Writing Book 2: Summer, Year 1

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 9​

I really wished that was how the day ended—

because when I went back to Town Square, I ran straight into Sebastian.

“I hope we’re not having mushroom casserole tonight…” he muttered.

Then our eyes met.

I instinctively turned to leave.

“Eric,” he said flatly. “We need to talk.”

My stomach dropped.

“H-hey—if this is about what happened with Penny, I swear I never meant—”

“Whatever,” he cut in. “I don’t care about that.”

I blinked. That… wasn’t what I expected.

His expression didn’t change.

“I want to talk about the Green Rain,” he said. “Where were you? I figured you’d be running around trying to fix everything.”

I looked away.

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “But I stopped at the Saloon. I was going to find the Wizard, but Emily wouldn’t let me leave. Penny, Harvey, Lewis—they all backed her up.”

I hesitated.

“I stayed. Slept there. With Emily.”

Sebastian froze.

“…You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

He stared at me like I’d broken some rule.

“So after the Penny thing,” he said slowly, “Emily just… forgave you?”

“I told her everything,” I said. “She knows Penny started it. She didn’t get angry—just worried. She thinks Penny’s struggling.”

Sebastian frowned, unsettled.

“What the hell,” he muttered. “That’s usually a giant red flag.”

Then he looked back at me—sharper now.

“Or maybe you just pick the ones who won’t push back.”

I stiffened.

“What?”

He shrugged lightly. “Think about it. Penny needs saving. Leah’s impossible to pin down. And Emily?”

A beat.

“She makes you feel like you’re already enough. No effort required.”

I opened my mouth—then stopped.

“That’s not—”

“Convenient,” he finished.

Silence.

I forced myself to respond. “She trusts me. That’s not a flaw.”

He snorted. “Sure. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The tension hung for a second—then he shifted.

“I figured you’d come by the house,” he said. “But you didn’t. Leah did.”

I stiffened. “…Leah? Why?”

“No idea,” he said. “Bad timing, though. Mom was furious. Almost went after her. Maru and I had to step in.”

His jaw tightened.

“All because Dad decided collecting samples mattered more than his family.”

I exhaled. “Sounds like Demetrius.”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

“Yeah. Speaking of him—I’ve seen him around the Community Center more. And he keeps bringing you up when he argues with Mom.”

He looked straight at me.

“What’s going on there?”

My pulse jumped.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “He knows about the Center. The Museum. Gunther freaking out. In Spring he was just… odd. Now it’s like he suddenly cares.”

Sebastian didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something’s off. He’s hiding something.”

He paused.

“One more thing. Did you actually talk to the Wizard?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Sebastian scoffed.

“Huh. I figured he’d at least be watching something like this.”

He frowned slightly. “Maybe Leah talked to him. I could ask.”

I blinked. “Why would Leah talk to the Wizard?”

Sebastian gave me a sideways look.

“You’re not the only one wandering around,” he said. “You’re everywhere—mountains, forest, beach. No pattern.”

A faint smirk.

“Except the Saloon. You’re always there. Guessing that’s Emily.”

He straightened.

“Anyway. I’m heading to the beach for a smoke. Later, Eric.”

I watched him leave.

…He makes it sound simple.

Like I’m easy to figure out.

I don’t know if that’s true—

or if he just sees something I don’t.

​

I stopped by the Community Center first.

Demetrius wasn’t there.

At least… not where I could see him.

I lingered for a moment longer than I needed to, scanning the room, half-expecting him to step out from somewhere.

Nothing.

I exhaled and moved on.

I dropped off a pepper—just a regular one—and a sweet pea. The bundle was nearly complete now. One more step forward.

Still, the urge to stay and look around didn’t go away.

It felt like I was missing something.

I forced myself to leave.

Up near the mines, I found Linus.

Completely unaffected by everything.

Like the Green Rain had just… passed him by.

“How did the moss harvest go?” he asked with a soft laugh. “My bed is much softer now.”

I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He just smiled.

“I heard Leah came by,” I said. “Did she say anything?”

Linus tilted his head slightly. “She doesn’t usually come here.”

That alone made me pause.

“She asked where you were,” he added.

I blinked. “Really?”

Her voice echoed in my head.

…I wouldn’t have minded if you came over.

I looked away.

“Did she say anything else?”

Linus shook his head. “No. She left quickly.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“I don’t.”

Of course.

I hesitated, then shifted.

“Did you see Demetrius around?”

Linus went quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Yes,” he said finally. “He passed through earlier.”

My attention snapped back.

“He was wearing a yellow suit.”

A cold feeling settled in my chest.

“Did he have a mask?” I asked.

Linus nodded.

Same gear.

Same as mine.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

I stared at the ground for a second, thoughts racing.

Joja.

Demetrius.

The rain.

Something wasn’t lining up.

I forced myself to look back up.

“Thanks, Linus. That helps.”

He gave a small nod, watching me more closely than usual.

Not suspicious.

Just… aware.

I turned toward the mines—

but the feeling lingered.

Like I had just confirmed something I wasn’t ready to understand yet.

​

The mines felt… easy.

Too easy.

Not safe—but familiar. Like I had already learned everything they could throw at me.

The frozen levels stretched ahead, quiet and brittle. Enemies came and went—ghosts drifting too slowly, bats easy to track, dust sprites scattering before they could overwhelm me.

Even the new ones—skeletons—weren’t much better.

They looked threatening at first. Tall. Jagged. Bones clattering as they moved. But once they attacked, the pattern revealed itself. A throw. A pause. An opening.

Break the rhythm, and they fell apart.

Literally.

I moved deeper without thinking much about it. Ore, stones, the occasional gem—it all came naturally. An amethyst caught my eye at one point.

Emily would like that.

I pocketed it without slowing down.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I hadn’t checked the time in a while.

That should’ve bothered me.

It didn’t.

I leaned on my pickaxe for a moment, catching my breath.

…When did this stop feeling stressful?

Back at Joja, everything was pressure. Noise. Deadlines stacked on top of each other until you stopped thinking and just reacted.

Even with Nancy there, it never really went away.

Here—

I chose when to move.

When to stop.

When to push forward.

No one was watching. No one was waiting.

I wasn’t rushing.

I was thinking.

…Was that Emily?

I frowned slightly.

No. That didn’t make sense.

But something had shifted.

I felt… steadier.

Not fearless.

Just—

in control.

I shook my head and kept moving.

The deeper floors pushed back a little harder.

A group of skeletons caught me off guard—bones cutting through the air faster than I expected. One clipped my arm. Sharp, but shallow.

I stepped back, reset, and broke them down one by one.

Another swarm stirred nearby—bats this time, drawn by the noise.

Too many.

I didn’t force it.

I found the ladder and dropped before things got messy.

My pack was getting heavy.

Ore. Coal. Gems.

Useful—but limiting.

I’d need to upgrade soon.

Always something.

By the time I reached the next stretch, the air had changed.

Warmer.

I found the boots not long after—Firewalker.

I swapped them in immediately. The difference was subtle, but real. Like the mine itself had shifted slightly in response.

I glanced at the time.

Late.

Later than I thought.

I could keep going.

I didn’t.

The walk back felt… clear.

The Glowstone Ring lit the path ahead, steady and reliable. No stumbling. No hesitation.

Just direction.

​

Sebastian’s words lingered.

“Or maybe you just pick the ones who won’t push back.”

I exhaled slowly.

With Penny, everything felt like performance. Like I had to be exactly what she needed, all the time.

With Leah… it was the opposite.

She wanted something—but never stayed still long enough for me to understand what it was.

Maru felt distant. Structured. Like there were rules I didn’t know.

Demetrius…

I frowned.

Something about him wasn’t right.

Not enough to prove.

But enough to notice.

Abigail wanted out.

Haley didn’t see me.

Penny needed me.

Leah confused me.

Emily—

I stopped walking for a second.

Emily didn’t make me feel like I had to be anything.

She didn’t pull.

Didn’t push.

She just… stayed.

Steady. Predictable. Safe.

I started walking again.

The farm lights came into view in the distance.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it—bringing her there.

Letting her see it the way I did.

Not just the land.

But what it could become.

I shook the thought off.

Not yet.

But soon.

I’d be ready.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 9.5 – Shane​

I almost didn’t recognize the Mart.

Moss everywhere. Green smeared across the windows, crawling up the walls like it owned the place.

No weird trees though.
Which meant the building was still standing.
Which meant we’d eventually have to come back.

Great.

Sam, Claire, and Andy stood nearby, all of us looking just as exhausted as I felt. Morris, meanwhile, was having a full-blown meltdown.

“What the hell is this?!” he roared. “What happened to my store?!”

I shrugged.
“Beats me. Maybe Yoba finally got tired of Joja and let the Junimos take a leak in here.”

Sam snorted. Claire tried not to laugh.
Morris did not appreciate the humor.

“This isn’t funny!” he snarled. “I can’t operate like this! “Do you have any idea what this does to quarterly projections?! You—clean this up. Now!”

I didn’t even look back at the mess.

“Nope.”

Morris blinked.
“What?”

“We’re not cleaning anything,” I said flatly. “It’s against Joja policy. Environmental hazard. Cleanup division handles it. We get time off.”

His face went red.

“Gr—fine!” he barked. “Take your precious time off! I’ll call the Director myself. I won’t have customers complaining that my store smells like moss!”

He stormed off, already shouting into his phone.

I laughed. Sam exhaled. Claire visibly relaxed.
Andy didn’t react at all.

“Guess I wasted my time driving out to this dump,” Andy muttered. “Roads here still suck.”

“Burned a lot of gas for nothing,” I said. “Might as well go somewhere that actually needs supplies.”

Andy shook his head.
“Not sure there is one. Heard some of the smaller marts got it worse. Trees through the roofs. Government says it’s ‘contained.’”

Sam frowned.
“Funny how often that word means ‘we lied.’”

Claire sighed.
“Great. No pay, then. I really wish our unions would grow a spine. Joja just keeps finding new ways to screw us.”

I looked at her.

“You got plans?” I asked. “I could show you around town. Maybe the ranch my aunt runs.”

She hesitated. Blushed a little.

“Well… yeah. I guess I could use the time to relax.”

For once, I smiled — not a bitter one. Not a sarcastic one.

“Good,” I said. “You look miserable cooped up in that shed.”

Claire smiled back.

And for the first time in a long while, things didn’t feel completely awful.

​

“Aunt Marnie? I’m home!” I called out. “I brought a friend.”

“A friend?” she asked. “What friend?”

“It’s not Eric,” I said. “Someone from work.”

That got her attention.

She came out smiling, and I introduced her to Claire.

“Oh! You’re that Joja cashier,” Marnie said warmly. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“N-nice to meet you…” Claire replied, barely above a whisper.

She looked tense. She always did. Still, I figured Marnie might help with that.

“Oh dear,” Marnie said, already fussing. “You look like you could use a proper meal. How about some pancakes?”

Claire froze, clearly unsure.

I stepped in, quieter this time.
“Claire… it’s okay. You don’t have to skip meals just to save money.”

That did it.

“…Okay,” she said softly. “Maybe just a little.”

Marnie beamed and headed to the stove.

She loved guests. Always had.
She’d been like that with Eric too—even when I hadn’t been.

The thought sat heavy. I’d burned that bridge for nothing.
Maybe this was a chance to not repeat that mistake.

Claire ate slowly. Then she started crying.

“Oh god,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We don’t really have money for food anymore. Some days it’s one meal. Sometimes none.”

I looked away.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know someone like that.”

She glanced up.
“Here? You do?”

I hesitated.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring her up. Penny had every reason to hate me. Drinking with her mother hadn’t exactly helped that.

“…She tutors my goddaughter,” I said finally. “Might be at the playground right now.”

Claire nodded.
“Okay.”

We stood up and headed out together.

​

As we reached the playground, I saw Jas and Vincent running around while Penny sat nearby, reading.

I didn’t go to her.

I went to Jas instead.

“Uncle Shane?” she asked, blinking. “Did you get work off?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Apparently the mart turned into a moss monster.”

“A moss monster?” Vincent lit up. “I wanna see!”

I laughed. Sam was right—Vincent really was a good kid.

“Maybe someday,” I said. “You’ll need Penny’s permission first.”

I turned back just as Claire and Penny locked eyes.

They were already talking.

“Oh!” Vincent whispered loudly. “That girl looks like Penny.”

“I noticed that too,” Jas said. “Uncle Shane, who is she?”

I exhaled.

“She works with me.”

Jas tilted her head.
“So… not your girlfriend.”

I flinched, then scooped her up before I could think better of it.

“You’re too smart for your own good.”

She laughed, squirming.
“Hey! That tickles!”

For a moment, it was normal.

Then Claire approached, pale.

“Shane,” she said quietly. “Can you come here?”

My stomach dropped.

Oh.
So this is happening.

I walked over. Penny’s eyes were red.

“Shane,” she said softly. “I didn’t know my cousin was working at Joja.”

I stared at her.

“…Your cousin?”

The word came out louder than I meant it to.

Demetrius glanced over from across the square, then looked away again.

Penny rubbed her arm, embarrassed. Claire looked like she might fall apart. Jas and Vincent crept closer, sensing something was wrong.

“Yeah,” Penny said. “Turns out Aunt Patty and Mom don’t really talk much anymore. After Mom lost her license, she just… stayed home.”

That explained more than I wanted it to.

Claire’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t know Aunt Pam was like that. I just thought she was mean. I never thought she was… sick.”

I wanted to leave.
I really did.

But I’d brought Claire here.

Pam was crude. Loud. Sometimes even funny.
Seeing her reflected like this—through Penny and Claire—made everything feel heavier.

“I didn’t mean to turn this into a family reunion,” I muttered. “I just wanted to see Jas.”

Penny sighed.
“It’s okay. Honestly… it’s nice seeing you out of Joja. You looked miserable there. Both of you.”

I looked away.

“Don’t get used to it,” I said. “We’ll be back soon enough. Just got lucky the mart turned green.”

I nodded toward the moss-covered building. Penny snorted despite herself.

“Huh,” I said. “Didn’t think you laughed.”

She blinked, then smiled faintly.
“Sometimes I surprise myself.”

Claire wiped her eyes.
“It’s not fair. We finally see each other again, and both our parents are struggling.”

“I know,” Penny said gently. “That’s why I’m trying to move forward. I want a proper teaching job. What about you?”

Claire hesitated.
“I thought about archaeology. Minerals. I like rocks.”

Penny brightened.
“Oh! I could show you the museum. Gunther’s really kind—and Eric’s found so many things.”

That name again.

Eric.

The person everyone leaned on without noticing.

I’d spent so long hating him that I never asked why.

Maybe it wasn’t jealousy.
Maybe it was shame.

“Could you take me there?” Claire asked.

“Of course.”

They walked off together, Jas and Vincent following.

I trailed behind.

​

For the record, I’d never been inside the Museum before.

That alone caught me off guard.

Behind the counter stood a man in a cowboy outfit—wide hat, vest, the whole thing.

So, this was Gunther.

“Gunther,” Penny said brightly, “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Claire.”

Gunther froze.

I couldn’t tell if it was because Penny had family, or because someone new had walked into Pelican Town.

“O-oh!” he said. “Professor Gunther. Former government employee. I was assigned here to excavate the mines.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said formally. “I’m Claire. I work at the JojaMart north of town.”

Gunther winced in sympathy.

“Ah… Morris,” he said carefully. “I’ve heard little good about that man. And the only customers I ever see there are Jodi and Pam. That can’t be pleasant.”

Claire sighed.
“It isn’t. But the money helps. Someday I want to study archaeology. Your work here is… admirable.”

Gunther laughed, genuinely this time.

“That’s kind of you, but the real credit belongs to Eric. He came at Mayor Lewis’s request, but he’s gone far beyond that. Our entire mineral collection exists because of him.”

I stared at the displays.

“All of this… in one month?” I asked.

“Yes!” Penny said, unable to hide her excitement. “And that’s not even everything!”

I had never seen her like this.

Claire drifted closer to the cases, eyes wide.

“Wow… he must be incredible,” she murmured. “It’s a shame I hardly ever see him.”

Eric again. Always Eric.

I felt irritation rise—and then stall. Because looking at Claire, I couldn’t fault her. She sounded like a kid staring through glass.

“There were historical artifacts too,” Penny added quickly. Too quickly. “Things no one knew were here.”

Gunther coughed.

“That’s… true,” he said, shifting. “But I imagine Claire would prefer the minerals.”

Penny shot him a look. Claire, meanwhile, was smiling.

“I’m just happy to be here,” she said. “I would’ve loved this place as a kid.”

Gunther relaxed.

“You’re welcome anytime,” he said warmly. “All of you.”

We left soon after.

Penny and Claire walked ahead, laughing softly, absorbed in their own world.

Vincent and Jas lagged behind—so I watched them.

For once, Penny wasn’t the one keeping track of the children.

And she didn’t even seem to notice.

​

As we headed into Town Square, people stared—confused.

Jodi and Caroline approached first.

“P-Penny?” Jodi blurted. “What’s going on?”

Penny laughed lightly. “This is my cousin, Claire. We’re just showing her around.” She gestured. “Claire, this is Jodi—Vincent and Sam’s mom—and Caroline.”

Claire smiled. “I already know Jodi—I work with her son. Nice to finally meet you.”

Caroline nodded. “You too.”

Jodi still looked overwhelmed.
“I—I’m just not used to this. Seeing Sam—and you—actually… happy, I just…” She flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Claire said gently. “It is strange being out here instead of stuck in that mart with Morris.”

Jodi groaned. “Yeah… Morris. Only reason I go there is the prices. Honestly, I don’t know who I hate more—him or Pierre.”

“Jodi…” Caroline warned.

But Jodi pressed on.
“I’m serious. Either way, I get burned. Pierre price gouges, Morris harasses me—and every time I see Sam working there, I’m scared he’ll snap and lose his job.”

Claire looked down. “I’m sorry… I wish there was actual security. Morris wouldn’t get away with half of it.”

Jodi softened. “Hey. Not your fault. I just… this town feels like it’s falling apart sometimes.”

The air went heavy.

Caroline cleared her throat. “Well—Claire, have you thought about visiting the Saloon? It’s lively on weekends.”

Penny didn’t miss a beat.
“Yeah. You might even catch my mom throwing up for the hundredth time this year.”

Caroline winced. Jodi stifled a laugh.

Claire only smiled. “It’s okay. I think I’d still like to meet everyone.”

Penny sighed. “If you say so.”

I stayed quiet.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say—

but because I had no idea how I ended up here.

​

We left the kids at Jodi’s place. She never goes to the Saloon, and I wasn’t about to leave Jas alone.

The moment we stepped inside, I knew Aunt Marnie was already drunk.

She was slumped at the counter, rambling about Lewis again—how he cared, how he didn’t, how she couldn’t stop worrying about him even when he hurt her. Same cycle. Different night.

“You really need to stop drinking so much,” I muttered.

She barely heard me.

I didn’t press it. I never won those fights. I just wanted this night to be about Claire.

Leah noticed her first.

“Oh—hey! New face?” she said, bright as ever.

Claire stiffened when she introduced herself as a Joja cashier. Leah bristled for half a second, caught herself, and apologized just as fast. Harvey, Willy, Gus—everyone followed in a blur of greetings and polite judgments about Joja that I’d heard a thousand times.

Claire smiled through it. Nervous, but smiling.

Then Clint came over. He was normally nervous to strangers, but here he seemed actually interested. He did his introduction, but I was interested in what came after.

“If you’re interested in minerals,” Clint added, rubbing the back of his neck,
“I break geodes and refine ores. You’d be surprised what people throw away because they don’t know what they’re holding.”

Clint glanced at Emily, then away, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
He didn’t look jealous—just tired.

I wanted to tell him to give up on Emily, but I couldn't bring myself to.

Emily came over last.

She was warm, genuine—same as always. I remembered how kind she’d been to me once. Then I remembered how everything fell apart.

“Where's Eric?” Penny asked.

“Probably mining,” Emily said quietly. “Seems like he restarted after the green rain. I kind of wished he didn’t work so hard and spent more time with us.”

Figures, he always does this.

Penny looked sad, and then turned to Pam, where her expression turned to dread.

I followed her gaze.

Pam.

Drunk. Worse than usual.

“Oh boy,” I muttered. I should’ve stopped this right there. I knew better.

Claire didn’t. She stepped forward anyway.

“Hello, Pam?” she said softly. “Aunt Pam.”

Pam groaned, then snapped upright like she’d been hit.

“What?!”

Claire flinched. Penny froze beside her.

