see if it’s edible.”

  “Give it a minute.”

  Garret had brought supplies—everything from spare rope to ammunition. While he put it away, Harlan finished the soup.

  “Alright. Let’s try it.” Harlan set down two bowls.

  The table was so small they barely fit across from each other. Most rental huts were built for one person.

  Garret took a spoonful and raised his eyebrows.

  “Not bad. Tastes good. You’re camp cook now.”

  “No problem. I want to be useful,” Harlan said, perfectly calm.

  Garret watched him. He took another spoonful anyway, then asked:

  “How long ago—your parents?”

  “Eleven years this spring. Almost at the same time. Miner’s sickness.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

  They ate in silence for a while. Only spoons tapping tin bowls.

  “Hard to believe, but it’s been a long time since there was real food in this house. Smells…almost cozy,” Garret said, finishing his last spoonful. “Good cooking. Thanks. I’ll wash the dishes.”

  “Thanks,” Harlan said.

  ?

  The next morning, Thorren stopped by for coffee. He hurried to sit so he wouldn’t crack his head on the ceiling.

  Once he had his mug, he drank nearly half in one gulp, even though the coffee was still hot.

  “Now that’s good,” he boomed. “Garret, where do you get it?”

  “Where do you buy food?” Garret shot back.

  “From the trade caravans. Where else?”

  “So what’s the question?” Garret cut him down without malice.

  “Fair point,” Thorren laughed.

  He took another loud swallow.

  “Listen, Garret. I just came from Kel’s. He doesn’t look great. Leg’s getting a bit infected. He won’t be back on his feet for another week or two. We waiting?”

  Garret stopped smiling. His fingers began a nervous drum on the table.

  “No. The license is running out—I’ve told you that. If we don’t find a decent deposit this run, we won’t have many tries left. We go anyway.”

  “With the kid,” Thorren nodded at Harlan, who was working on the knots Garret had shown him the day before, “we’re four. We’ll need one or two more.”

  “I know,” Garret snorted. “You and me—we go ask around. Four isn’t smart.”

  Harlan stayed quiet in the corner and didn’t interfere. But as Garret and Thorren got up and were nearly out the door, he remembered something.

  “Thorren. Hold up.”

  “Huh? What?” Thorren turned.

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  “I talked to an Academy student. One thing led to another…”

  “Don’t ask me to be the godfather. We don’t know each other that well,” Thorren roared with laughter. “But good for you, kid. Five minutes in the settlement and you’re already chasing skirts. One girl for twenty men out here, by the way. Some might kill you for it…”

  “Is that the student you were hitting on in the tavern?” Garret cut in.

  “That’s her… And I wasn’t hitting on her, and that’s not the point. Listen,” Harlan said, cutting them off. “We talked, and I mentioned we’ve got a mage in the crew. Turns out she’s a mage too, and she knows a lot. You ever hear of Mountain Vine Root?”

  “Now that rings a bell,” Thorren said, interested.

  “She said it’s a rare Wildlands plant, but students carry it on expeditions. The Academy studied it: if you eat it, your concentration for connecting to the Field gets stronger. Not for long, but noticeably.” Harlan repeated Elis almost word for word.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard something like that. So what? Where am I supposed to get one?”

  “You can’t stand to wait for anything.” Harlan sighed. “I practically begged, but I got one for you. Want it?”

  He dug into his bag and pulled out a long root, curled into a ring.

  “Gimme. Let’s see.”

  “Hold on,” Harlan said quickly. “She said you eat it on an empty stomach, and you’re supposed to soak it in hot water first. You’ve already eaten, and you’ve had coffee. Try it tomorrow morning.” He held it out. “Here. Take it.”

  Thorren took the root, turned it over, even sniffed it, then stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Well damn, kid. You know how to surprise people,” he said, and clapped Harlan on the shoulder—friendly, but heavy enough to nearly fold him in half. “I’ll have to dig up some kind of treat for you someday.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re a team.”

  “Now that’s spirit.” Thorren grinned. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  That last line was for Garret, who watched Harlan with clear interest.

  “Let’s go,” Garret said, and they both stepped outside.

  Harlan counted to twenty. Then he covered his mouth, but his shoulders still shook with silent laughter.

  Now all that was left was to wait for the results.

  ?

  Garret didn’t get back until evening.

  “So? Find anyone?” Harlan asked.

  “Not yet,” Garret said darkly. Then he added, “Tomorrow I’m meeting a couple guys. Half their crew got wiped out. Might join a temporary group.”

  “Even I heard about that. Kel’s wife said three died. That their crew?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Got it. Does that happen a lot?”

  “Every couple weeks someone dies. You’ve felt it yourself—the Wildlands are full of ways to get killed.”

  Harlan pulled the soup out and set it on the crystal stove to reheat. They weren’t going to the tavern to eat or drink anymore—money was tight.

  “Where’s Mark been, anyway?” Harlan asked.

  “Hell if I know. Maybe reading books. Maybe prowling around other men’s wives. He’s the quietest of us. Sometimes you can’t tell what’s in his head.”

  “I noticed. Getting a word out of him can be work.”

  “He’s reliable. That’s what matters,” Garret said, and left it there.

  He stood, opened the cabinet, and started digging under clothes on hangers. Something clinked deep inside.

  “Here,” Garret said, setting a bottle on the table. “I keep this for special occasions. But sometimes you don’t need a reason.”

  Wine. A rarity this far north.

  Harlan whistled softly.

  “You sure you want to uncork that? That stuff’s expensive.”

  “If you wait too long, you either die first, or the wine turns to vinegar. Find something to pour it into.” Garret pointed at a kitchen drawer.

  They poured the wine into glasses, clinked them quietly, and took a sip.

  “Hits the chest,” Harlan noted.

  “Tastes rough, but you won’t find better here.”

  The wine was sour, strong, and left his tongue dry. But on this night, in this hut, it went down easy.

  For a moment, Harlan felt like he’d lived in this cabin his whole life. The city, the mine, his parents, everyone he used to know—all of it faded. The world narrowed to a glass of wine, a cramped room, and a lonely old man beside him who was still stubbornly proud.

  *It’s like nothing else ever existed.*

  “Garret,” Harlan asked, “why are you so sure there’s something on your claim? Maybe it’s just rock.”

  “The north’s full of crystals,” Garret said. “Even the academics explained it. Ancient seismic processes pushed crystals closer to the surface up here. Problem is, most of it’s in the mountains. Hard to reach. Dangerous. That’s why we do expeditions.”

  He took another sip.

  “There’s a good deposit on my claim. I feel it in my gut. That feeling hasn’t let go for two years—like we’re close. Like you swing a pick and a crystal the size of your fist drops out. We’ve had plenty of bad runs, but that anticipation stays with me.”

  “And if you took another claim?”

  "What for? Same shit, different day. Here I at least know the ground—where to set camp safe, what lives nearby. On a new claim you start from zero, and it's not like it's guaranteed better. And I don't have the talers to lease one anymore." Garret paused. "Besides…last time I had this feeling in my gut was not long before I met my late wife. I trust my instincts."

  Garret fell silent, lost in the memory.

  “Hope you’re right,” Harlan said.

  “I am,” Garret answered, firm.

  They clinked again. Then they sat a while longer, talking quietly about the next run, and went to sleep. By morning, they needed to settle the crew question.

  Instead, the morning started with a terrible scream.