“I’m Claire,” Claire said, voice shaking. “Your niece. Patty’s daughter. Do you remember my mom?”

Pam squinted at her, confused. Then angry.

“Patty?” she slurred. “Who the hell is that?”

My stomach dropped.

I shouldn’t have brought her here. I shouldn’t have let this happen.

“You don’t remember?” Claire asked, barely holding it together. “You and Mom were close. Before the war. Before—”

“I don’t care!” Pam shouted. “I don’t wanna remember!”

Then she doubled over and started coughing—hard—vomiting all over the floor.

The whole Saloon went silent.

Penny was shaking. Claire looked like she’d been punched.

Harvey sighed, already moving. “She needs emergency treatment. Clint, Willy—help me.”

They carried Pam out.

I just stood there, useless, watching the mess I’d walked Claire straight into.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I knew this would happen.”

Claire wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“No,” she said. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have met Penny again. I’m glad I came.”

Then she hugged me.

I froze for half a second—then hugged her back.

Emily looked sad. Penny wiped her tears.

The night was a disaster.

But somehow… not a failure.

For the first time in a long while, it felt like things might actually move forward.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 10​

I woke up to bright sunlight, as if the past few days had been nothing more than a bad dream.

For a moment, I almost believed it.

I turned on the TV. It had been a while since I’d bothered.

Weather: Clear and sunny.
Spirits: Annoyed.
Queen of Sauce: Baked Fish. Fresh catch, spring greens. Simple enough.

Just like that—routine. Predictable. Like nothing had happened.

I stared at the screen a second longer than I needed to, then turned it off.

Outside, the farm looked the same. Crops ready for watering. Soil still damp. I picked a few radishes, absentmindedly brushing the dirt off my hands before reaching down to pet Dudley. He didn’t react any differently—no anxiety, no restlessness. Just the same as always.

Honestly… most of Pelican Town felt that way.

Like the Green Rain had passed through and… meant nothing.

That didn’t sit right with me.

I checked the mailbox. Newspapers—more than usual.

Most of it was damage control. Reports of infrastructure failures in smaller towns. Roads buckling. Power lines down. Buildings overtaken by sudden growth.

Joja outlets came up a lot.

Poorly built. Quickly assembled. Cheap materials.

A lot of them didn’t make it.

I let out a quiet scoff. “Yeah… sounds about right.”

Zuzu City, though? Barely touched. Same with the Fern Islands. The places that mattered stayed intact.

Grampleton didn’t get that luxury.

Heavy Joja presence. Heavy damage. The articles danced around it, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines—when your economy leans that heavily on something fragile, it doesn’t take much to knock everything over.

And yet…

Pelican Town?

Aside from Morris shutting down the Mart and handing out time off, it was business as usual.

Too normal.

The deeper I read, the stranger it felt. The coverage dropped off fast. Updates slowed, then stopped. What little communication came through was vague—carefully worded, like someone was trying to say something without actually saying it.

Or worse—trying not to say anything at all.

I folded the paper, frowning.

“Where was the Governor in all of this?” I muttered. “Whole regions dealing with this mess, and he just… disappears?”

No emergency address. No real explanation.

Just a quiet assurance that everything was “under control.”

I exhaled through my nose.

“The Luau’s coming up,” I added under my breath. “Guess it’s easier to pretend everything’s fine.”

Something about that bothered me more than the damage reports.

Not the destruction—

the way it was being ignored.

I didn’t dwell on it.

There wasn’t much I could do about any of it anyway.

Still… it stuck with me.

The Republic always felt distant. Slow. Wrapped in its own rules and procedures. But now it felt… hollow. Like something important had slipped, and no one wanted to admit it.

Even out here, in a place like this—

you could feel it.

I glanced out over the farm.

My grandfather’s land.

Quiet. Untouched. Stable.

For now.

I let out a breath, shook the thought loose, and got back to work. Three wild seeds in the empty spots. Water the rest. Keep things moving.

Whatever was happening out there—

this, at least, I could handle.

And with that, I headed toward the mines.

​

I was keeping an eye out for a grape—something to finally finish the Summer Foraging bundle—when I spotted one growing near the edge of the mountain path.

“Perfect,” I muttered, crouching down.

I plucked it carefully, turning it in my fingers for a second like I needed to confirm it was real. After everything lately, even something that simple felt like a small victory.

I smiled—just a little.

Linus laughed.

I flinched, nearly dropping it.

He was sitting a short distance away, half-hidden like always. Not hiding—just… part of the place. Like he’d always been there and I just hadn’t noticed.

“You must’ve made a lot of progress, boy,” Linus said, his voice light but knowing. “Very few people make it as deep into the mines as you have.”

I exhaled, recovering. “Level 80,” I said. “That’s… where things get scary.”

Linus tilted his head slightly, studying me.

“Scary?” he echoed.

I hesitated. “Different,” I corrected. “The air changes. Enemies hit harder. It feels like you’re not supposed to be there.”

He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected.

“You begin to see things others don’t,” he said quietly.

Something about the way he said it made my shoulders tense.

“What… kind of things?”

Linus didn’t answer right away. He reached down, running his fingers through the moss at his side, like he was feeling for something beneath it.

“It’s said the Elemental Wars—the war between the Dwarves and the Shadow People—ended millennia ago.”

I stayed still, waiting.

“They’re wrong,” he continued, almost casually. “It never ended.”

A small pause.

“It just changed.”

The wind shifted through the trees. For a second, it felt colder than it should have.

I frowned. “Changed how?”

Linus glanced toward the mountains—past them, almost.

“Wars don’t always need armies,” he said. “Sometimes they become… quieter. Harder to see. But no less real.”

That didn’t help.

“If it’s still going on,” I pressed, “then what am I even walking into down there?”

He looked back at me.

“Something that doesn’t belong to you,” he said simply.

That landed harder than I expected.

I looked down at the grape in my hand, suddenly feeling a little less certain about everything.

“Gee…” I muttered, trying to shake it off. “You almost sound like the Wizard.”

Linus chuckled again—softer this time, almost amused.

“Maybe he sees it the same way I do,” he said.

I considered asking more.

Where the Wizard was. What he knew. Whether any of this actually mattered.

But the thought alone made something in my chest tighten.

Not yet.

I wasn’t ready for those answers.

So I just nodded, slipping the grape into my bag.

“…Thanks, Linus.”

He didn’t respond.

When I looked up again, he was still there—but already distant somehow, like the moment had passed and I was the only one still holding onto it.

I turned toward the mines.

But his words followed me anyway.

​

On my way down, I ran into Penny heading up the path.

“Eric?” she said, then brightened. “Oh! It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh—hey, Penny. Going to take care of the kids?” I asked, more distracted than I meant to be.

“No,” she said. “I’m actually going to see Maru. You want to come? She’d love it if you visited.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “No thanks. I’ve got stuff to do.”

Her expression dipped—just a little.

“Right… I didn’t see you at the Saloon either. Such a shame.”

That caught me off guard. “Wait—the Saloon? Why were you there?”

She stiffened. “Oh! Uh—just picking up Mom. I guess.”

I watched her for a moment.

Then let it go.

“If you say so.”

She nodded a little too quickly and turned to leave—

then stopped.

“And… I’m sorry,” she said, quieter now. “About the Community Center. The kiss.”

My chest tightened.

“That was really selfish,” she continued. “I don’t even know why I did it. I was just… frustrated. It felt like something broke loose.”

I didn’t answer right away.

The moment came back—closer than I expected. The panic. The way everything had moved too fast.

…My first kiss.

Or at least—the first one that felt real.

Something about that didn’t sit right.

I frowned slightly.

Had I ever…?

A face flickered—gone almost as soon as it appeared.

Nancy.

A name. A phone screen.

Kel.

“Eric?”

I blinked.

Penny was looking at me, concerned. “You kind of spaced out there…”

“Yeah—sorry,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just… thinking.”

But the fragments didn’t let go.

It’s nothing.
He quit.
Why do you care?

Voices that never lined up. Answers that ended conversations instead of explaining them.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself back.

That wasn’t this.

Penny wasn’t Nancy. Emily wasn’t either.

They felt… real. Too real.

“I’d told myself I was done with all of that,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

Penny hesitated. “Done with… what?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

A pause stretched between us.

Then I let out a breath.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You could’ve just asked. A hug or something. I just… didn’t expect a kiss.”

She looked down, cheeks flushed.

“Even now… I feel like I can’t really control myself,” she admitted. “I feel way happier than I have any right to be.”

I let out a small laugh, more to steady the moment than anything else.

“Yeah… I get that.”

For a second, neither of us moved.

“I’m heading to the Community Center,” I added. “Got a grape—finally finishing that Summer bundle.”

She nodded.

“Tell Maru I said hi.”

“I will,” she said softly.

We lingered a second longer than we needed to.

Then she turned and continued up the path.

I watched her go—then looked down at the grape in my hand.

Still there. Still real.

I tightened my grip slightly, then let it loosen.

And kept walking.

​

Inside the Community Center, I offered the grape. My reward: thirty Summer Seeds. Great—more foraging crops.

When I stepped outside, Demetrius was there.

“Thirty Summer Seeds,” he noted. “You’ve completed the Summer Foraging bundle.”

“Still working on the boiler room,” I said. “I missed Fire Quartz. Lava floors, I think.”

Demetrius gave a small nod.

“The lower levels,” he said. “Elevated temperatures. Unstable terrain. You’ll start encountering entities that don’t behave like the ones above.”

My stomach tightened.

Again with the implications.

“They’re… more territorial,” he continued. “Less predictable. It’s rumored that they were remnants—evidence of a prior civilization.”

That was enough.

“Uh… I’m going to clear some weeds,” I said quickly. “See if I can get more wild seeds.”

“Mm.” He barely reacted. “Take care.”

As I worked, something caught my attention.

Demetrius and Harvey were talking.

No—arguing.

Demetrius wasn’t raising his voice, but his posture had shifted—rigid, controlled, like he was pressing a point that didn’t need repeating. Harvey stood just as tense, arms tight at his sides, like he’d already been put on the defensive.

I couldn’t hear the words.

Only the tone.

Then Demetrius turned and walked off toward home without another glance.

“What was his problem?” I muttered.

Harvey noticed me and flinched.

“Uh… did you hear any of that?”

“No,” I said honestly.

He exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Good.”

“What was it about?”

“N-nothing,” he said quickly.

I didn’t press.

“So,” Harvey added, forcing a smile, “how are things going?”

“Same as always. Found a grape, finished a bundle. Got some seeds.”

“That’s great,” he said. “You’re making real progress.”

“Must be rough running the clinic alone.”

He sighed.
“One employee, no resources, no patients. I’m constantly reaching out to other towns—for staff, for checkups. I’ve emailed the government countless times about funding. No replies.”

I felt a mix of sympathy and respect.
“Talking to you during the Green Rain was surreal. I never thought I’d get taken seriously talking science with a doctor.”

He laughed.
“You tested the pH of the rain. That impressed me.”

“You know I didn’t even major in chemistry, right?” I asked.

“Joja manufacturing, then white-collar,” Harvey correctly guessed. “Gus mentioned it.”

I nodded. Glad to see he didn’t forget that.

“Me? Eight years for the degree. Two in the ER. Then here.” Harvey responded, assuming I was interested in his background. “My uncle worked in this clinic before. I hoped it’d be renovated.”

I blinked.
“I can’t believe it took this long for us to actually talk.”

He smiled, a little tired.
“I know. And you still haven’t filled out your checkup form.”

I looked away.
“I’ve been… busy.”

“I get it,” he said gently. “But you’re twenty-five. Burning yourself out this early isn’t wise.”

I nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll stop by sometime.”

He waved as I left.

Nice guy. Awkward—but genuine.

I couldn’t stop wondering what Demetrius had accused him of.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. I planted the seeds I’d obtained from the Community Center near my Rarecrow and watered them shortly after. Then I relocated my Orange Sapling to make sure it actually had room to grow.

I chopped a few trees, returned to the town square, and checked the bulletin board. Gus’s birthday was tomorrow—another daffodil to give.

I glanced at the Help Wanted requests.

The local Largemouth Bass population is starting to threaten other species. If you can fish one for me, it would be a big help.
—Demetrius
100g reward. You get to keep the fish.

Demetrius. A man I had more questions about than anyone else in town.

I could never tell what he was thinking. He took interest in my work, argued with Harvey, and had gone out collecting samples during the Green Rain.

Just who was Demetrius?

I cut a few more trees before noon, then headed to the Saloon. And what a treat that turned out to be.

​

The Saloon looked the same as always—Gus behind it, Emily moving between tables.

No Pam though. That was odd.

At one table, Marnie, Shane and an orange haired girl was sitting with them.

“Have I seen her before?” I muttered to myself, thinking about that time I went to the Mart. “She looked familiar…”

I approached the table slowly.

“Hello, Eric!” Marnie called. “Come sit with us!”

I did, but my attention stayed on the orange haired girl.

“Guess the world didn’t end after all,” Marnie said cheerfully. “That green rain was harmless!”

“Yeah, except for the Mart.” Shane muttered, glancing back at the girl. “Place turned green overnight. Morris nearly lost it.”

She smiled faintly.

“He’s still arguing with the Cleanup Division,” she added. “Says it’s ‘unacceptable delays.’”

Then she looked at me.

“Wait—are you Eric?”

I blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

“Do you remember me?”

I hesitated. “…No?”

“I’m Claire. I was working the register when you bought that Joja Cola.”

That clicked.

“Oh—right. For Caroline. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

We shook hands.

Up close, she looked different. Less… trapped.

“She’s my coworker,” Shane said.

“Apparently his girlfriend,” Marnie added with a grin.

“H-hey—no, it’s not like that,” Shane snapped, flushing.

Claire laughed—soft, but genuine.

I stared at him for a second.

No bitterness. No edge.

Just… normal.

When did that happen?

Emily stepped beside me.

“You didn’t know?” she said quietly. “Claire is Penny’s cousin.”

I froze.

“Cousin—what?”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “They ran into each other yesterday. Didn’t go great with Pam.”

Claire’s smile faltered for a moment, then recovered.

“We went to see Maru after,” she said. “Then… ended up here.”

“With him,” I added, glancing at Shane.

She nodded.

Shane didn’t react. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t push her away.

That was the part I couldn’t shake.

I always thought people needed a reason to change.

A push. A breaking point.

But Shane—He just… did. Without me.

I exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t know Penny had family here,” I said.

“Neither did she,” Claire replied.

That tracked.

Nothing in this town was as simple as it looked.

Shane checked the time.

“Getting late,” he said. “Marnie, Claire, we should head back. Jas is probably waiting.”

They nodded with Claire glancing at me one last time.

“Nice meeting you, Eric.”

“You too.”

And they left together. I watched them go for a second longer than I meant to.

Emily nudged my arm.

“I’m heading home too,” she said. “Walk with me?”

I nodded and left with her.

As we stepped out into the night, I glanced at Shane.

He was laughing. Not forcing it. Not masking anything. Just… laughing.

​

We walked through the cool summer breeze together. The day felt shorter than the ones before it—lighter somehow.

Maybe because I wasn’t alone.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The quiet wasn’t awkward. Just… full.

“I didn’t think Shane had it in him,” I said eventually. “Friends, I mean. Or… whatever that was.”

Emily smiled. “People can surprise you.”

“Yeah.” I glanced back, even though the Saloon was long out of sight. “I always thought it took something big. Like… something breaking. That’s what makes people change.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And?”

“And he didn’t.” I let out a small breath. “He just met someone.”

The words sat with me longer than I expected.

“And it had nothing to do with me.”

Emily didn’t answer right away—but she didn’t look away either.

I frowned slightly. “I think I’ve been looking at this place the wrong way.”

“Oh?”

“The farm. The Center. The mines…” I shook my head. “I kept thinking everything connected back to me somehow. Like I was in the middle of it.”

“And now?”

I hesitated.

“…Now it feels like I just walked into something that was already happening.”

Emily’s smile softened. “That sounds about right.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess I’m not as important as I thought.”

“Or,” she said gently, “you just realized it doesn’t all depend on you.”

That stopped me.

I thought about Harvey—ten years of work, ending up in a quiet clinic no one visited. About Penny. About Shane laughing like nothing had ever been wrong.

“I didn’t even know half of this stuff,” I admitted. “Harvey, Penny’s family, Shane… it’s like everyone’s been living their own lives this whole time and I just—missed it.”

“Or,” Emily said, “you’re just starting to see it.”

We walked a little further.

“Penny apologized,” I said after a moment. “About the Community Center.”

Emily nodded. “That must’ve taken courage.”

“Yeah.” I exhaled. “I don’t think she even fully understood why she did it.”

“Sometimes people don’t,” she said. “That doesn’t make it less real.”

I nodded slowly.

“I talked to Harvey too. Never realized how much he’s been through.”

Emily smiled faintly. “He doesn’t really talk about himself unless someone asks.”

“Yeah.” I glanced down. “I guess I never did.”

The path grew quieter as we neared town.

I slowed slightly.

“If all of this was already here…” I said, more to myself than to her, “then why did you choose me?”

She didn’t answer right away this time.

“I don’t think it works like that,” she said finally.

I looked at her.

“It’s not one moment. Not one decision.” She smiled faintly. “It’s smaller than that. You meet someone, you spend time with them… and somewhere along the way, they start to matter.”

I frowned slightly. “That sounds a lot like fate.”

Emily shook her head. “Maybe. Or maybe it just means you don’t have to control everything for it to mean something.”

That landed quieter than I expected.

I let out a slow breath.

“I think I’ve been trying to do that,” I admitted. “Control it. Understand it. Make sure it doesn’t fall apart.”

Her expression softened.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“…Yeah,” I said, after a moment.

We stopped walking.

“You don’t have to carry all of it,” she said gently.

She stepped a little closer—not forcing it, just… there.

“Not the town. Not other people. Not even yourself, all the time.”

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t argue either.

For once, that didn’t feel like giving up.

It felt like… space.

I pulled her into a hug.

She held it for a second, then stepped back with a small smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said.

She waved and headed home.

I stood there for a moment before turning back toward the farm.

The town hadn’t changed.

But it didn’t feel like something I had to figure out anymore.

Just… something I was part of.

I glanced up at the night sky.

For once, I didn’t feel like I had to understand everything.

Maybe that was enough.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 10.5 – Shane​

I woke up with the Green Rain still stuck in my head.

Didn’t feel real yesterday. Still didn’t, honestly.

Only difference was, now I had to deal with what it left behind.

First thing I did was tell Morris we needed a proper cleanup crew.

Not suggest. Not hint.

Tell.

He didn’t listen.

Of course he didn’t.

Guy runs the place like keeping the lights on is more important than actually making money. Long hours, no customers, half the shelves empty half the time—and he still thinks he’s beating Pierre.

“Yeah,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “That’ll end well.”

I turned on KOZU.

Figured it was just us that got hit.

It wasn’t.

Turns out a bunch of JojaMarts across the Valley got wrecked. Bad builds, cheap materials—whole places caved in or got overgrown overnight.

Zuzu City? Barely touched. Minor damage, nothing serious.

Figures.

Then there was Grampleton.

Heavy Joja presence. Heavy damage.

Whole blocks destabilized. Trees growing straight through houses like they’d always been there.

No deaths, somehow.

Just a lot of people flooding hospitals—breathing problems, allergies, whatever the rain kicked up. Zuzu’s apparently handling it. Got some kind of treatment already.

Must be nice.

“Huh,” I muttered. “Nature picks its favorites.”

The coverage felt… off.

Not wrong. Just… thin.

Like they were saying enough to calm people down, but not enough to explain anything.

Updates slowed the longer I watched.

Then stopped.

I clicked the TV off.

Didn’t used to care about this stuff.

Didn’t used to check the news at all.

…Guess that changed.

Or maybe I just had time now.

The Mart being shut down will do that.

I sat there for a second, then pushed myself up.

Didn’t feel like thinking about it too much.

As I stepped out of my room—trying not to look too hard at the mess—I caught myself thinking about Claire.

She got stuck with the worst of it. Running around for Morris, doing whatever he told her to.

Didn’t complain. Just… did it.

And now?

She was out of that.

Free, I guess.

Back with family.

…Happy.

That part stuck with me more than anything on the news.

There was a knock at the door.

I frowned.

We don’t get a lot of those.

When I opened it—

I froze.

“Claire?”

​

She didn’t answer.

She stepped inside—and before I could say anything, she wrapped her arms around me.

I froze.

“I was so happy yesterday,” she said into my shoulder.

Her grip tightened, like she was afraid to let go.

“And when I left…” Her voice faltered. “It felt like everything just—stopped.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t really know how to.

“I went home,” she continued quietly. “And it was the same as always. The same walls. The same silence. Like nothing had changed.”

Her fingers curled slightly against my shirt.

“But it had,” she said. “I had.”

That hit harder than I expected.

“When I’m here… when I’m with you…” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure how to say it. “Things feel… quiet.”

Not empty.

Not dull.

Just… quiet.

No one had ever said that to me before.

Not Emily.

Not anyone.

I swallowed, trying to find something to say that didn’t sound stupid.

“It’s okay,” I muttered. “You don’t have to explain it.”

She pulled back a little, just enough to look at me, her expression flickering with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I do this.”

I did.

Or at least—I thought I did.

Because I’d felt it too.

That difference.

Between being somewhere… and wanting to stay there.

“You can stay,” I said.

The words came out before I had time to think about them.

“If you want.”

For a second, she just stared at me.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I want to.”

There was something in her voice that made it feel… real. Not like a passing thought. Not like something temporary.

I looked away, scratching the back of my neck.

“…We’ll figure it out,” I added, quieter this time.

Because now that I’d said it, I couldn’t just take it back.

And I didn’t want to.

“I just hope my mom’s okay,” Claire said after a moment. “I told her about you. She said I could go, if I wanted to.”

I frowned slightly.

Pam didn’t strike me as the type to just… let things go like that.

Something about it didn’t sit right.

But I didn’t push.

“Uh—hang on,” I said. “I’ll check with Penny. See where she’s at.”

I pulled out my phone, stepping off to the side for a second.

Quick call.

She was already heading to Maru’s place. Said Claire could come if she wanted.

Easy enough.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

“Hey,” I said, glancing at Claire. “Penny’s over at a friend’s place. You want to go see her?”

She nodded.

No hesitation this time.

I rubbed the back of my neck again.

Still not used to this.

Going out. Making plans. Being… involved.

“…Yeah,” I muttered. “Okay. Let’s go.”

As we stepped outside, I caught myself thinking—

This was different.

Not the job.

Not Joja.

Not the same routine I’d been stuck in for years.

Something else.

Something I didn’t really understand yet.

But for once…

I didn’t feel like walking away from it.

​

As I passed by with Claire, I spotted Eric off to the side, picking through the brush like usual.

Then I noticed something else.

Harvey.

And Demetrius.

Standing too close to each other.

Not talking.

Not casually, anyway.

Harvey’s voice broke the silence—tight, controlled.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time around the Community Center,” he said. “Why?”

Demetrius smiled.

Didn’t look right on him.

“What exactly have you been doing with my daughter, Doctor?”

I slowed down.

Claire kept walking for a step before realizing I wasn’t beside her.

Behind me, Harvey stiffened.

“What happened at the Flower Festival was agreed upon,” he said. “By Maru. And Robin.”

Demetrius tilted his head slightly.

“My wife,” he said flatly. “Yes. She does seem very comfortable around you.”

That didn’t sound like agreement.

That sounded like something else.

Harvey took a step forward.

“If you’re implying something—”

“I’m observing patterns,” Demetrius cut in.

Calm.

Too calm.

Like he’d already decided what those patterns meant.

The air shifted.

Even from where I was standing, it felt… off.

“Patterns,” Harvey repeated, sharper now. “Or assumptions?”

Demetrius didn’t answer right away.

Just watched him.

Studying him.

Like he was waiting for something.

That was when Harvey snapped.

“Then observe this,” he said. “Your problem isn’t me. It’s your inability to trust the people closest to you.”

Silence.

For a second, I thought that was it.

That it would just… end there.

But Demetrius’s expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

His jaw tightened.

“Careful, Doctor,” he said quietly. “You’re stepping outside your field.”

Harvey didn’t back down.

“Maybe,” he said. “But at least I don’t treat people like variables.”

That landed.

Demetrius’s smile came back—

worse this time.

Thinner.

“Have a nice day, Doctor.”

He turned slightly, like the conversation was already over.

Like Harvey wasn’t worth finishing it.

The word “Doctor” came out like an accusation.

I frowned.

What the hell was that about?

“Shane?”

Claire’s voice snapped me out of it.

I turned, realizing she’d stopped ahead of me.

“U-uh—yeah,” I called, a little too quickly. “Coming.”

I glanced back once.

Harvey hadn’t moved.

Demetrius was already walking away.

Like nothing had happened.

I caught up with Claire, trying to shake it off.

Didn’t work.

“…Let’s just go,” I muttered.

As we headed toward the mountains, I couldn’t help thinking—

I really hoped he didn’t notice us.

​

When we stepped inside, Maru was already there.

“O-oh! You’re Claire? Good to see you!” she said brightly—then noticed me. “Oh… hey, Shane.”

“Hey,” I said. Came out more awkward than I meant.

“Come in!” she added quickly.

Claire didn’t hesitate. Just walked in like she belonged.

I hung back for a second before following.

Robin glanced up from her workbench.

“Shane? Well, this is a surprise.” Her eyes shifted to Claire. “And who might this be?”

“She’s my coworker,” I said.

“Oh! Penny’s cousin,” Maru added.

Robin blinked, surprised.

“Oh! That’s wonderful—I had no idea Penny had any family besides Pam. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Claire smiled, a little unsure. “I’ve been working at the mart for a while. I just never really… went anywhere.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Robin said warmly. “Penny’s in Maru’s room—go on in.”

We turned to head down the hall—

“Oh—uh…” Robin hesitated. “Demetrius is in the lab. He’s… not in the best mood today.”

That tracked.

“Sebastian’s downstairs,” she added. “Busy as usual.”

Maru groaned. “Yeah. Always busy.”

We kept walking.

I still couldn’t believe I was here. Someone else’s house. Just… walking into their lives like it was normal.

It didn’t feel normal.

Penny spotted Claire the second we stepped in.

“Claire!” she said, crossing the room and pulling her into a hug. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!”

“Same to you,” Claire said, smiling. “What are you working on?”

Penny froze.

“Oh—uh—I was just…”

She held something up.

Small.

Metal.

It moved.

I frowned.

It was a spider. Mechanical. Thin metal legs twitching slightly against her palm.

And a lens.

Right where the head should’ve been.

“What the hell is that?” I said.

Maru stepped forward, taking it carefully.

“It’s a prototype,” she said. “Dad’s been working on it.”

“Working on what?” I asked.

She hesitated.

“…Surveillance.”

The word sat wrong.

I looked at the thing again.

It twitched.

Like it was listening.

“Surveillance for what?” I asked.

Maru didn’t answer right away.

Then, quieter:

“He thinks Sebastian might… take things.”

The room went still.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Penny said carefully.

Maru shrugged—but didn’t look convinced.

“He says it’s just a precaution.”

Didn’t sound like one.

Claire spoke up, a little too quickly.

“Why don’t we go to the Saloon?” she said, forcing a smile. “It’s pretty lively.”

Penny hesitated—just for a second.

“…Yeah,” she said. “That sounds nice.”

Maru lit up.

“I’d love that!”

I blinked.

Maru? Volunteering to leave the house?

“Let me just tell Mom,” she said, already moving. “And… avoid Dad if I can.”

We didn’t make it far.

“Maru.”

Her name landed like a wall.

Demetrius stood in the doorway.

Didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t need to.

“Come on, Dad,” Maru said, already tense. “I never get to do anything.”

“No,” he said. “You’re not going.”

Flat. Final.

“So Sebastian can go wherever he wants, but I’m stuck here?”

“I don’t control Sebastian,” Demetrius replied. “That’s your mother’s responsibility.”

Robin froze.

“My responsibility?” she shot back. “You barely try to be a father!”

“I’m doing exactly what’s necessary,” he said, voice tightening just slightly.

“Oh, right,” Robin snapped. “By controlling every second of her life?”

For a second, I thought he might actually lose it.

He didn’t.

That was worse.

Robin noticed us then and stopped.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Maru let out a shaky breath.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Penny and I can stay.”

She glanced at me.

“Shane… you and Claire should go.”

Her voice cracked—just enough to notice.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Come on.”

Claire slipped her arm through mine before I could react.

I didn’t pull away.

​

The rest of the night settled into something quieter.

Eric was already there.

Emily too—she looked… different. Lighter. Like whatever had been weighing on her at the Flower Festival had finally let go.

Claire introduced herself.

Eric fumbled through it—stumbled over his words, tried to recover halfway through. Awkward, but honest.

She didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, she looked like she found it kind of funny.

Pam wasn’t there.

Didn’t take much to figure out why.

“That woman is impossible,” I muttered.

Claire glanced at me—hesitant, like she didn’t fully disagree.

“She just needs time,” she said.

I let out a quiet breath, looking away.

“Yeah,” I said. “Seems like everyone does.”

Didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

But I didn’t take it back.

Emily drifted past us a few minutes later, and somehow the whole place shifted with her. People loosened up. Conversations actually started going somewhere.

Eric admitted he didn’t even know Penny had extended family. Thought he’d already met everyone worth meeting in this town.

Funny.

I used to think the same thing.

​

We didn’t stay long.

Marnie, Claire, and I headed back, stopping by Sam’s place to pick up Jas. She and Vincent were glued together like usual—might as well be siblings at this point. Jodi wouldn’t even question it.

Back at the house, the question came up.

Where Claire would sleep.

I glanced toward my room without meaning to.

Already knew what it looked like.

Didn’t need to open the door to picture it.

Before I could say anything—

“I can sleep with Aunt Marnie,” Jas said.

Simple. Immediate.

“Claire can take my room.”

Just like that.

She smiled like it didn’t cost her anything.

That made it worse.

“…Thanks, Jas,” Claire said softly.

I didn’t say anything.

When I finally stepped into my room, it was exactly how I left it.

Cans. Clothes. That smell that never really goes away.

For a second, I just stood there.

Then—

I started cleaning.

No thinking about it.

Just… started.

Cans into a bag.

Clothes off the floor.

Window open.

Fresh air cutting through something that’d been sitting there way too long.

I paused for a second, looking around.

Didn’t fix everything.

But it was… different.

Better.

I hadn’t been drinking much lately.

Not really.

Mostly just… talking.

Funny how that did more than anything else ever had.

I sat down, reaching for my laptop.

Thought about logging on.

That co-op game Sam’s always pushing.

The four of us—him, Sebastian, Abigail, me.

Same routine every time.

Dungeons. Grinding. No expectations.

No one watching.

No one asking questions.

Easy.

I hovered there for a second.

Then stopped.

I thought about Sebastian.

About his dad.

About what I saw earlier.

The way Demetrius talked to Harvey.

The way he talked to everyone.

Like he already knew something no one else did.

I frowned.

I should say something.

To Sebastian.

Just… mention it.

Ask if things are okay.

Wouldn’t be that hard.

Right?

I leaned back in the chair.

Stared at the ceiling for a second.

“…Not tonight,” I muttered.

Excuses came easy when things were going well.

Didn’t feel like messing that up.

Didn’t feel like dragging something heavy into a night that was… good.

So I let it go.

Closed the laptop.

Went to bed.

I don’t know if Claire’s staying.

I hope she does.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 11​

I turned on the TV.

I hadn’t bothered with it much before. Felt like a waste of time.

Now… it felt different.

Like I needed something predictable.

Something that didn’t change.

“Welcome to KOZU 5… your number one source for weather, news, and entertainment.”

Weather: Beautiful and sunny.

Of course it was.

Like the Green Rain hadn’t happened at all.

Spirits: Neutral.

I exhaled quietly.
“Figures.”

Then the cooking show came on.

“Let’s talk corn!” the Queen of Sauce announced cheerfully. “It’s an unusual crop because it lasts for two seasons! That’s right—while most crops die when the season changes, corn lives on. You can grow it in both summer and fall!”

I watched for a second longer than I needed to.

Two seasons.

Something that lasts.

“…Neat,” I muttered, reaching for the remote. “Guess that’s useful.”

I turned the TV off.

The silence felt louder than it should have.

Outside, the farm looked the same.

Too normal.

Crops ready for watering. Soil still damp from yesterday. Nothing out of place.

I moved through it on autopilot.

Fill the can. Water the rows. Move to the next.

By the third trip back to the pond, I was already annoyed.

“This thing empties way too fast,” I muttered, shaking the last few drops onto a patch of corn.

I stared at the can for a second.

Upgrade.

Yeah. Eventually.

“Winter, maybe,” I said under my breath. “When there’s nothing else to do.”

I set it down harder than I meant to.

Didn’t know why that bothered me so much.

​

I grabbed what I needed and headed toward the mountains.

The path was quiet.

No one around. Just the sound of wind through the trees.

I spotted a grape near the edge of the trail and picked it without thinking. Then another a little further up.

Small things. Easy things. Stuff I could actually control.

That helped a little.

“Farmer!”

I stopped.

Linus stood near his tent, watching me.

“Good to see you!” he called.

I walked over, brushing my hands off.

“Linus?”

He studied me for a moment before speaking.

Longer than usual.

“I’ve been listening,” he said. “To the mountain.”

That wasn’t new.

But something about the way he said it…

“I heard the brutes in the lower mines are active again,” he continued. “Stronger than before.”

I frowned slightly.

“Stronger how?”

“Durable,” he said. “Relentless. They don’t tire the way other creatures do.”

He glanced toward the mine entrance.

“The druids… they’ve been stirring too. Their magic isn’t wild. It’s deliberate.”

That word stuck.

Deliberate.

“Even the smaller creatures,” he added. “Slimes, bats, crabs… they’re reacting. Like something deeper is pushing upward.”

A pause.

“Be careful.”

I waited for him to say more.

He didn’t.

Just nodded once and turned back toward his tent, like the conversation was already over.

I stood there for a second.

“…Yeah,” I muttered. “I will.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant.

Not really.

But something about it…

Didn’t sit right.

I tightened my grip on my bag and continued toward the mines.

​

The air changed the moment I descended.

Not colder—thicker. Like I’d stepped into something that didn’t want me there.

A shape tore itself out of the dark.

Masked. Chanting.

The words scraped against my ears—wrong, jagged, like they weren’t meant for anything human to hear.

Fire bloomed in its hands.

I threw myself sideways. Heat roared past me, close enough to sear the edge of my sleeve. The stone behind me blackened in an instant.

I didn’t think—I swung.

Steel met something solid. The chanting cut off.

Another shape rushed me before the first even hit the ground.

Then another.

No pattern. No spacing. No air.

Just pressure.

I struck, turned, blocked—barely. My boots slipped on uneven stone. My breathing came too fast, too loud in my own ears. Every second felt like I was already a step behind.

Something glittered near the wall—gold, gems, something valuable.

I grabbed it without looking.

Stupid.

My hand shook as I shoved it into my bag. My body was already telling me to leave—now—but I kept moving forward anyway.

Because I always did.

Something hit me.

Hard.

The impact crushed the air out of my lungs. I staggered sideways, vision flashing white as pain spiked through my ribs. My arm barely came up in time—steel rang as I caught another blow, the force shuddering straight down into my shoulder.

It hurt to breathe.

Didn’t matter.

I pushed forward anyway.

Down.

Deeper.

At some point, I stopped thinking altogether. My body just… reacted. Swing. Block. Step. Don’t stop.

Don’t stop.

Don’t—

The ground trembled.

Not a tremor.

A step.

Heavy. Measured. Certain.

I looked up.

And felt it before I understood it.

A massive shape emerged from the dark—towering, armored, unmoving except for the slow lift of its shield.

I didn’t get a chance to react.

It moved.

Not fast.

Not rushed.

Just inevitable.

The kick landed square in my chest.

There was no technique. No finesse.

Just force.

The world snapped sideways. My back slammed into the stone wall hard enough to rattle my skull. Something in my ribs gave with a sharp, sickening crack.

Sound dropped out.

For a second, I couldn’t feel anything.

Then everything came back at once.

I dragged in a breath—and screamed as it tore through me.

The Brute advanced.

Slow.

Unstoppable.

I forced myself upright, legs shaking, sword barely steady in my grip.

Shield up.

Spear angled.

Waiting.

I struck first.

Steel glanced off its armor with a dull, useless scrape.

It didn’t even react.

The spear came down.

I barely caught it—metal shrieked as the impact drove me to one knee. My arms buckled, pain shooting up through my wrists, my shoulders, into my chest where something was already broken.

I shoved it aside.

Swung again.

This time—something gave.

A gap. A weak point. I didn’t even see it—I just felt the resistance shift.

I drove the blade forward.

For a split second, it held.

Then it didn’t.

The Brute vanished.

No collapse.

No body.

Just… gone.

I stayed where I was, sword still raised, lungs burning, waiting for something that didn’t come.

My arms shook.

My legs shook.

Everything shook.

I didn’t realize I was bleeding until something warm ran down my side.

Drip.

Drip.

I looked down.

Too slow.

Something slammed into me from the side.

A slime.

The impact sent me sprawling. My ribs screamed as I hit the ground, breath ripping out of me in a broken gasp. My vision blurred, edges going dark.

I tried to push myself up.

Nothing answered.

My arms gave out.

The stone was cold against my cheek.

Voices filled the air again—layered, overlapping, that same harsh language crawling over itself like it was alive.

Closer now.

Too close.

And beneath it—

Something else.

Quieter.

Watching.

Waiting.

Not moving.

The Dwarf.

​

Pain hit before consciousness did.

It didn’t build.

It took.

My body locked all at once, nerves screaming like they’d been set on fire. The sound that tore out of me didn’t feel human.

“Eric!”

Robin dropped beside me so fast I barely saw her move. Her hands hovered over me—shaking, unsure where to touch without making it worse.

“Oh god—oh god—what do I do—”

“What happened?”

Sebastian’s voice cut through it.

Flat. Controlled.

Wrong.

“I—I found him,” Robin said, breath catching. “He was on the ground—there was something there, Sebastian, I swear—something metal—it carried him—”

Her voice broke.

“It just left him there like—like he was nothing—”

Sebastian stepped closer.

I didn’t see him at first.

I felt it.

The shift.

The panic in the air… tightening.

He looked down at me—not with shock. Not even concern.

Assessment.

Clean. Detached. Immediate.

“He needs Harvey,” he said. “Now.”

“Sebastian, I’m fine—”

I tried to push myself up.

My body didn’t listen.

Pain detonated through my ribs. My arms buckled and I collapsed with a choked sound, vision flashing white.

“Stop.”

Not loud.

Not angry.

Final.

Sebastian crouched in front of me, bringing himself level with my face. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unblinking.

“You can’t move,” he said. “Your breathing is shallow. Your side is bleeding through your shirt.”

Each word landed like a fact already decided.

“You’re not fine.”

I tried to speak.

Nothing came out but air.

“And pretending you are,” he added quietly, “is making this worse.”

Robin stared at him.

“Sebastian—how can you—”

“We’re taking him to Harvey.”

He didn’t even look at her.

“Now.”

The word didn’t rise.

It settled.

There wasn’t anything to argue with.

The world tilted again before I could respond. Sound fractured, slipping in and out like I was underwater.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Movement that didn’t feel like mine.

“Is he alive?” Marlon’s voice, distant.

“He is,” Linus answered. Calm. Certain. “But this was always going to happen.”

“What happened? Sebastian—?” Abigail. Sharp. Frightened.

A pause.

Then—

“He went too deep.”

No hesitation.

“No preparation. No restraint.”

Each word was measured. Deliberate.

“This time, it caught up to him.”

“Sebastian!” Robin snapped. “He could have died!”

“I know.”

No change in tone.

No softening.

That was the worst part.

“That’s why this matters,” he continued. “If he walks away from this thinking it was luck, he’ll go back down there and die next time.”

My vision flickered. His face came into focus above me—still, steady, completely locked in.

No panic.

No doubt.

“You still conscious?” he asked.

I tried to answer.

It came out broken. Barely sound.

He watched me for half a second longer, like he was measuring something I couldn’t see.

“Hm.”

He adjusted his grip under my arm. Precise. Efficient.

“Good,” he said. “Then stay that way.”

Someone protested—Robin, maybe Abigail—but it blurred together.

Sebastian didn’t acknowledge it.

“He’s injured,” he said flatly. “Not dying.”

A beat.

“Move.”

And they did.

​

I came back to myself slowly.

White first.

Ceiling. Walls. Sheets.

Too bright.

Then shapes.

Then faces.

Harvey stood at my side, arms crossed, posture straight, expression tight in a way that tried to pass for calm.

Emily was closer.

Too close.

Her eyes were red. Her hands were shaking.

“Eric…” Her voice broke as she pulled me into a careful, desperate hug. “I thought you died. I really thought you were gone.”

I tried to answer.

My throat burned. The sound that came out barely counted as words.

Harvey exhaled quietly.

“It was only a matter of time,” he said.

Not harsh.

Not gentle.

Just… true.

“The lower levels of the mines are dangerous. Most missing persons cases come from there.”

Emily didn’t react. Either she didn’t hear him—or she refused to.

Harvey’s gaze shifted between us, then settled.

“He needs to stay,” he continued. “At least overnight. Physically, he’ll recover. But this—” a slight pause, “—this doesn’t end when the wounds close.”

Emily nodded quickly, wiping her face with her sleeve.

“I’ll get Gus to make something,” she said. “He hasn’t eaten.”

Harvey gave a small nod.

I forced my mouth to move.

“Gus…” I croaked. “Birthday… daffodil…”

Harvey frowned slightly.

Emily understood immediately.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, brushing my hair back. “I’ll give it to him. I’ll pick a good one.”

She smiled.

It didn’t reach her eyes.

Then she was gone.

The room felt colder without her.

​

When I woke again, it was quieter.

Too quiet.

Just me and Harvey.

“The Luau’s in three days,” he said after a while. “Town meeting the day before.”

I didn’t respond.

“You’ll be on your feet by then,” he added. “Whether you should be is another question.”

My ribs burned with every breath. I kept them shallow.

“And yet,” Harvey murmured, almost to himself, “this is where you ended up.”

I swallowed.

“Sebastian…” I muttered. “That guy’s a… jerk.”

Harvey let out a breath—half tired, half amused.

“Yes,” he said. “And very much his father’s son. Whether he likes it or not.”

I shifted slightly. Pain flared. I stopped.

“But why?” I said. “Why does he even care? I thought he just… didn’t care about anything.”

Harvey studied me.

“He cares about outcomes,” he said. “Not comfort.”

I turned my head away.

“Yeah, well—he could’ve tried that.”

“He doesn’t believe in second chances,” Harvey continued. “Or miracles.”

I closed my eyes.

“Oh, god. Don’t start.”

“He’s not entirely wrong.”

That made something in my chest tighten.

“This town has been struggling for years,” Harvey went on. “Lewis tried to hold it together. But he avoids problems until they become unavoidable.”

My hands curled into the sheets.

“Stop.”

“And you,” Harvey said quietly, “do the same thing.”

Something snapped.

“For the last time—I am not Lewis’s grandson!”

The words tore out of me, sharp enough to hurt.

Harvey didn’t flinch.

“No,” he said calmly. “But you carry the same instinct.”

Silence fell.

Heavy.

“You take everything on,” he continued. “You don’t ask for help. You don’t stop. You just… keep going until something breaks.”

My breathing hitched.

“And now,” he added, “it did.”

The anger drained out of me as fast as it came.

Left nothing behind.

Just shaking.

“I didn’t come here to do this,” Harvey said after a moment, quieter now. “I wanted to treat injuries. Illness. Something simple.”

A faint, tired smile.

“Instead, I ended up watching people run themselves into the ground.”

He looked at me again.

“And trying to stop them after the fact.”

I stared at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t Lewis tell me?” I asked, my voice weaker now. “About the Luau. About any of it. Why did he just assume I’d… figure it out?”

Harvey looked away.

“Because he wanted a miracle,” he said.

A pause.

“And because he misses your grandfather more than he knows what to do with.”

That hit harder than anything else.

“Lewis chose to stay,” Harvey continued. “Not because he was the best choice—but because the alternatives were worse. And over time… that turned into responsibility he couldn’t carry alone.”

My vision blurred.

“And now,” Harvey said gently, “he’s trying to hand that weight to you.”

The tears came before I could stop them.

“You’re not built to carry all of that alone,” he added. “No one is.”

The door opened.

Emily stepped back in, holding a tray.

“I gave Gus your daffodil,” she said softly. “I found the best one.”

Then she saw my face.

And froze.

“Eric…?”

She set the tray down too quickly and crossed the room, pulling me into her arms again.

This time, she held on tighter.

Like she was afraid letting go would undo something.

Harvey hesitated.

Then, quietly—

“Too much responsibility,” he said. “And not enough support.”

Emily didn’t argue.

She just held me.

“Oh, Eric…” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone. You never did.”

Her voice shook.

More than before.

“I won’t lose you like that,” she added, softer. “I can’t.”

That was what broke me.

Not Harvey.

Not the pain.

That.

I buried my face against her shoulder and cried.

She didn’t try to fix it.

Didn’t try to explain it.

She just stayed.

Eventually, Harvey stepped out.

Gave us space.

I cried until there was nothing left.

Later, I ate. Barely.

Tried to stand.

Failed.

So I stayed.

And for the first time in a long while—

I wasn’t the one holding everything together.

And the world didn’t end because of it.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 11.5 – Harvey​

I stepped outside the clinic. Inside, a couple sat in the aftermath of something they hadn’t chosen, grief settling in where answers should have been.

I wished, not for the first time, that I had a coffee. Or wine. Or anything that could take the edge off the weight pressing quietly against my chest.

Sebastian was already there, leaning against the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.

“Is he getting better?” he asked. “My mother’s worried. She sent me to check.”

I exhaled slowly.

“He’s resting. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Another day, maybe two, just to be safe—but he’ll live.”

Sebastian looked away, dragging once more before crushing the cigarette under his boot.

“I’ve told you about smoking,” I said. “More times than I can count.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know. Doesn’t help.”

I studied him for a moment.

“You hate living here.”

He didn’t answer.

“Stuck in a basement,” he said after a pause. “Because my stepdad won’t let me have a real room.”

A quiet, humorless breath left me.

“He has a way of making people smaller. Myself included.”

Sebastian’s expression shifted—anger thinning into something heavier. Not rage. Fatigue.

“He does it to everyone,” he said. “Robin. Maru. Probably Eric too. He never stops.”

I kept my voice even.

“Robin’s life hasn’t been kind.”

Sebastian turned sharply.

“You think I’m the problem?”

“No,” I said. “I think you’re angry. And I think she’s living with the consequences of choosing someone who doesn’t know how to love her.”

He let out a rough laugh that caught in his throat.

“They fight constantly. Every year it gets worse.”

I nodded.

“This town wears people down. Slowly. Quietly. You don’t notice it until there’s nothing left to push against.”

Silence settled between us.

“Do you think things get better?” he asked.

For a moment, I didn’t answer.

I thought of Eric. Of the fields. Of the calendar inching forward, indifferent to effort.

“Not in time,” I said.

Sebastian stilled.

“The Luau’s too close,” I continued. “He doesn’t have the margin he needs. No buffer. One bad day in the fields, one miscalculation—and the whole thing slips.”

“So it’s doomed.”

I hesitated.

“It’s fragile,” I said. “And fragile things don’t survive pressure.”

He dragged his hands through his hair.

“Damnit… if Lewis had actually guided him—if he’d given him something real to work with—”

“Too many assumptions were made,” I said. “Lewis wanted a miracle. Eric needed a plan.”

Sebastian went quiet.

Then, softer:

“Sam doesn’t deserve this. Any of it.”

I glanced at him.

“He keeps showing up,” Sebastian said. “Even with everything falling apart. His dad might not come back. The town’s falling apart. Lewis keeps pushing him. He hates the governor, but he still shows up.”

A pause.

“Because he loves this place.”

Another.

“And because he loves Penny.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“She cheated on him,” Sebastian said, voice tightening. “With Eric.”

The words settled heavily between us.

Sebastian’s hands trembled, just slightly.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to end up like Eric—carrying everything alone.”

“The longer the truth waits,” I said quietly, “the sharper it cuts.”

He nodded, staring somewhere distant.

“Sam’s my friend,” he said. “One of the only ones. Abigail is… complicated.”

“You resent her,” I said. “And care about her.”

He let out a breath. “Yeah.”

“She’s scared,” he said. “She wants someone to get her out. I thought maybe Eric would.”

A pause.

“But it’s just me.”

I glanced across the clinic grounds—

—and stopped.

Something shifted at the edge of my vision. A faint mechanical whir, steady enough that I realized, a second too late, it had been there for a while.

Watching.

I looked up.

The spider clung to the clinic wall, metal legs adjusting in small, precise increments. A lens flickered—focusing.

My stomach dropped.

“Yoba…” I muttered. “Even here.”

Sebastian followed my gaze.

His expression hardened instantly.

“Again?” he snapped. “He can’t leave me alone for one damn hour?”

He turned and walked off before I could respond.

I rubbed my temples.

Demetrius. You don’t even need to be present to do damage.

When I turned back, Emily stood a short distance away. Her eyes were red.

“How is he?” I asked.

“He’s eating,” she said softly. “It took a while. I’m just… scared he won’t come back the same.”

I nodded.

“You love him.”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said. “But I’m not ready.”

Then she left.

I stood there a while longer, listening to the low hum of the clinic behind me.

Some people hold others together without realizing it.

And people like Eric—

…rarely know how close they are to breaking.

 

[Narwhal_7]

Chapter 11.5 – Harvey​

I stepped outside the clinic. Inside, a couple sat in the aftermath of something they hadn’t chosen, grief settling in where answers should have been.

I wished, not for the first time, that I had a coffee. Or wine. Or anything that could take the edge off the weight pressing quietly against my chest.

Sebastian was already there, leaning against the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.

“Is he getting better?” he asked. “My mother’s worried. She sent me to check.”

I exhaled slowly.

“He’s resting. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Another day, maybe two, just to be safe—but he’ll live.”

Sebastian looked away, dragging once more before crushing the cigarette under his boot.

“I’ve told you about smoking,” I said. “More times than I can count.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know. Doesn’t help.”

I studied him for a moment.

“You hate living here.”

He didn’t answer.

“Stuck in a basement,” he said after a pause. “Because my stepdad won’t let me have a real room.”

A quiet, humorless breath left me.

“He has a way of making people smaller. Myself included.”

Sebastian’s expression shifted—anger thinning into something heavier. Not rage. Fatigue.

“He does it to everyone,” he said. “Robin. Maru. Probably Eric too. He never stops.”

I kept my voice even.

“Robin’s life hasn’t been kind.”

Sebastian turned sharply.

“You think I’m the problem?”

“No,” I said. “I think you’re angry. And I think she’s living with the consequences of choosing someone who doesn’t know how to love her.”

He let out a rough laugh that caught in his throat.

“They fight constantly. Every year it gets worse.”

I nodded.

“This town wears people down. Slowly. Quietly. You don’t notice it until there’s nothing left to push against.”

Silence settled between us.

“Do you think things get better?” he asked.

For a moment, I didn’t answer.

I thought of Eric. Of the fields. Of the calendar inching forward, indifferent to effort.

“Not in time,” I said.

Sebastian stilled.

“The Luau’s too close,” I continued. “He doesn’t have the margin he needs. No buffer. One bad day in the fields, one miscalculation—and the whole thing slips.”

“So it’s doomed.”

I hesitated.

“It’s fragile,” I said. “And fragile things don’t survive pressure.”

He dragged his hands through his hair.

“Damnit… if Lewis had actually guided him—if he’d given him something real to work with—”

“Too many assumptions were made,” I said. “Lewis wanted a miracle. Eric needed a plan.”

Sebastian went quiet.

Then, softer:

“Sam doesn’t deserve this. Any of it.”

I glanced at him.

“He keeps showing up,” Sebastian said. “Even with everything falling apart. His dad might not come back. The town’s falling apart. Lewis keeps pushing him. He hates the governor, but he still shows up.”

A pause.

“Because he loves this place.”

Another.

“And because he loves Penny.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“She cheated on him,” Sebastian said, voice tightening. “With Eric.”

The words settled heavily between us.

Sebastian’s hands trembled, just slightly.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to end up like Eric—carrying everything alone.”

“The longer the truth waits,” I said quietly, “the sharper it cuts.”

He nodded, staring somewhere distant.

“Sam’s my friend,” he said. “One of the only ones. Abigail is… complicated.”

“You resent her,” I said. “And care about her.”

He let out a breath. “Yeah.”

“She’s scared,” he said. “She wants someone to get her out. I thought maybe Eric would.”

A pause.

“But it’s just me.”

I glanced across the clinic grounds—

—and stopped.

Something shifted at the edge of my vision. A faint mechanical whir, steady enough that I realized, a second too late, it had been there for a while.

Watching.

I looked up.

The spider clung to the clinic wall, metal legs adjusting in small, precise increments. A lens flickered—focusing.

My stomach dropped.

“Yoba…” I muttered. “Even here.”

Sebastian followed my gaze.

His expression hardened instantly.

“Again?” he snapped. “He can’t leave me alone for one damn hour?”

He turned and walked off before I could respond.

I rubbed my temples.

Demetrius. You don’t even need to be present to do damage.

When I turned back, Emily stood a short distance away. Her eyes were red.

“How is he?” I asked.

“He’s eating,” she said softly. “It took a while. I’m just… scared he won’t come back the same.”

I nodded.

“You love him.”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said. “But I’m not ready.”

Then she left.

I stood there a while longer, listening to the low hum of the clinic behind me.

Some people hold others together without realizing it.

And people like Eric—

…rarely know how close they are to breaking.

Why Demetrius??
Why!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

 

[Cuddlebug]

Why Demetrius??
Why!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Because the silent waters are deep and dirty, as we say here

 

[Cuddlebug]

Wow, wow ,wow... Was away a few days and didn't have the time to read every day, but doing all that left at once isn't that bad anyway
Interesting turn out so far... I like that you gave Penny a bit more family and that Shane seems to recover somehow a bit. And Demetrius, yeah every story needs a good Antagonist, let's see how this turns out.
May I ask, where Emily finds a daffodil in summer? I can imagine Eric had stored a few of them, but has Em too? Or is she already allowed to look through Erics chests?

Overall, after reading the story so far, there's one thing I recognized, but I don't know, how to put it right... Sometimes, when you follow the original canon of the game, the story feels a bit stretched somehow or little words or gestures are filled up with much meaning and afterwards this tension just disappears without any consequences... I can't tell exactly yet, maybe it's just another fan-fic-thing, have to read it in a whole again to give you an example.
But that's just nitpicking. Please keep going.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Wow, wow ,wow... Was away a few days and didn't have the time to read every day, but doing all that left at once isn't that bad anyway
Interesting turn out so far... I like that you gave Penny a bit more family and that Shane seems to recover somehow a bit. And Demetrius, yeah every story needs a good Antagonist, let's see how this turns out.
May I ask, where Emily finds a daffodil in summer? I can imagine Eric had stored a few of them, but has Em too? Or is she already allowed to look through Erics chests?

Overall, after reading the story so far, there's one thing I recognized, but I don't know, how to put it right... Sometimes, when you follow the original canon of the game, the story feels a bit stretched somehow or little words or gestures are filled up with much meaning and afterwards this tension just disappears without any consequences... I can't tell exactly yet, maybe it's just another fan-fic-thing, have to read it in a whole again to give you an example.
But that's just nitpicking. Please keep going.

Yeah, my idea was that Emily gets a spare daffodils from Eric’s farm since by this point he has enough trust in her to let her give a gift on his behalf.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 12​

I woke up in the clinic with a dull ache threading through my body.

For a moment, I didn’t move. The ceiling above me felt unfamiliar—too clean, too still.

Maru stood nearby, flipping through a clipboard. She noticed me before I spoke.

“Eric?” she said, looking up. “You’re awake.”

“Wha—?” My voice came out dry. “Why am I here?”

She blinked once, then set the clipboard aside.

“You don’t remember? You collapsed in the mines.” A small pause. “Mom was frantic. And Sebastian…”

She hesitated.

“He looked angrier than usual.”

I groaned, dragging a hand over my face.

“Oh. Right. That mess.”

Maru’s expression softened.

“Well… the good news is we managed to stitch up the wound on your side. The burns weren’t as bad as they looked—no permanent damage.” She folded her arms lightly. “You’ll be sore for a while, though. You should take it easy today.”

“That’s a relief,” I said quietly. Then, after a beat: “Did Emily come by?”

Maru nodded.

“She did. She has aerobics with Mom this morning, but she asked me to check on you.” A small pause. “I told her you’d be okay.”

I let out a slow breath, staring at the edge of the bed.

“I hope she didn’t lose sleep over me.”

Maru hesitated.

“She probably did,” she said, almost carefully. “She cares.”

I rubbed my eyes, something sharper creeping in.

“Of all the people she could’ve chosen…” I muttered. “Why me?”

Maru didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t think people choose who they worry about,” she said finally. “Sometimes it just… happens.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, a little too quick.

The words landed wrong. I saw it immediately.

She flinched—barely.

“…Sorry,” I added, quieter this time. “That came out wrong.”

She shook her head, but didn’t quite meet my eyes.

“It’s fine. I just…” She trailed off, then gave a small, uncertain shrug. “I think I still have a lot to learn about this.”

About people, she meant.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, testing my weight. Pain flared along my ribs, sharp enough to make me pause—but I stayed upright.

“Guess I should head back,” I said. “Animals won’t feed themselves.”

Maru smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite hold. She hesitated.

“Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever want to come by the clinic… just to talk, I mean—you can.”

The words came out faster now, like she was trying to get them out before she lost the nerve.

“It’s usually quiet here. Harvey wouldn’t mind.” A small pause. “I wouldn’t either.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“I know most people go to the Saloon,” she added quickly. “Or the Museum. But… this place exists too.”

I nodded slowly.

“I think I avoided the clinic because I didn’t think I needed it,” I admitted. “Turns out I was wrong.”

That earned a real smile—small, but steady.

“It’s easy to miss,” she said. “When you’re busy taking care of everything else.”

I made it to the door before stopping, hand resting on the frame.

“Thanks, Maru.”

She gave a small wave.

“Anytime.”

​

Emily was waiting outside the clinic when I stepped out.

She didn’t say anything—just crossed the distance and pulled me into a tight hug.

“Oh, thank Yoba…” she breathed, her voice breaking. “You’re safe.”

For a second, I didn’t move. Then I let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against her shoulder.

“I really thought I could do everything alone,” I said quietly.

She pulled back just enough to look at me.

“Then we won’t,” she said. “We’ll do it together. Come on—I’ll help with the garden.”

Leah was already there when we arrived, watering the crops.

She startled when she saw me.

“O—oh! Eric!” she said. “I didn’t realize you were back already. I just… thought I’d help out.”

Emily smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Leah.”

Leah blinked. “Emily? Aren’t you supposed to be at aerobics?”

Emily hesitated—just a flicker.

“Did you hear what happened to Eric?”

Leah froze; my watering can tilting slightly in her hand.

“Oh. Right. The mines.” She exhaled. “That’s… rough.”

“It was my fault,” I said. “I went in unprepared.”

Leah lowered the watering can with a little more force than necessary.

“Lewis shouldn’t have let that happen,” she said. “He gives you responsibility without direction—like you’re supposed to just know.”

“He thought I was my grandfather,” I said quietly. “That I didn’t need guidance.”

She looked at me, something shifting in her expression.

“I didn’t know that.”

I shrugged.

“He’s tired. Still loyal. Just… old.”

Leah looked away, jaw tightening.

“Please stop making me feel bad for him.”

Emily’s smile softened, just slightly.

“That’s just who Eric is.”

She moved to the far side of the field, watering the rows Leah had missed, leaving the two of us in a quieter kind of silence.

I crouched down to check on Dudley.

He immediately leapt onto my leg, purring like nothing had happened.

“Aw,” Emily called from across the field. “He missed you.”

“Couldn’t tell,” I muttered. “He blocks my chests and sheds everywhere.”

Leah laughed under her breath.

“He hates me,” she said. “No idea why.”

I glanced at Dudley, then back at her.

Said nothing.

That only made her laugh a little more.

“Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants, “I should get going. Take care of yourself, Eric.”

And just like that, she was gone—quick steps, light, already somewhere else.

“What an odd woman,” I murmured.

“Free-spirited,” Emily corrected cheerfully.

Dudley meowed in agreement.

“Oh!” Emily said suddenly, spotting the seeds. “Squash?”

“From the mines,” I said. “Pierre barely sells anything useful.”

“I’ll plant them,” she said, already moving. “You’re not lifting a finger.”

She worked quietly for a moment, the sound of soil shifting filling the space between us.

“Are you going back?” she asked, softer this time.

I hesitated.

“If you do,” she said, “please… have a plan. I can’t watch you disappear again.”

I managed a small smile.

“Zuzu City didn’t kill me. The mines won’t either.”

She didn’t smile back.

“I believe you,” she said. “I just don’t trust the world around you.”

Before I could respond, she froze.

“Aerobics—!”

And then she was gone.

The farm felt quieter without her.

I checked the mailbox.

Marlon had sent over some Void Essence—the same kind I’d pulled from that Shadow Brute.

Back then, I thought they were just oversized nuisances.

Turns out they were trained soldiers.

No one bothered to mention that.

Or that the Shadow People had druids.

Magic.

Every day, it felt like I was learning something I should’ve known before I ever stepped into the mines.

I headed north, cutting through the trees. The moss from the green rain still clung to the bark, stubborn as ever.

For a moment, it almost felt normal again.

I should’ve known better.

​

When I stepped into the mines, I stopped.

He was already there.

The Dwarf.

The same one Robin had described—the one who’d dragged me out before everything went black.

He stood unnervingly still, metal frame locked in place like a statue that had decided not to move.

The Wizard stood beside him.

“Toxu tottan snuy, toxu tottan taosn—”

The Dwarf’s voice ground against itself, like stone caught in gears. Each word carried a metallic echo, something layered beneath it, as if the sound wasn’t meant for human ears.

I didn’t understand it.

But I felt it.

Mockery. Contempt.

Something older than anger.

The Wizard didn’t respond.

He just stood there, watching.

“Å a namimu ch nazi nanno—”

The Dwarf stopped.

His helmet shifted.

Slowly.

Toward me.

It took me a second to realize—

He hadn’t noticed me before.

Now he had.

The air changed.

“Olha?”

The single word came out sharper. Focused.

The Dwarf took a step forward.

Metal scraped against stone.

I felt it in my chest more than I heard it.

“Hmph,” the Wizard muttered. “Took him long enough.”

I didn’t know which of us he meant.

“Eric Keene,” the Wizard said, almost absently. “You’ve caused more damage than you realize.”

“I didn’t—” My voice caught. “I didn’t know the scrolls were doing anything—”

“They weren’t meant to be touched,” he said. “They were holding something in place.”

The Dwarf moved again.

Closer.

Heat rolled off him now—subtle, but real. Like standing too near a forge.

I swallowed.

“So… what happens now?”

The Wizard didn’t answer right away.

“He stays,” he said finally. “For now.”

That didn’t sound reassuring.

The Dwarf let out a low, grinding sound—almost a laugh.

Then he moved.

Fast.

One step—too fast for something that heavy—and suddenly he was in front of me.

I didn’t even have time to react.

A bronze blade slammed into the stone beside my head.

The impact cracked the wall.

Dust rained down.

My legs locked.

“—!”

The words he spat out meant nothing to me.

The intent didn’t.

Kill.

The Wizard moved instantly.

“Enough.”

The word snapped through the air.

Something invisible tightened—like pressure dropping all at once.

The Dwarf froze.

Not willingly.

The metal around his joints clicked, resisted—then held.

“You are not strong enough to make demands,” the Wizard said, voice low. “Not here.”

The Dwarf turned his head toward him slowly.

Then—deliberately—

He leaned closer to me.

Close enough that I could hear something inside the armor shifting. Repairing. Rebuilding.

“...Krobus…”

The name came out clearer than the rest.

Recognizable.

Wrong.

I felt my stomach drop.

“Krobus?” I managed. “Who—”

“Not now,” the Wizard cut in sharply.

The Dwarf laughed again—quieter this time, but no less sharp.

Then he moved again.

The pressure snapped.

His blade shifted—toward me.

The Wizard didn’t hesitate.

The air warped.

Space folded inward with a sharp, cracking sound.

The Dwarf vanished mid-motion.

Silence crashed in behind him.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing until it came back all at once.

“What… was that?” I asked.

The Wizard didn’t look at me.

“He’s not supposed to be this active yet,” he said. “You accelerated something.”

My hands were still shaking.

“You said he couldn’t leave.”

“He can’t,” the Wizard said. “Not fully.”

That wasn’t better.

He reached into his cloak and pulled something free.

A crossbow.

He held it out.

I didn’t take it right away.

“What is it?”

“A solution,” he said. “A temporary one.”

I took it.

The wood was warm. Too warm.

The metal fittings hummed faintly under my fingers.

“Use it if you have to,” the Wizard continued. “And don’t go deeper than necessary.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s your plan?”

His expression didn’t change.

“That is what you have.”

Before I could respond—he was gone.

I stood there alone.

The crack in the wall was still fresh.

Still smoking.

I looked down at the crossbow in my hands.

Then back at the empty space where the Dwarf had been.

Pelican Town wasn’t peaceful.

It was contained.

​

The upper levels of the mines felt worse than I remembered.

Not because they’d changed—

Because I had.

A red slime dropped from above before I could react.

It hit hard.

I stumbled back, pain flaring instantly along my ribs. The stitches pulled—tight, sharp—and for a second I couldn’t breathe. I swung wildly, barely managing to drive it off and finish it before it could land another hit.

When it was over, my hands were already shaking.

I leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly.

Too soon.

This was too soon.

I didn’t touch the crossbow.

Not yet.

The next chamber was quieter.

A Shadow Brute wandered near the center—slow, armored, unaware.

My grip tightened.

Last time, one of those nearly killed me.

Slowly, I raised the crossbow.

Even holding it felt… wrong. Heavy in a way that wasn’t just weight. Like it was resisting me.

I lined up the shot.

Fired.

The impact was immediate—

Not on the brute.

On me.

The recoil slammed into my shoulder and tore straight through my ribs. White-hot pain exploded across my side, forcing the air out of my lungs. I staggered back, nearly dropping the weapon.

The bolt hit anyway.

Light erupted across the brute’s armor, spreading fast—too fast. It didn’t even have time to react. The metal caught, burned, collapsed inward like it was being eaten alive.

Then it was gone.

Silence.

I stared at the spot where it had been.

Then down at the crossbow.

My hands were shaking worse now.

“H-how…” I breathed.

That thing had nearly killed me before.

A faint sound behind me.

Movement.

Two slimes.

I turned too slowly.

One lunged—I flinched, raised the crossbow again on instinct, and fired.

Pain hit first.

The shot went wide.

The bolt cracked into the wall, light splintering across stone.

I swore under my breath, dropping the crossbow to my side and switching weapons, finishing them the old way—messier, slower, but at least it didn’t feel like my ribs were tearing open again.

By the time it was over, I was breathing hard.

Too hard.

I picked the crossbow back up.

Carefully.

Tested the weight again.

The Dwarf flashed in my mind—

The way it had moved.

Too fast.

Too precise.

That thing had crossed the distance between us before I could even react.

And this—

This was something meant to kill things like that.

I swallowed.

A Shadow Druid stepped into view further ahead.

Staff raised.

I didn’t wait this time.

I braced myself—

Fired.

The recoil hit harder.

My vision blurred for a second as pain tore through my side again, sharper than before. I nearly dropped to one knee.

But the shot landed.

The Druid didn’t even get the spell off.

Light consumed him in an instant.

Gone.

I lowered the crossbow slowly.

My arms felt weak.

Unsteady.

This wasn’t control.

This was barely holding on.

Something shifted beneath the floor.

A Lava Crab.

It burst upward—

And I didn’t even consider the crossbow.

I switched to the Insect Head immediately, dealing with it the only way I trusted right now—close, controlled, familiar.

When it was over, I didn’t move for a few seconds.

Just stood there.

Listening to my own breathing.

Feeling my ribs pulse with every heartbeat.

This wasn’t going to work.

Not like this.

I looked down at the crossbow again.

Powerful.

Too powerful.

And I wasn’t ready for it.

Not yet.

I turned and headed for the exit.

Earlier than I planned.

Emily didn’t need another reason to worry.

As I stepped out of the mines, one thought lingered—

Not about the weapon.

About him.

The Dwarf.

Timur.

If something that heavy could move that fast—

If something like this was made to fight it—

Then I hadn’t survived that encounter.

I’d been spared.

I tightened my grip on the crossbow.

And for the first time since I got it—

I wasn’t thinking about how useful it was.

I was thinking about what would happen

if I had to use it again.

I didn’t know someone else had been watching.

​

It was past ten when I made it out.

I thought I’d be alone.

Then—

“Eric.”

My body locked up.

I turned slowly.

“…Sebastian.”

He stepped out from the shadows.

And immediately stopped.

His eyes dropped—taking in everything at once.

The way I was standing.

The way I was breathing.

The way I was holding my side.

“…What did you do?” he asked.

Not annoyed.

Not sarcastic.

Sharp.

I exhaled, already tired.

“Harvey told me to take it easy,” I said. “Maru said I was fine. Emily said I needed a plan—”

“Yeah?” he cut in. “And this was the plan?”

He stepped closer.

Too close.

His gaze snapped to the crossbow in my hands.

“…What the hell is that?”

I glanced down at it.

“It’s—complicated.”

“Try me.”

I swallowed.

“The Wizard gave it to me.”

That alone set him off.

“Of course he did,” Sebastian snapped. “He only shows up when things are already screwed.”

I hesitated.

“That’s not the worst part.”

He went still.

“…What happened?”

For a second, I didn’t answer.

Then—

“I saw the Dwarf.”

Silence.

Not the quiet kind.

The kind that presses.

“…You’re kidding,” he said.

“I wish I was.”

His expression didn’t change.

That was worse.

“What did it do?” he asked.

Not what is it.

What did it do.

I tightened my grip on the crossbow.

“It moved,” I said. “Fast.”

Too fast.

“It was right in front of me before I could react.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened.

“It tried to kill me.”

That did it.

“Yoba—”

He turned away sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping again.

“I told you not to go back,” he said. “Harvey told you not to go back. And you go down there—injured—and run into that?”

“I didn’t know it would be there—”

“That’s the problem!” he snapped. “You never know what’s going to be down there anymore!”

The words hung between us.

He exhaled hard, trying to steady himself.

“…You’re shaking,” he muttered.

I hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “The crossbow doesn’t help.”

His eyes flicked to it again.

“What does it do?”

“It kills the brutes,” I said. “Easily.”

A pause.

“But it hurts,” I added. “Every time I fire it—it feels like it’s tearing something open again.”

That made him go still again.

“Then why are you using it?”

“Because the alternatives are worse. This is the best I got.”

He didn’t argue with that.

Didn’t like it—but didn’t argue.

“…There was a fight,” he said after a moment. “Near the end of Spring.”

I looked up.

“Explosion. Linus’s tent got torn apart. The Wizard was there.” His voice dropped slightly. “So was that thing.”

My stomach tightened.

“Afterward, the Wizard got a letter,” he continued. “Said it was meant for us.”

“For us?”

He nodded once.

“Town. Museum. Whoever keeps digging.”

I exhaled slowly.

“So this… isn’t new.”

“No,” Sebastian said. “You just made it worse.”

That landed harder than I expected.

“And Penny’s still going,” he added. “She didn’t stop after Gunther.”

I looked away.

Of course she didn’t.

“All this time…” I muttered. “I thought I was helping.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything.

Which somehow said more.

His frustration shifted again—away from me this time.

“All because no one told you anything,” he said. “Not Lewis. Not Gunther. Not anyone.”

His voice sharpened.

“They hand you responsibility, no context, no warning—and call it trust.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“I hate how this place is run.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“The Luau’s coming,” he continued. “Town meeting tomorrow. And everyone’s going to pretend everything’s fine while this—” he gestured vaguely toward the mines “—is sitting under our feet.”

I met his gaze.

“Sam’s involved, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “He is.”

A pause.

“He still believes in this place,” he added quietly. “That’s the difference.”

He looked back at me again.

Really looked, this time.

“…You should go home,” he said.

My grip tightened slightly on the crossbow.

“…Yeah.”

He hesitated.

Then, quieter—

“…and… don’t go back down there like this.”

Then he stepped back and disappeared into the dark.

I stood there for a long moment.

The crossbow felt heavier now.

Not because of what it could do—

But because of what I’d already seen.

The Dwarf. The speed. The intent.

The way it moved like killing me was the simplest thing in the world.

Pelican Town wasn’t just in danger.

It had been for a while.

I just hadn’t noticed.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 13​

I didn’t realize I was still holding three squash seeds until I nearly went back inside with them in my hand.

I swore under my breath and turned back, jamming them into the soil harder than I meant to.

The melons weren’t ready.

Of course they weren’t.

I stared at them longer than I should have, like they might change their minds if I just waited.

They didn’t.

“Great,” I muttered. “Perfect.”

No melons. No backup plan. No room for mistakes.

I could’ve used Speed-Gro. If I had the money. If Pierre didn’t price everything like he knew I didn’t.

I exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of my hand into my forehead.

I left Joja to get away from this.

Didn’t I?

“If I can’t even get crops right,” I said quietly, “how am I supposed to stand in front of everyone and pretend I know what I’m doing?”

The farm didn’t answer.

It never did.

Inside, the TV flickered to life.

“It's going to be clear and sunny tomorrow... perfect weather for the Luau! The event will take place on the beach, starting between 9:00 am and 2:00 pm. Don't be late!”

Of course.

Perfect weather for a public failure.

“Spirits are neutral today.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “That tracks.”

The Queen of Sauce reran something I’d already seen.

“Baked Fish,” I said under my breath. “Still no kitchen.”

I shut it off before it could keep talking.

Watering took longer than it should have. It always did.

Back and forth. Refill. Back again.

By the time I finished, my arms ached and my shirt stuck to my back.

And it still wasn’t enough.

It never felt like enough.

The mailbox creaked open. A letter, of course.

Dear Eric,
Tomorrow we're all gathering at the beach for the annual Pelican Town Luau.
The highlight of the event is the communal potluck. Make sure you bring something good to contribute! The governor himself is attending the event, so make sure you're on your best behavior.
Come to the beach sometime between 9 AM and 2 PM.
—Mayor Lewis

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

Slowly.

Waiting for something to change.

It didn’t.

My grip tightened on the paper.

“That’s it?” I said, the words coming out sharper than I expected. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

No mention of the meeting.

No warning.

No plan.

Just… show up. Smile. Don’t embarrass the town.

“Lewis… what are you doing?” I asked, quieter now—but worse.

“You call a town hall meeting and don’t even tell people it’s happening?”

My voice rose again before I could stop it.

“You want us all in a room, talking about problems you won’t even name—and then what? Straight to the Luau like nothing’s wrong?”

I laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“You don’t get to do that.”

The letter crumpled slightly in my hand.

“You don’t get to pretend everything’s fine just because the Governor’s watching.”

Silence.

Just the creak of the farmhouse. The faint buzz of summer outside.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“I’m running out of time,” I said.

For a summer morning, it felt wrong.

Heavy. Stagnant.

Like something was already going bad—and everyone was just… waiting for it to show.

​

I checked the bulletin board on my way out.

Then the calendar.

Maru’s birthday.

Right.

I had something for that. A diamond. Spare—but not really. Nothing down there felt spare.

Still.

It would make her happy.

That had to count for something.

Robin was at the desk when I stepped inside. Maru and Demetrius were in the lab, bent over something I didn’t understand.

“Hey, Eric…” Robin said.

“Hey.”

She glanced toward the back room.

“You here for Maru?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I—uh… got her something.”

Before I could finish, Maru looked up.

“A diamond?” she said, already moving.

I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud.

“W-What?! For me?!”

She rushed over, eyes wide, hands already reaching.

“It’s— it’s so beautiful. Thank you!”

She hugged me without hesitation.

I flinched.

Pain lanced through my side—sharp, immediate. I held it in.

“Careful,” Robin said gently. “He’s still healing.”

Maru pulled back, startled. “Oh! I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly.

It wasn’t.

Robin smiled.

Demetrius didn’t.

He hadn’t moved.

Just… watching.

Not me.

The diamond.

Then Maru.

Then back to me.

A small frown settled on his face—not anger.

Assessment.

Maru turned the diamond in her hands, still glowing with it.

“You really didn’t have to go that far,” she said. “If you get iridium ore, you can just make a crystallarium and duplicate them.”

“I’m not there yet,” I said.

She nodded quickly, like she’d expected that.

“Oh! Penny likes these too,” she added. “Her birthday’s in Fall, so you’ve got time. Or you could do Poppies! Everyone hates them, but she loves them.”

Poppies.

The word sat wrong.

I didn’t say anything.

“Eric.”

Demetrius.

I hadn’t heard him move.

“Are you able to assist for a moment?” he asked. “I was going to send Maru out for additional soil samples, but I need someone to monitor the breaker.”

Robin’s expression tightened.

“Demetrius—” she started.

He didn’t look at her.

“I won’t be long.”

That wasn’t for me.

I nodded anyway.

Of course I did.

The lab felt smaller with the door half-closed behind me.

Demetrius didn’t look up.

“Thank you for the help.”

His voice was even. Controlled.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

I nodded.

Joja reflex.

“Maru’s a good kid,” he said.

Not to me.

Just… into the room.

“She’s my special little girl.”

Something in my shoulders locked.

I stayed quiet.

That felt like the right answer.

“I wouldn’t want anything interfering with her future,” he continued. “You understand.”

“I—yeah.”

“Good.”

A beat.

Then—

“I trust you, Eric.”

That should’ve felt better.

It didn’t.

“You know your boundaries.”

Behind me, a chair scraped.

Robin.

“Demetrius,” she said quietly.

He waved a hand, dismissive.

“I’m not accusing him of anything.”

He stepped closer.

Not aggressive.

Not quite.

Just enough.

“I don’t believe you’d ever behave recklessly,” he said.

Recklessly.

The word landed heavier than it should have.

He paused.

Something shifted.

A decision, maybe.

“Not everyone exercises that level of restraint,” he added.

Silence stretched.

“Especially individuals in positions of influence.”

Another pause.

Then—

“Like Harvey.”

Robin moved fast this time.

“Are we seriously doing this again?”

Demetrius finally looked at her.

“Since the Flower Festival, Maru has been spending time around him. Frequently. Without oversight. Sebastian as well.”

His tone didn’t rise.

That made it worse.

“Patterns like that don’t occur randomly.”

Robin’s voice dropped—cold, steady.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

“She’s a child—”

“She is our daughter,” Robin snapped. “And he’s a doctor.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” Demetrius shot back, irritation slipping through. “That authority alone prevents manipulation?”

“Stop.”

“You’re asking me to ignore variables that are clearly—”

“Stop.”

He didn’t.

“And I’m supposed to believe he wouldn’t take advantage of my—”

He cut himself off.

Too late.

“…our kid.”

Silence.

Thick. Immediate.

Robin stared at him.

Her hands were shaking now.

“What did you just say?”

Demetrius exhaled slowly.

Resetting.

Retreating.

“…This is no longer productive,” he said, already turning away, already reorganizing the samples like nothing had happened.

Like it could be undone.

Then, without looking at me:

“Eric. You should leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

That wasn’t a suggestion.

I moved for the door.

Too fast.

Like I’d been waiting for permission.

Robin caught my eye as I passed.

She smiled.

It didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes.

“See you at the Town Hall meeting, Eric.”

Outside, Maru nearly ran into me.

Still bright. Still smiling.

Still completely unaware.

“Thanks again for the gift!” she said, hurrying past me.

Into the house.

Into it.

I didn’t say anything.

I just stood there for a second.

Listening.

To nothing.

Oh god…

Maru.

​

I left before my thoughts could settle into anything I could understand.

Linus was already by the lake.

Of course he was.

Standing still. Watching the water like it had something to say.

“I have to be wary of strangers,” he said, before I even spoke.

“Most people don’t like a wild man.”

I hesitated.

“That… sucks.”

He smiled faintly.

Like I’d given the only answer there was.

Silence stretched.

I thought that was it.

Then—

“I saw what happened yesterday.”

My chest tightened.

Slowly.

“Did you?” I asked. “Because I don’t remember telling anyone.”

Linus didn’t look at me.

“The cavern trembled,” he said. “Magic leaves marks. Even when it’s cleaned up after.”

My stomach dropped.

Cleaned up.

“You mean—” I stopped. Tried again. “You mean when the Wizard—”

“When he intervened,” Linus said gently.

Not corrected.

Clarified.

The memory hit all at once.

The Dwarf.

The attack.

The way it didn’t hesitate.

And then—

The flash.

The pull.

Gone.

“They’ve reached another pact,” Linus continued.

Another.

The word stuck.

“After that?” I asked. “After what happened?”

Linus turned then.

His eyes weren’t surprised.

They weren’t curious.

Just… certain.

“Sometimes,” he said, “pacts are not agreements.”

A pause.

“They are what’s left when neither side wins.”

I didn’t like that.

I didn’t like any of it.

“He tried to kill me,” I said.

The words felt smaller out loud.

Linus nodded once.

“Yes.”

No comfort.

No denial.

Just acknowledgment.

“Sometimes,” he said softly, “there are no heroes or villains left in a story.”

His voice wavered—just slightly.

“Only survivors.”

A breath.

“And victims.”

The lake didn’t move.

Didn’t ripple.

Didn’t react.

“The shadowed tribes,” Linus went on, “linger where rage outlived reason.”

His gaze drifted—not to me.

Past me.

“Long after sentience became too heavy to carry.”

The sewer came to mind.

That voice.

Quiet.

Alone.

Still thinking.

Still… feeling.

“Surely,” Linus said, “among them, one still remembers how to want peace.”

I swallowed.

“Do they?” I asked.

Linus didn’t answer right away.

“The Wizard does what he can,” he said instead. “But even guardians grow tired.”

Another pause.

“Especially when peace must be forced.”

That word again.

Forced.

I opened my mouth.

There were too many questions.

None of them felt safe to ask.

Linus turned away before I could choose one.

Just… walked.

Like the conversation had ended long before I realized it had started.

The lake stayed still. Perfectly still.

For the first time…

Linus didn’t feel strange.

He felt like someone who had already seen how this ends.

​

The Shadow Tribes noticed me immediately.

They always did.

A brute lunged from the dark—too fast, too direct.

I reacted before I thought.

The crossbow kicked hard into my shoulder.

The first bolt went wide.

The second hit.

The third found his neck.

He collapsed in a heap of dim, dissolving matter. His club struck stone with a hollow crack.

I steadied the crossbow, jaw tight.

Still pulling left. Still overcompensating.

But better.

The air felt wrong.

Not just damp. Not just stale.

Disturbed.

The deeper I stepped in, the more it showed.

Stone walls blackened in jagged streaks—like something had burned without flame. Cracks split through the floor in unnatural patterns, not from time, but from force.

Magic.

Not the quiet kind.

The violent kind.

Linus’s voice lingered.

“Magic leaves marks.”

Two brutes stood near a cluster of broken crates. Slimes drifted lazily between them.

I didn’t rush or panic.

I adjusted my stance and waited.

One step forward.

Aim.

Fire—

The bolt punched through a slime mid-motion. It burst before it understood what happened.

The second brute turned.

Too slow.

I reached for the cherry bomb, lit it, tossed it behind the rocks, and ducked.

The blast tore through the space—light, heat, pressure—

When the smoke cleared, one brute was gone.

The other was on it’s knees.

It looked up at me.

Not attacking.

Not rushing.

Just… looking.

I raised the crossbow.

This time, my hands didn’t shake.

I fired.

Only after did I feel it.

The tremor.

Late.

Like my body was catching up to something my mind had already decided.

“What the hell…” I whispered. “What am I becoming?”

“There are only survivors.”

“And victims.”

A sound echoed deeper in the cavern.

Not movement. Not creatures.

Something… settling.

Like the cave itself remembering something violent.

I moved forward.

Carefully.

There were more signs now.

Deep gouges in the stone—too clean to be claws. Too uneven to be tools.

And scorch marks.

Not fire.

Something sharper.

More precise.

The Wizard.

The Dwarf.

I stopped near a collapsed section of wall.

Stone had been pushed outward.

Not broken.

Forced.

Like something had tried to escape—or been thrown.

“They’ve reached another pact.”

“After that?” I muttered.

It didn’t feel like peace.

It felt like exhaustion.

A druid stepped from the shadows.

I fired before he fully turned.

This time, the recoil didn’t throw me off.

The bolt struck center.

Cleaner. More efficient.

Essence hit the ground.

I didn’t flinch.

Two slimes moved in from the side.

I pivoted, adjusted—

One shot.

Then another.

Both gone.

Something inside me shifted.

Not louder. Quieter.

Another druid. Dead before he spoke.

Another brute. Down before he swung.

I wasn’t reacting anymore. I was anticipating.

I wasn’t fighting. I was clearing.

A brute rushed me from the side.

Too close for the crossbow.

I stepped in.

Drove it into his neck.

Fired.

The impact shattered him into fragments of dark light.

No blood. No resistance.

Nothing that felt… alive.

Emily’s voice surfaced, uninvited.

Every living being deserves respect.

“How?” I thought. “How do you respect something that exists to kill you?”

No answer came.

The cavern stretched ahead—quieter now.

They traded sentience for rage.

I reloaded, faster and smoother this time.

And I traded hesitation for survival.

Loot gathered without thought.

Essence. Ore. Bars.

Just… numbers.

Weight. Value.

I stepped over where something had been.

Didn’t look down.

Didn’t need to.

I didn’t feel like a farmer.

I felt like a trespasser.

A plunderer.

A colonizer.

I paused.

That word sat heavier than the rest.

Was this what it felt like?

The Elemental Wars?

Not chaos. Not glory.

Routine. Methodical. Empty. Necessary.

The Wizard wasn’t here. The Dwarf wasn’t here. Linus wasn’t here.

Only me.

Another slime lunged.

I switched weapons without thinking.

The Insect Head cut through it in one clean motion.

I exhaled slowly.

The crossbow was faster.

Cleaner. More efficient.

I didn’t trust that.

Efficiency made me feel less human.

Demetrius crossed my mind.

Observation without empathy.

Control without understanding.

Sebastian too.

Watching. Adapting. Learning.

Not chaotic, deliberate.

The elevator bell rang.

I stepped inside.

The door shut behind me with a soft, final sound.

The Obsidian Edge waited.

Dark. Heavy. Unapologetic.

I picked it up, turned it in my hands and felt the weight settle into something familiar.

“This feels like something Sebastian would appreciate,” I muttered.

The thought stayed longer than it should have.

When I left the mines, I didn’t look back.

I didn’t want to see what I’d done.

Or what I’d become good at.

​

Sebastian could be anywhere.

That was the problem.

Demetrius had patterns. Predictable routes. Controlled spaces. You could map him out if you paid attention.

Sebastian didn’t follow patterns.

He watched them.

Adjusted.

Moved around them.

I caught myself scanning the road as I passed Robin’s shop.

Corners. Sightlines. Open paths.

Clear exits.

I stopped.

“…What am I doing?”

The crossbow wasn’t in my hands anymore.

But something about it still was.

Demetrius’s voice replayed without warning.

“You know your boundaries.”

Robin’s—

“Stop.”

And underneath it—something quieter. Something worse.

“…my—our kid.”

I exhaled sharply and kept walking.

The Community Center came into view.

Empty. Still. Waiting.

That chair was still there.

The one Penny used to sit in.

For a second, I didn’t go inside.

Just stood there, watching it.

Like it might move. Like it might explain something.

She had looked… peaceful, back then.

Soft. Untouched.

That felt wrong now.

The bridge came back to me.

Before the Flower Festival.

Sam holding her.

Her leaning into him like it was easy.

Like it didn’t cost anything.

I had believed that.

That it was simple. That people were simple.

They weren’t.

Inside the Community Center, the air felt different.

Heavier.

Like the place remembered things.

Penny didn’t feel peaceful anymore.

She felt—unresolved.

The memory hit harder this time.

Her hands on my face.

The way she pulled me in.

Not careful. Not hesitant.

Desperate.

Like something breaking.

And then—Sebastian.

Standing there. Watching.

Not surprised. Not confused.

Just… taking it in.

My head throbbed.

In the mines, things were clearer.

Targets. Distance. Movement.

You reacted or you didn’t.

Here—I couldn’t tell what anything meant.

Who was I supposed to be?

The guy she kissed?

The one she ran from?

Or the one Sebastian was measuring?

I stepped further inside.

Slowly.

Like I was entering something I didn’t fully understand.

The bundle sat waiting.

Incomplete. Quiet.

I pulled out the Red Mushroom.

Turned it over in my hand.

In the mines, it would’ve been simple.

Use it. Sell it. Discard it.

Here—it felt like something else.

An offering. A transaction. A way to fix something I didn’t know how to fix.

I placed it into the Bulletin Bundle.

For a moment—nothing happened.

Then the faint shift.

That quiet, almost-living response.

I felt it in my chest.

The same way the cavern had felt.

After.

Not peaceful.

Settled.

Like something had been forced into place.

Linus’s voice surfaced again.

“Pacts are what’s left when neither side wins.”

I stared at the bundle longer than I should have.

Was this any different?

Give something.

Get something back.

Pretend it balances.

My grip tightened.

A noise behind me—

I turned too fast.

Nothing.

Still empty.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

Sebastian could be anywhere.

Watching.

Not interfering.

Just… learning.

I exhaled slowly.

Forced my shoulders to relax.

This wasn’t the mines.

No one was attacking.

No one was—

My hand brushed against something at my side.

The crossbow.

I froze.

I had walked all the way here with it.

Out in the open.

Visible.

My stomach dropped.

What the hell was I doing?

I pulled my jacket tighter, instinctively covering it.

Too late.

No one had seen.

Probably.

I stepped back.

Faster now.

I needed to put it away.

Needed distance.

From the mines. From this. From whatever I was starting to become.

I glanced once more at the chair.

It didn’t look peaceful anymore.

It looked like a place where something started—

and never finished.

I turned and left.

Maybe the Saloon would quiet my mind.

I didn’t believe that.

​

It didn’t help.

It didn’t even come close.

Only Gus was there.

“Eric! Good to see you,” he said, smiling in that careful way—like he’d decided to be cheerful instead of worried.

I stepped inside, slower than usual.

Listening.

Checking.

Corners. Door. Windows.

Clear.

My hand brushed against my side.

The crossbow.

Still there.

Still visible, if anyone looked closely enough.

I pulled my jacket tighter without thinking.

“Why’s it empty?” I asked.

I already knew.

“Town Hall meeting,” Gus said. “Starting soon. Had to close early.”

His eyes flicked down to the ledger.

Didn’t stay on me long.

Still—

I shifted slightly, angling myself so the counter blocked his view.

“Last month wasn’t great,” he added.

I winced. “The Governor?”

“Half the problem,” Gus said. “The other half is Pam. She hasn’t paid her tab in weeks.”

That didn’t surprise me.

What did was what came next.

“She’s gotten worse,” Gus said. “Funny thing is—Shane’s gotten better. Used to be the other way around.”

I leaned against the counter, careful. Controlled.

“Did Shane… get a girlfriend?”

Gus nodded slowly.

“Looks like it. He doesn’t talk about it much, but… he’s calmer. Less angry.”

A pause.

“He comes in with her sometimes.”

I swallowed.

My grip tightened slightly against the counter.

“Penny was here once,” Gus added. “With Claire. They were laughing.”

He hesitated.

“It felt… strange.”

Strange. Yeah.

“Shane’s happy,” I said.

“Yeah,” Gus replied quietly. “And Pam’s somehow more miserable.”

Balance. Trade-offs.

Like the mines.

I exhaled slowly.

“Gus… what happened between Pam and Claire?”

He stiffened.

Just slightly.

“Well, Eric, she—”

The door slammed open.

Pam.

“Howdy, fellas!” she barked, loud enough to fill the empty room. “Ready for a party!”

She took two steps in—

Then stopped.

Her eyes moved.

Table to table.

Empty.

“Where the hell is everybody?” she demanded.

“Town Hall meeting,” Gus said.

Didn’t look up.

Pam scoffed.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

She threw her hands up.

“Why does anyone care about that damn festival? It’s gonna be a disaster anyway! Might as well drink and forget about it.”

Gus winced.

My hand brushed the crossbow again.

Reflex. Check.

Still there. Still hidden.

Pam turned slightly.

For a second—

I thought she noticed.

My shoulders tensed.

But her gaze passed over me.

Dismissed.

Something in me snapped into place.

Clear. Simple.

“Pam,” I said.

She turned back, irritated already.

“What?”

I didn’t raise my voice.

Didn’t need to.

“The Saloon’s losing money,” I said. “The town’s losing money. Lewis is drowning. The Governor doesn’t care.”

I gestured toward Gus.

“And he’s carrying more than he can afford.”

Gus shifted.

“Eric—”

I didn’t stop.

“You could make his life easier,” I continued, steady, “by paying your tab. Just enough to let him breathe.”

Silence.

Pam stared at me.

For a moment—I measured it.

Distance. Angle. Reaction time.

My stomach twisted.

What the hell was I doing?

Her face flushed. Hands clenched. Shaking.

“You telling me how to spend my money now?” she snapped.

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m telling you what it’s costing him.”

Another pause.

The room felt smaller.

Gus wasn’t looking at the ledger anymore.

He was looking at me.

Not worried. Watching.

Pam’s shoulders sagged.

Just slightly.

The fight left her faster than it should have.

“Fine,” she muttered.

She reached into her coat and slammed a pouch onto the counter.

The sound was louder than it needed to be.

Gus opened it.

Counted slowly.

A thousand gold.

Not enough. Not even close.

Pam didn’t wait. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.

“Gotta go,” she said, already turning.

“To the meeting?” I asked.

She snorted.

“Why would I bother? Waste of time.”

The door slammed behind her.

My shoulders loosened slowly.

Gus exhaled.

Long. Tired.

“Thanks, Eric,” he said. “But… it barely dents it.”

I nodded.

Didn’t trust myself to say anything yet.

The room still felt tight.

Like something had almost happened.

I rubbed my face.

“What the hell is happening to this town?”

Gus closed the ledger.

“Same thing that always happens,” he said. “Some people start healing.”

A pause.

“Others get left behind.”

My hand brushed the crossbow again.

Still there. Still hidden. Not gone.

Gus grabbed his coat.

“Come on. Let’s not be late.”

I nodded and followed him to the door.

For a second—I hesitated.

Then stepped outside.

The Town Hall waited.

And for the first time—I wasn’t worried about what people would say.

I was worried about what I might.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 14​

Pierre’s shop was empty.
No customers. No idle chatter. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of dust and flour.

“It’s in the main hall,” Gus said. “Where the aerobics classes are.”

We headed through the back.

The chairs stopped me short.

So many of them. Arranged too neatly. Too deliberately.

The spacing felt familiar.

Not like a town meeting.

Like a formation.

Like something waiting for orders.

My hands twitched.

For a second, I expected something to come out of the walls.
Something hostile.
Something I would have to clear.

I forced my fingers to relax.

This wasn’t the mines.

Everyone was already seated.

The layout felt intentional—whether by habit or hierarchy, I couldn’t tell.

Front:
Lewis. Marnie.
A board behind them. Two chairs pulled forward. Papers stacked and waiting.

First row:
Gus, me, Emily, Jodi, Caroline, Pierre.

Second row:
Gunther, Penny, Shane, Claire, Marlon.

Third row:
Robin, Demetrius, George, Evelyn, Gil.

Fourth row:
Leah, Elliot, Harvey, Willy, Clint.

The absences stood out more than the crowd.

Pam.
Sam.
Sebastian.
Abigail.
Haley.
Alex.
Maru.
Morris.

Vincent and Jas too—probably kept away from whatever this was about to become.

At the front, Lewis, Marnie, Marlon, and Gil murmured quietly. Focused. The kind of conversation meant to end before anyone else could hear it.

Gus and I took our seats beside Emily.

I adjusted my jacket without thinking—checking the crossbow.

Hidden.

Still, it didn’t feel hidden.

Like everyone could see it anyway.

“Hey,” Emily said softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

I stiffened. “Emily—”

“Oh?” Jodi said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Look at you two.”

Caroline smiled. Pierre didn’t.

“At least Morris isn’t here,” Pierre muttered.

“Pierre,” Caroline warned.

He leaned back, arms crossed. “What? I’ve been to these before.”

Jodi frowned but let it go.

I leaned closer to Emily. “Didn’t think you cared about this stuff.”

“I don’t,” she said. “The house was empty. I didn’t want to be alone.”

That landed harder than it should have.

She gave a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Gus let out a quiet chuckle.

Marnie clapped once.

“All right, everyone.”

Lewis stood, straightening his papers.

“We’ll begin in just a moment.”

The room settled.

Not calm.

Just… still.

​

Lewis cleared his throat, straightening the stack of papers like they might steady his hands.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. His voice held—but only just. “I know this isn’t… ideal. Especially with the Luau tomorrow.”

A few murmurs. Not agreement. Just acknowledgment.

He didn’t wait for them to settle.

“I’ll be direct. Pelican Town is under financial strain.”

That landed.

Not loudly—but it spread. Chairs shifted. Arms folded. Someone exhaled sharply through their nose.

Lewis glanced down, then back up.

“As you know, the Governor reviews our funding annually. Since last year’s Luau…”
A pause. Measured.
“…those reviews have not been favorable.”

Pierre scoffed under his breath. Clint muttered something about bureaucracy. Willy didn’t move—just tightened his arms.

Lewis didn’t look at any of them.

“The soup incident,” he continued, careful with every word, “was formally cited as a failure of organization.”

A ripple. Sharper this time.

He kept going before it could build.

“As a result, discretionary funding has been reduced again. Infrastructure. Festivals. Emergency reserves.”

Gus shifted beside me. Not surprised. Just… bracing.

“This doesn’t mean we’re bankrupt,” Lewis added quickly. “But it does mean we have less room to work with.”

“You’ve said that before,” someone muttered from the back.

Lewis ignored it.

“The Luau,” he said, “is one of the Governor’s evaluation points. Attendance. Quality. Presentation.”

A beat.

“Morale.”

A dry, humorless laugh slipped out somewhere near Clint. No one reacted. That almost made it worse.

Lewis’s fingers tightened slightly on the papers.

“We need to show that this town is still stable. Functional. Worth continued investment.”

Pierre leaned forward. “With what resources?”

Lewis raised a hand—not sharply, but enough.

“I’ll get to that.”

A lie. Or maybe just a delay.

He glanced at his notes, though it didn’t look like he was reading anymore.

“This season’s budget prioritizes essentials. Medical supplies. Transport. Fishing permits. Mining safety.”

Marlon gave a single, quiet nod.

Clint didn’t.

“Everything else,” Lewis said, “is being deferred.”

“Of course it is,” Clint muttered.

Lewis didn’t respond.

“Shop subsidies are suspended.”

Pierre went still.

“Shipping fees remain unchanged.”

Willy shifted, jaw tightening.

Robin’s fingers started tapping against her knee. Slow. Rhythmic.

Lewis hesitated—just long enough to be noticed.

“The Community Center…” His voice dipped slightly. “Remains on hold. Until we can demonstrate measurable improvement.”

That one didn’t ripple.

It sank.

Penny didn’t look up.

Lewis exhaled.

“This isn’t about blame.”

It didn’t sound convincing.

Not to them.

Not to him.

“It’s about survival. Cooperation. Making do with what we have.”

Emily’s hand brushed mine. Light. Grounding.

Lewis straightened again, like posture could hold the room together.

“I know this is difficult. I know some of you feel stretched thin.”

A quiet, hollow chuckle—Harvey, maybe.

“But if we can get through the Luau without incident… if we can present a united front…”

He paused.

“…there is a chance the Governor reconsiders.”

Chance.

The word didn’t land.

It hovered. Weak. Exposed.

Lewis nodded once, like that settled it.

“That’s all before we open the floor.”

He stepped back.

The murmuring didn’t stop.

It deepened.

Spread sideways.

Not outrage.

Something quieter.

More dangerous.

I glanced at Emily.

Her expression was careful—hopeful in the way people are when they already expect to be disappointed.

I looked back at Lewis.

I wanted this to stay controlled.

But the room didn’t feel controlled anymore.

It felt like something waiting—not to begin, but to break.

​

Pierre didn’t wait.

He leaned forward, fingers steepled, voice already edged.

“So let me understand,” he said. “The Governor cuts funding over a festival mishap—and somehow local businesses are expected to absorb that loss?”

“Pierre—” Lewis started.

“I run the largest supplier in town,” Pierre cut in smoothly. “Seeds. Food. Essentials. People depend on me.”
A small pause.
“And every year, I’m told to tighten my margins a little more. Quietly. Without complaint.”

Gus shifted beside me.

Pierre gestured toward the front of the shop. “Half my store sits unused. Space I maintain, heat, repair—space that generates nothing.”

Emily went still.

“A chapel,” Pierre added. “Dead space.”

Emily didn’t react immediately.

Her shoulders just… lowered. Slowly.

Like this wasn’t new.

I leaned closer to her. She didn’t look at me.

“And now,” Pierre continued, voice tightening just enough, “with subsidies frozen, I’m expected to lower prices as well?”

Robin exhaled through her nose. Clint stared at the floor.

“Pierre,” Gus said, measured, “everyone here is absorbing costs.”

Pierre waved that off. “You sell prepared food. You adjust portions. Ingredients. My margins don’t work like that. Timing matters. Quality matters.”

Jodi’s head lifted.

“Oh?” she said. “Like the kale?”

The room stilled.

Pierre paused—just a fraction too long.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You sold Eric’s crops,” Jodi said, calm and precise. “And told people you grew them.”

A murmur spread.

Heat crept up my neck.

Pierre nodded slowly, like he was humoring her. “That was a misunderstanding.”

“You charged triple,” Jodi replied.

Caroline shifted beside him.

Robin crossed her arms. “You didn’t mention that last meeting.”

Pierre didn’t bristle this time. He adjusted.

“I protected my supply chain,” he said. “Would you rather I hadn’t sold it at all?”

Gus leaned forward. “At the farmer’s expense?”

Pierre shrugged lightly. “Eric’s doing fine.”

Emily looked at him.

That was the first time he hesitated.

Only a second.

Clint muttered, “What about last time? When Morris showed up?”

That shifted the air.

Pierre seized it.

“Yes,” he said sharply. “Exactly. Morris. Joja.” He gestured outward. “The real problem.”

Robin’s voice cut in. “You nearly started a fight!”

“Because he doesn’t belong here!” Pierre snapped.

“And yet he left,” Gus said dryly.

A few bitter laughs.

Pierre straightened, regaining control.

“I’m not the villain,” he said, quieter now—but firmer. “I’m the one keeping goods on shelves. If prices rise, it’s because the system forces them to.”

“Yeah,” Clint muttered. “Funny how only you have that choice.”

Pierre ignored him.

Lewis raised a hand. “That’s enough.”

Pierre held his posture a moment longer—like he could keep going if he wanted to.

Then he leaned back.

Silenced, not finished.

The room buzzed. Low. Uneven.

I glanced at Emily.

She was staring straight ahead.

Not angry.

Just… done.

I leaned closer. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, barely moving.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “He just doesn’t see it.”

The meeting didn’t break.

But something in it shifted.

​

Gus stood slowly.

No gestures. No presence. Just… tired.

“I’m not good at speeches,” he said. “So I’ll keep it simple.”

That alone quieted the room.

“I run the Saloon. You all know that.”
A pause.
“It’s where people go when they don’t have anywhere else to be.”

A few people shifted.

“I tried Joja,” he went on. “Lower prices. Thought I could make it work.”

He shook his head.

“What I got was produce grown too fast to care about quality. Food that looked right—but wasn’t.”
A beat.
“I couldn’t serve that.”

Pierre stiffened.

“So I came back,” Gus said. “And yes—sometimes the prices are high. Sometimes I’m paying for something someone else grew… and someone else took credit for.”

Pierre opened his mouth.

Lewis raised a finger without looking at him.

Gus didn’t pause.

“And sometimes, I go out of town. Because if I don’t…” He exhaled. “…the numbers don’t hold.”

Silence stretched.

Then—

“If it wasn’t for Eric,” Gus said, glancing at me, “the Saloon wouldn’t still be open.”

Every head shifted. Just slightly.

I didn’t feel proud.

I felt… seen.

In the worst way.

“He sells when he can,” Gus continued. “Helps when he doesn’t have to. Never asks for anything back.”

Emily’s hand tightened around mine.

Gus let that sit.

Then—

“But money isn’t the only problem.”

The room leaned in.

“I didn’t sign up to be a therapist,” he said. “But that’s what the Saloon is now.”

Lewis shifted.

“People come in angry. Drunk. Falling apart.”
A pause.
“And they don’t take it out on the walls.”

Emily flinched.

“My only employee,” Gus said quietly, “takes it.”

That landed harder than anything before it.

“She gets cornered. Talked over. Treated like she’s part of the room.”

Emily stood.

Too fast.

“It’s not all bad,” she said quickly. “I—I love people. I do. I love listening.”

Her smile held—

for a second.

Then slipped.

“But… yeah,” she admitted, softer now. “It’s been hard.”

No one moved.

“Shane’s drinking…” she said, and her voice thinned. “It wore me down. I kept thinking I could help. That if I just stayed patient—”

She stopped.

Swallowed.

“I was disappearing.”

That did it.

I stood before I thought about it.

“If it wasn’t for Eric…” she said, turning toward me fully now, “I don’t think I could’ve kept going.”

She crossed the space between us and held on.

Not for show.

Not for anyone else.

Just… held on.

Her shoulders shook. Quiet. Controlled.

The room shifted.

Not toward her.

Around her.

Like something colder had just been exposed.

Lewis stood. “Emily—thank you, let’s—”

“Yeah.”

Clint.

Barely above a mutter.

A few heads turned.

He didn’t look up.

“Figures,” he said. “She only ever sees Eric anyway.”

Silence.

He swallowed.

“Not blaming him,” he added quickly. “Just… yeah.”

No one responded.

That made it worse.

“I could’ve said something,” Clint went on, staring at his hands. “To Shane. To anyone.”
A small, humorless breath.
“I just didn’t.”

His voice dipped lower.

“Didn’t have it in me.”

Emily shifted slightly against me—but didn’t let go.

Clint nodded once, like that settled it.

“That’s on me.”

He sat there.

No one comforted him or argued.

Gus lowered himself back into his chair.

“That’s all,” he said.

But no one was listening anymore.

Because Shane wasn’t still.

I hadn’t noticed when it started.

The shaking.

Subtle at first—his leg, bouncing too fast.

Then his hands.

Then his breathing.

Sharp. Uneven.

Like he couldn’t get enough air.

Claire was already leaning into him, gripping his sleeve.

“Shane…” she whispered. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. Please…”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t look at her, or anyone for that matter.

He just stared at the floor—like he was seeing something that wasn’t there.

I glanced toward the front.

Marnie had noticed.

She hadn’t moved.

But her face—tight. Quiet. Watching. Waiting.

​

Robin stood.

No preamble. No adjustment. Just arms folded, scanning the room like she was tallying debts.

“I build things,” she said. “That’s my job.”

A few nods. Familiar ground.

“But I don’t control anything.”

She gestured—small, but it covered everything.

“Money comes in, and it’s gone. Lumber costs more. Stone’s harder to get. And the workers I hire?”
A sharp breath.
“They leave.”

Pierre frowned. “They leave?”

Robin didn’t look at him. “I can’t pay them to stay.”

That was it.

No anger. Just fact.

“I get enough to keep the shop open,” she went on. “Not enough to plan. Not enough to expand. Just enough to survive.”

Her eyes flicked toward me.

“Eric’s silo took three days,” she said. “Three days straight. No room for mistakes.”

Emily shifted beside me.

“He delayed everything else for it,” Robin added. “Coop. House upgrades. Because he can’t afford to get it wrong.”

She let that sit.

“That’s this town,” she said. “Delay. Compromise.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to her hands.

“I don’t have labor. I don’t have flexibility.”

She looked back up.

“So I don’t have control.”

Silence.

Not resistance.

Recognition.

Robin sat.

No one followed her.

​

Demetrius stood.

Slowly.

Measured.

Where Robin had been worn down, he was… intact.

“I don’t have much to add about funding,” he said.

That alone drew attention.

“My work operates independently. Grants. External oversight.”

A few glances. Quiet. Uncertain.

“What concerns me is quality.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“I monitor the lakes. Soil. Runoff.”

Willy leaned forward.

“I find contamination,” Demetrius said. “Consistently. Materials that shouldn’t be there.”

Murmurs spread.

“Joja’s quality control is inadequate,” he continued. “Their waste management is insufficient.”

No heat. No emphasis.

Just conclusion.

Like he wasn’t part of it.

Just observing.

Willy stood abruptly. “You’re damn right it is!”

Heads turned.

“I pull trash outta the water every day,” Willy growled. “Every damn day.”

“I’ve seen it too,” I said, before I could stop myself. “River. Mines.”

My voice felt smaller than it should have.

Demetrius nodded once.

“Exactly.”

And then—

Nothing.

No follow-up.

No push.

He sat down.

That was when it shifted.

A voice, low but not quiet enough:

“Then where’s Morris?”

Another—closer this time.

“Shouldn’t he be here?”

Pierre shifted. “He usually is.”

George grunted. “Saw Demetrius arguing with him once.”

Evelyn frowned. “They didn’t sound like strangers.”

Robin stilled.

“They didn’t sound like enemies either,” someone added.

The murmurs grew.

“Bad blood—”

“Or business—”

“Professional—”

Demetrius didn’t move.

Didn’t respond.

Didn’t even look at them.

Robin turned toward him—sharp now. Searching.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

That was enough.

Lewis stood quickly. “Alright—let’s stay focused—”

But it was already too late.

The question had settled in.

If Joja was the problem—and Morris wasn’t here—then why did Demetrius sound so certain?

So… unaffected?

I watched him.

Calm. Composed.

Untouched by any of it.

And for a moment—

I couldn’t tell if he was above the situation.

Or outside it.

The meeting didn’t break.

But it changed.

It wasn’t just reacting anymore.

It was starting to look at itself.

And that—felt worse.

 

[Cuddlebug]

Interesting, that a bad soup can have such consequences... Maybe the governor secretly gets a pay check from joja regularly, to keep the small towns down and get joja it's chances to take over everything.
And quite a shame that most of the young people are left aside. Are they just not interested or not allowed to be there? And Linus is missing too.

 

[Narwhal_7]

And quite a shame that most of the young people are left aside. Are they just not interested or not allowed to be there? And Linus is missing too.

I can agree...
Young people's voice should always be heard.
They would probably have some good suggestions!!

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 15​

Harvey stood slowly, like his body had to negotiate with itself first.

He adjusted his coat out of habit. It didn’t help.

“I’m the town doctor,” he began. His voice was calm—too calm. “Which means I’m also the town’s only doctor.”

A few heads dipped.

“I have one employee. Maru.” He paused. “And even that feels… conditional.”

Demetrius shifted in his chair.

“My clinic is underfunded,” Harvey continued. “I receive minimal supplies. No emergency budget. No backup staff. No rotation.”

He swallowed.

“I worked in Zuzu City. In an ER. Years of government bureaucracy, shortages, paperwork that mattered more than patients.”

Demetrius scoffed.

“And now,” Harvey said, ignoring him, “I’m here. In a clinic that could collapse if I get sick.”

That did it.

Demetrius stood sharply. “You’re exaggerating.”

Harvey finally looked at him.

There was a flicker there—something strained, something close to snapping.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m surviving.”

Robin stiffened.

“You’re overstepping,” Demetrius snapped. “You’ve always—”

“Demetrius,” Lewis warned.

“No,” Demetrius continued, turning toward the room. “I won’t have my daughter dragged into—”

“This isn’t about Maru,” Harvey said.

His voice cracked—not loud, but unmistakable.

“This is about me trying to keep people alive.”

The room froze.

“You harass my employee,” Harvey went on. “You question my professionalism. You imply things you have no evidence for.”

Robin stood halfway, then stopped herself.

“And meanwhile…” Harvey’s breath hitched slightly. “I’m becoming something I never trained to be.”

He gestured weakly, like even that took effort.

“I’m not just a doctor anymore. I’m a therapist.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Pam comes in regularly,” Harvey said. “So does Shane. Trauma. Addiction. Despair.”

Shane stared at the floor. Claire held his arm.

“And now,” Harvey continued, softer, “Sebastian has been coming in too.”

Robin’s breath caught.

“For his lungs,” Harvey added quickly. “For the smoking. For the anxiety.”

Robin’s hands trembled.

“I see him more than his family does,” Harvey said. “And that shouldn’t be the case.”

Demetrius’s face went rigid.

Lewis stepped forward. “Alright. That’s enough—”

Demetrius grabbed his jacket.

“This meeting is a waste of time,” he said coldly. “I won’t sit here and be accused.”

He walked out.

The door slammed.

Robin didn’t follow.

She sat back down.

Hard.

The sound seemed louder than it should have been.

For a moment—no one moved.

Harvey didn’t speak.

Didn’t move either.

Like whatever had been holding him upright had just… gone quiet.

Then he exhaled.

It wasn’t steady.

“I didn’t…” He stopped, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t want to say any of that.”

His voice had lost that earlier control.

“But I’m tired.”

The words came out smaller than before.

He looked at me.

“Eric had a mining accident,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

Not because he said it.

Because of how he said it.

Clinical.

Like I was already a case study.

Like what happened to me wasn’t unusual.

Just… expected.

“He could have died,” Harvey said.

A pause.

“He shouldn’t have almost died.”

That one slipped out differently.

Less controlled.

More honest.

“He was brought in by villagers,” he continued, voice thinning. “Not emergency services. Not infrastructure.”

He shook his head, slower this time.

“I have no labor. No funding. No authority to change that.”

Robin stared straight ahead.

“And yet…” Harvey swallowed again. His voice wavered. “The government does nothing.”

Silence.

“I want to believe Pelican Town can get better,” he said.

He hesitated.

Like he wasn’t sure he believed it anymore.

“I really do.”

A pause.

“But believing it is getting harder.”

He sat down.

Carefully.

Like if he moved too fast, something else might come apart.

The room stayed quiet.

Then—

Penny stood.

Not quickly.

Not confidently.

Like she almost didn’t.

“I just…” she started, then stopped.

Her hands twisted together.

“I just wanted to say something.”

Her voice was small—but it held.

“During the green rain…” she said, glancing briefly at Harvey before looking back down, “you didn’t stop working.”

Harvey looked up, surprised.

“You didn’t complain,” Penny continued. “You didn’t—” she faltered, then tried again, “you didn’t make it about how bad things were. You just… kept going.”

She swallowed.

“I remember that,” she said quietly. “Because everyone else was scared.”

A pause.

“I was scared.”

Her voice tightened—but she didn’t back down.

“And you were just there. Doing your job. Making sure people were okay.”

She looked up again—just for a second.

“I don’t think people say that enough.”

Her hands tightened together again.

“I think…” she hesitated, searching for the words, “some people keep this town alive without anyone noticing.”

The room didn’t respond.

But something shifted.

Harvey blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

Like he didn’t know what to do with it.

Then—slowly—he nodded.

A tired, fragile kind of acknowledgment.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

It didn’t fix anything.

But for a moment—

he wasn’t carrying it alone.

And that mattered.

​

Clint stood up slowly, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to warm them.

“I’ll keep this short,” he said. He didn’t sound confident—but he sounded tired.

“Joja’s been sniffing around the mines again.” A murmur rippled through the room. “Not officially. Not with permits. Just… pressure.”

Marlon’s jaw tightened.

“They want ore without paying for it,” Clint continued. “Or they want it cheap. And if they don’t get it, they threaten to import.”

Pierre scoffed.

“As if imported junk is the same.” He muttered.

Clint swallowed.

“The government doesn’t send workers anymore,” he said. “No inspectors. No safety teams. No one.”

He hesitated, then glanced at me.

“Eric’s the one keeping the whole damn thing running.”

Running.

That wasn’t the word I would’ve used.

Clearing. Erasing.

“He mines. He brings ore. He risks his neck.” Clint’s voice sharpened. “And when something breaks? I fix it.”

He clenched his fists.

“But no one ever says that.”

Emily shifted beside me.

“I’m the handyman,” Clint muttered. “I repair tools, reinforce gear, keep things from falling apart.”

His voice cracked—not loudly.

“And yet somehow… I’m invisible.”

Emily reached out instinctively.

“Clint,” she said gently.

He flinched, then sighed.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know it’s not your fault.”

He looked at her, eyes heavy.

“I just… never feel like I’m enough.”

Emily squeezed his arm. He sat down.

She then returned to me.

Clint didn’t even bother feeling resentful, he just felt tired.

I felt tired too.

​

Marlon stood next.

It took him a moment longer than it should have. His movements were stiff, deliberate—like a man who had learned long ago how to move through pain without acknowledging it.

“I fought for the government,” he said flatly.

No embellishment. No pride.

“My body paid for it,” he continued. “Every scar. Every ache.”

He gestured vaguely at himself, as if the details no longer mattered.

“And somehow,” he said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “they still disappoint me.”

A few people shifted.

“They don’t fund the mines,” Marlon went on. “They don’t fund security. They don’t fund anything that actually keeps this town alive.”

His jaw tightened.

“We’re not heroes to them. We’re liabilities. Reminders of a war they’d rather forget.”

He looked around the room once more, eyes tired.

Then he sat down heavily, like the act itself cost him something.

Gill did not stand.

He did not speak.

He sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes forward, expression empty—neither bored nor angry. Just… present. Like a piece of furniture no one had bothered to move.

The silence stretched.

George squinted at him.

“Huh,” George muttered. “That’s a first.”

Lewis shifted in his seat.

“Gill used to be a sergeant,” George continued, voice growing louder. “Same as me and Marlon. Mean bastard, too.”

A faint smile tugged at George’s mouth. It wasn’t fond.

“You two used to fight all the time.”

Marlon stiffened.

“Not that I could blame you,” George added. “He was a coward. Sold us out to the Dwarves.”

A ripple of discomfort passed through the room.

Gill didn’t react.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe differently. Nothing.

Lewis leaned forward sharply.
“That’s not relevant,” he snapped.

George’s head whipped toward him.

“It absolutely is!” George roared. “I would have been Mayor if it weren’t for you and Peter!”

The words came fast now, years of resentment spilling out unchecked.

“I served this town! I bled for it! And now I’m stuck in this useless body while you two play leader like nothing ever happened!”

“George, please!” Evelyn cried, rushing to his side.

Gill remained motionless.

No anger. No shame. No defense.

Just nothing.

That was somehow worse.

Evelyn stood abruptly, hands shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice breaking. “I— I don’t think wed can sit here any longer.”

She pulled George up despite his protests, guiding him toward the door. He was still fuming, eyes locked on Gill, while Evelyn sobbed openly as she pushed him out of Pierre’s shop.

The door shut behind them.

The silence that followed felt sickening.

I swallowed hard, nausea crawling up my throat.

Emily squeezed my hand tightly.

“Eric,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. You’re safe.”

Her voice barely cut through the noise in my head.

Gill finally moved.

Just enough to glance toward the door.

Then he looked forward again.

As if none of it mattered.

​

Gunther rose carefully, like a man stepping onto thin ice.

“I—thank you for allowing me to speak,” he began, adjusting his glasses. “As curator of the museum, I want to acknowledge the recent influx of artifacts—”

That was as far as he got.

Robin stood up immediately.

“Recent influx?” she snapped. “You mean the things Eric dragged out of the ground while nearly getting himself killed?”

Clint nodded sharply. “Yeah. Don’t phrase that like it just… happened.”

Gunther stiffened.

“I wasn’t implying—”

“You always do,” Robin shot back. “You stand there, government badge and all, and let people assume this town is functioning.”

The murmurs grew louder.

“You get paid,” someone muttered.
“Must be nice.”
“Government lapdog.”

Gunther’s face drained of color.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I don’t receive additional funding. The museum budget was cut years ago.”

“That’s not what people see,” Clint said bitterly. “They see you taking credit.”

Gunther looked like he wanted to disappear.

The room was turning feral.

And then—

Penny stood up.

“Stop.”

It wasn’t loud.
But it was firm.

Every head turned.

She hesitated—just for a second—like she wasn’t sure she should have said anything at all. Then she steadied herself.

“This isn’t helping,” she said, voice tight but controlled. “And it’s not fair.”

She looked at Gunther, then back at the room.

“The government abandoned the museum,” she said. “Not him.”

Gunther’s shoulders sagged in visible relief.

“He doesn’t get reports,” Penny continued, a little faster now, like she needed to get the words out before she lost them. “He doesn’t get guidance. He—” she faltered, then corrected herself, “—he doesn’t even get told what’s classified anymore.”

Lewis shifted uncomfortably.

“The museum is being supported by Eric,” she said, glancing at me briefly before looking away again. “Mostly just him. And Gunther is the one trying to… to make sense of it. Without resources.”

She swallowed.

“I teach children with books the government doesn’t approve of anymore.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.

“I mean—” she shook her head slightly, pushing through it, “they’re still good books. They’re just… not the ones we’re supposed to use.”

Her hands tightened together.

“I teach history that gets quietly erased,” Penny went on, voice softer now—but steadier. “Because if I don’t… no one will.”

I thought about the Community Center.
The quiet. The chair.
The way she kissed me like she was trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

And now—she was standing here, holding the entire room together.
Like nothing had happened.
Like I hadn’t made things worse.

“And I know about Marcello.”

The room exploded into murmurs.

Illegal markets.
Artifacts.
Smuggling.

Lewis stood abruptly.

“Penny—!”

“They pretend it doesn’t exist,” Penny said quickly, almost over him. “The Republic, I mean.” Her voice shook now—but she didn’t stop. “Like if they don’t say it out loud, it just… goes away.”

Lewis looked pale.

“But it doesn’t,” she continued. “It’s still there. And pretending otherwise doesn’t make us safer.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly.

“The Governor knows,” she said. Quieter now. “He has to.”

Silence.
Pure, lethal silence.

“That’s enough,” Lewis said sharply.

Penny looked at him.

There was a flicker of hesitation—fear, maybe—but it passed.

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

Her hands were trembling now. She pressed them together to hide it.

“He—” she stopped, swallowed, then forced the words out. “He’s a coward.”

A beat.

“And everyone here knows it.”

Lewis looked like he might be sick.
Gunther stared at Penny, stunned.

“I don’t blame Gunther,” she finished, her voice quieter again, the adrenaline fading. “I blame the system that left him alone. Underfunded. And… silent.”

She sat down.

The room stayed frozen.

And for the first time that night, the anger had nowhere easy to go.

​

Jodi stood up slowly.

Not angrily. Not dramatically.

Like someone who had been sitting with a weight on her chest for years—and wasn’t sure she could keep holding it anymore.

“I didn’t plan to speak,” she said softly. “I usually don’t.”

The room quieted. Even Pierre stopped fidgeting.

“My husband is at war,” she continued. “And every time the Governor comes here, he eats our soup, smiles for the cameras, and leaves.”

Her voice tightened.

“And then the funding gets cut again.”

Lewis shifted, already uneasy.

“I have to choose where to buy food,” Jodi said. “Pierre or Joja. And everyone tells me it’s a moral choice.”

She let out a small, humorless breath.

“It isn’t.” She shook her head. “It’s… it’s survival.”

Pierre looked down. Caroline closed her eyes.

“I don’t want to give Joja money,” Jodi said. “I don’t. But sometimes it’s cheaper. Sometimes I don’t have a choice.”

Her hands trembled slightly. She clasped them together.

“And I hate myself for it. Every time.”

A pause.

“I don’t get to be—” she stopped, frowning faintly. “I don’t get to be picky. Or careful. I just…” She swallowed. “I buy what I can afford.”

A beat.

“I get to be efficient.”

She looked toward Penny.

“And I don’t get to raise my son alone.”

Penny’s breath hitched.

“I hand Vincent over to Penny every day,” Jodi said. “Because I have to. Because someone has to make sure he grows up kind, and patient, and not…”

Her voice faltered.

“…not angry at the world.”

She swallowed hard. Tears were forming now, but she kept going.

“And I hate that it isn’t me.”

The room was deathly quiet.

“I hate that Sam is leading the Luau,” she said suddenly.

Sam wasn’t there—but his absence felt loud.

“I see too much of Kent in him,” Jodi admitted. “The same sense of duty. The same… reckless hope.”

Her voice cracked.

“The same way the system will chew him up and call it honor.”

Silence stretched.

Then—

“And you…”

She looked at me.

And stopped.

For a second, it looked like she might sit back down. Like she hadn’t meant to go this far.

Her hands tightened.

“I didn’t want to say this,” she whispered. “I really didn’t.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it.”

Her voice shook now—uneven, fragile.

“When you first came here…” she said slowly, “you reminded me of Sam. A little. Just… someone trying to figure things out. Someone who needed people.”

My chest tightened.

“And I—” she stopped, pressing her lips together. “I think I started… worrying about you. More than I should have.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“Looking out for you. Watching you come back from the mines. Making sure you were eating. Making sure you weren’t—”

She cut herself off.

Her voice dropped.

“Like a mother shouldn’t have to do for someone who isn’t her child.”

That landed quietly. But it hit harder than anything loud could have.

“And now…”

She shook her head, tears falling freely.

“I don’t know what to do with that.”

Her eyes met mine again—this time, there was fear in them. Real fear.

“Because I’m proud of you,” she admitted. “I am. You’re helping people. You’re changing things.”

Her voice broke.

“But I’m also terrified.”

A beat.

“I’m terrified of losing you,” she said. “The same way I might lose Sam.”

The room didn’t move.

“And I hate that I’m too scared to stop you,” she added, quieter now. “Because I don’t want to take that away from you.”

She shook her head again, like she didn’t believe her own words.

“But I also can’t sit here and pretend it isn’t affecting my life. My family.”

Her breath came uneven now.

“I know Joja is bad,” Jodi said quickly, almost defensively. “I know it is. I know it’s hollowing this town out.”

She wiped at her face, frustrated.

“But when people talk about getting rid of it…”

Her voice dropped.

“All I can think about is what happens to families like mine when the cheap option disappears.”

She coughed lightly, trying to steady herself.

“I’m tired,” she said.

A pause.

“I’m so tired of being brave.”

The words barely held together.

“I’ve been depressed for years,” Jodi said. “Years. And I don’t tell anyone because there’s no space for it.”

She glanced at Harvey.

“I want to see a doctor,” she said quietly. “A real one. Someone who isn’t drowning just to keep the clinic open.”

Harvey looked like he’d been struck.

“But instead…” she whispered, “I settle.”

A small, broken laugh escaped her.

“Because that’s what mothers do.”

She exhaled shakily.

“And sometimes…”

She hesitated.

“…I think about leaving.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Caroline.

“Leaving Pelican Town,” Jodi clarified quickly. “Starting over somewhere that doesn’t pretend everything is fine just because the ocean looks nice.”

Caroline stood up abruptly, tears in her eyes.

“No—Jodi, please—” Her voice broke. “You’re… you’re my only friend.”

The room cracked open.

“I can’t lose you,” Caroline whispered. “Please don’t say that.”

Jodi looked devastated.

“I don’t want to go,” she said. “But I don’t know how to stay.”

Penny stood too, tears already spilling over.

“I—I don’t know how else to help you,” she said, the words coming too fast, tripping over each other. “I’m already— I’m doing everything I can. I’m trying, I just—”

Her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth, like she could force the rest back in.

“I can’t fix this,” she whispered.

That landed harder than anything she’d said before.

Lewis was visibly panicking now.

“Let’s—let’s take a moment,” he said, clapping weakly. “Please—everyone—just—”

No one listened.

The room wasn’t loud.

It was worse than that.

It was shaking.

Not shouting—shaking.

Voices overlapping. People shifting. Breaths catching. Like the entire room was trying to hold itself together and failing.

And suddenly—I couldn’t breathe.

Jodi’s voice wouldn’t leave my head.

I’m proud of you.
I’m terrified of losing you.

It twisted into something else.

Something older.

A kitchen table.

Cold food.

A voice I hadn’t heard in too long.

You need to come home more.
You’re working too much.
I don’t even know how you’re doing anymore.

My chest tightened.

I hadn’t called her in weeks.

No—longer.

Letters didn’t count.

They were easier. Safer.

You could choose what to say in a letter. You could leave things out. You could pretend everything was fine.

My vision blurred.

I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help.

What if something happened? What if she got sick—What if I wasn’t there? What if I never went back?

The thought hit too fast.

Too hard.

I felt sick.

Like the floor wasn’t steady anymore.

Like I’d been moving forward this whole time without realizing what I was leaving behind.

“Eric?”

Emily.

Her voice cut through—but it sounded far away.

Her hand was gripping mine too tightly.

I hadn’t even noticed when she grabbed it.

“Emily…” My voice came out thin. “It hurts…”

I didn’t even know what I meant.

Everything.

My chest. My head. My thoughts—pulling in too many directions at once.

“I can’t—” I swallowed again. “I can’t think.”

Emily’s breath hitched.

She was shaking too.

“I— I can’t take this either,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t just stand here and watch everyone fall apart—”

Her grip tightened again, almost desperate now.

“But you’re not in the mines,” she said quickly, like she needed to remind both of us. “You don’t fix this by running at it. You—you stay. You breathe.”

I shook my head weakly.

“I don’t think I can.”

That scared her.

I saw it immediately.

Her hands moved—one still gripping mine, the other coming up to my face, forcing me to look at her.

“Hey. Hey—look at me.”

I did. Barely.

“You’re here,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “Not there. Not with Joja. Not… wherever your head just went.”

That hit.

Harder than anything else.

She saw it.

Of course she did.

“I’m here,” she repeated, softer now. “You’re not alone in this.”

Her forehead pressed lightly against mine.

For a second—

Everything else dulled.

Not gone.

Just… quieter.

Easier to hold.

My breathing steadied—just a little.

Not enough.

But enough to stop the spiral from pulling me under completely.

Behind us, Penny was still standing.

Frozen.

Her hands hung at her sides now, trembling slightly.

“I thought…” she started, but her voice faltered.

She shook her head.

“I thought if I just kept helping—if I just worked harder, if I—” She let out a broken breath. “If I was enough, then people wouldn’t feel like this.”

No one interrupted her.

No one could.

“But it’s not enough,” she said. “It’s never enough.”

Her voice dropped to almost nothing.

“I don’t know how to help anymore.”

That was the real break.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just… gone.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Lewis looked like he was barely holding it together.

“Let’s—please—just—everyone—” he tried again, weaker this time.

No one moved.

The room felt like it was going to cave in on itself.

And then—Marnie spoke.

Not loudly but firmly.

And the room finally stopped breathing.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 16​

Marnie didn’t stand right away.
She waited.

She let the room sit in what Jodi had said, let the silence stretch until it grew heavy, until people started shifting in their seats just to escape it.

Then she rose, hands folded in front of her, posture careful, deliberate. Her voice was steady in the way only someone who had already survived loss could manage.

“Things have been rough,” she said plainly. “I feel it too.”

A few heads nodded. Someone murmured agreement.

“Getting hay hasn’t been easy,” Marnie continued. “The grass doesn’t grow like it used to. Joja’s runoff has made sure of that.”

Clint shifted uncomfortably. Willy scowled, jaw tight.

“Sometimes I have to go outside the valley just to find feed that won’t make my animals sick,” she said. “That costs money. Time. Energy.”

She exhaled slowly.

“And yes—Pierre can be greedy. Morris can be unbearable.”

Pierre opened his mouth, then thought better of it and shut it again.

“But I’d be lying if I said things only got bad recently.”

Her gaze softened, unfocused now, as if she were looking somewhere far past the walls of the hall.

“I…” She hesitated for a bit, feeling a bit nervous. “I was a victim of the war too.”

The room went still.

“My parents passed away a long time ago,” Marnie said. “Suddenly. No warning. And just like that, I was responsible for the barn. For the animals. For surviving.”

She swallowed.

“My two sisters… both had husbands sent off to fight.”

Jodi lowered her head.

“They didn’t come back,” Marnie said quietly.

Her hands tightened together.

“Shane’s mother…”
She hesitated, just for a moment.
“She broke. The grief never let her go. She’s in a psychiatric ward now.”

Something shifted behind me.

I turned.

It was Shane.

He was rigid in his seat, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His leg bounced uncontrollably against the floor. Claire had leaned toward him, one hand gripping his sleeve like an anchor.

“Shane?” she whispered. “Shane… please…”

“She may never see Shane again,” Marnie said. “Or me.”

“Stop…” Shane muttered. “Just… stop…”

Marnie’s voice wavered—but she pressed on anyway.

“And Jas’s mother…”

Shane’s breathing changed.

Not loud. But sharp.

Like something inside him was cracking under pressure.

I recognized the sound.

I’d heard it in the mines—right before something attacked.

“She died in a car accident.”

Shane’s breath hitched. I could hear it now — sharp, uneven gasps. His hands were shaking. Tears spilled freely, unchecked, his face twisted in a way that made my chest ache just to look at.

“I begged Shane to come back,” Marnie admitted. “Not because I wanted to burden him—but because he was all I had left.”

Her shoulders trembled.

“And I asked him to adopt Jas as his goddaughter. Because she needed family. And because—”

“I SAID STOP IT!”

Shane was on his feet before anyone could react.

The room froze.

Marnie flinched, the words cutting off as tears finally spilled over.

I felt my own hands start to shake.

“I came here to forget!” Shane shouted, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened to my parents! To Jas!”

The room was dead silent.

Marnie said nothing.

And that seemed to break something in him.

“And you!” Shane continued, the words spilling out fast and wild now. “You just keep drinking in the Saloon while Jas is home alone! You let Lewis have his way with you and pretend everything’s fine!”

Lewis stiffened.

“You’re no saint!” Shane cried. “You’re a coward! An enabler!”

“Shane, stop!” Claire screamed, her voice raw with fear.

But it was already too late.

Shane turned and bolted for the door, shoving it open so hard it slammed against the wall.

Claire didn’t hesitate. She ran after him.

The door swung shut behind them.

​

That was it.

The straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

Marnie’s legs gave out beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, breath coming fast and shallow, hands clawing uselessly at her chest.

Lewis dropped to his knees beside her, all composure gone.

“M-Marnie!” he pleaded. “Marnie, please… please snap out of it!”

Villagers rushed forward, voices overlapping, confusion and fear spreading through the room like wildfire. Someone called for water. Someone else shouted for space.

Her attempt to keep the peace had failed completely.

And Shane was gone.

I lurched forward, heart pounding. I had to find him. Had to—

A hand grabbed my arm.

I spun around.

Emily.

“Eric,” she said, voice shaking but firm. “Just… let them go.”

Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Emily, please,” I begged. “He’s going to hurt himself.”

“I know,” she said.

That hit me harder than if she’d argued.

“I know,” she repeated, her grip tightening. “But you can’t fix this. Not like that.”

“He doesn’t have anyone,” I shot back. “He’s—he’s going to be alone out there—”

“He’s not alone,” Emily said quickly. “Claire went after him.”

I shook my head. “That’s not the same—”

“It has to be,” she said.

Her voice cracked.

“Because you can’t be the one who saves him every time something breaks.”

The words landed wrong.

Sharp.

Unfair.

“I’m not trying to save him,” I said, but even I didn’t believe that.

Emily saw it immediately.

“Yes, you are,” she said, softer now. “That’s what you do. You run toward things when they fall apart.”

Her hands tightened on my arm, almost desperate now.

“But this isn’t the mines,” she said. “You don’t fight your way through this. You don’t fix it by getting there first.”

I felt myself falter.

“I can’t just stand here,” I said weakly. “Not after that. Not when he’s—”

“Eric.”

She stepped closer.

“I’m falling apart too.”

That stopped everything.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

“I can’t—” she swallowed, shaking her head. “I can’t watch this happen and then watch you run after it like you’re the only thing holding it together.”

Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused.

“My community is breaking,” she said. “My chapel is being threatened. People are hurting and I don’t know how to help them.”

Her grip shifted—from my arm to my hands.

“And now you’re about to leave too.”

Something in my chest gave way.

“I’m not leaving,” I said—but it sounded hollow.

“You are,” she whispered. “Maybe not on purpose. But you are.”

A pause.

“I need you here.”

The words were quiet.

But they didn’t waver.

“Shane has Claire,” she continued, more gently now. “She can reach him right now. She can say the things he’ll actually hear.”

Her thumb brushed against my hand, grounding, steadying.

“You can’t,” she said. “Not like this. Not when he’s already breaking.”

I opened my mouth to argue—

And nothing came out.

Because she was right.

Because every time Shane pushed me away—every time he snapped, every time he lashed out—it hadn’t been about me.

It had been pain.

Pain I couldn’t fix.

Pain I didn’t even understand.

And I had still tried to force my way into it.

Like effort alone would be enough.

Like it always was in the mines.

My legs felt weak.

“I thought…” I started, then stopped. “I thought if I just—”

I couldn’t even finish it.

Emily stepped closer and pulled me into a tight hug.

“I know,” she whispered.

Her voice shook.

“I know you want to help him.”

She pressed her forehead lightly against my shoulder.

“But you don’t have to fix him.”

A pause.

“You can’t fix him.”

That one hurt.

More than anything else tonight.

Her grip tightened slightly.

“You can stay,” she said softly. “Just… stay here. With me.”

My chest ached.

Everything felt heavy.

Too heavy to carry.

“Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll stay.”

And for the first time since this started—I stopped moving.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Claire stepped back inside, eyes red, face pale. Shane followed close behind her, shoulders slumped, every trace of anger burned out and replaced by raw devastation.

“Aunt Marnie…?” he choked. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. I was just— I was in too much pain. I didn’t know you were suffering too…”

He collapsed beside her, arms wrapping around her as he sobbed.

Marnie clung to him just as tightly.

The room didn’t breathe.

All I could think was:

Please… don’t let Jas see this. She’s too young.

No heroes. No villains. Just survivors and victims.

Linus was right.

And somehow—that made this worse.

Lewis finally rose, voice hoarse, hollow.

“This meeting can’t continue,” he said. “The meeting is adjourned.”

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 17​

The meeting was a mess.

I didn’t know what I was expecting—but it wasn’t… that.

Emily let out a shaky breath beside me.
“Ugh…” she murmured. “That was… a lot.”

Her voice sounded thinner than usual. Not just tired—strained.

“Yeah,” I said.

That was all I could manage.

My head still felt full—like the room hadn’t emptied out, like everyone’s voices were still bouncing around in there with nowhere to go.

“And then Shane…” Emily started.

She stopped herself.

“…lost control,” she finished quietly, like she didn’t want the words to carry.

A flicker of guilt crossed her face almost immediately.
“S-Sorry. I know he’s trying, I just— I didn’t think it would—”

“Explode?” I said.

She nodded.

I swallowed, trying to steady myself.
“No… you’re not wrong.”

Nothing about that felt contained. Not anymore.

Emily wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her sleeve like she was trying to ground her own hands.
“I didn’t want it to come out like that,” she admitted. “Not in front of everyone.”

Her voice softened.

“But… I think it was already there.”

I followed her gaze.

Across the room, Shane was holding Claire like he might fall apart if he let go. His face was buried in her shoulder, shoulders shaking. Claire didn’t say anything—she just held him tighter.

Jas stood a few steps away, small and uncertain, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to step into that space.

I couldn’t stop looking.

It was… contained.

Messy. Painful. But contained.

Someone was there to catch him.

“Well,” I said, though it came out quieter than I intended, “Claire’s helping him.”

Emily nodded, but didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” she said. “She is.”

A pause.

“…that’s good.”

Something about the way she said it didn’t feel like relief.

It felt like letting go.

I tried to hold onto that thought—this is fine, this is how it’s supposed to be, you don’t have to fix this—but it slipped.

Jodi’s voice was still in my head.

I hate that I’m too scared to stop you from ruining my life.

It overlapped with something older. Quieter.

A different voice.

A different room.

A different version of me who thought if he just tried harder, he could keep everything from falling apart.

My chest tightened.

I took a breath.

It didn’t help.

“Eric?”

Emily’s hand closed around my wrist.

I hadn’t noticed her move.

“You’re doing it again,” she said softly.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re going somewhere else.”

Her grip tightened—not forceful, just… there.

Anchoring.

“I’m here,” I said quickly.

It didn’t sound convincing. Even to me.

Her eyes searched my face, like she was trying to decide whether to push or not.

“I know,” she said.

A beat.

“But stay here.”

I nodded.

Across the room, Shane shifted, pulling Claire closer as another wave hit him. She steadied him without hesitation.

No panic. No second-guessing.

She just… held him.

Emily’s fingers tightened slightly around my wrist.

Not the same way.

Not as steady.

Like she was holding on just as much for herself.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my focus back into the room, back into my body, back into now.

“Guess…” I started, then faltered. “Guess some things you just… can’t fix.”

Emily let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” she said.

Her voice was small—but firm.

“You don’t have to.”

I nodded again.

This time, it stuck. Barely.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement—Gunther, moving faster than I’d ever seen him, heading for the door.

Penny followed close behind him.

Too close.

Too urgent.

“Where are they going?” I asked, more to stay grounded than anything else.

Emily glanced over.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe the museum?”

Her tone tried for casual. It didn’t quite land.

“After… all that?” I muttered.

Gunther didn’t look back. Penny didn’t hesitate.

Something about that sat wrong.

A different kind of wrong than the meeting.

Quieter.

But sharper.

I watched the door close behind them.

And just like that, the room felt unstable again.

​

“You know…” Clint muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “people say politicians are clowns. Honestly, that’s an insult to clowns.”

A faint, tired smirk flickered across his face.

“The ones I grew up with in Grampleton were better than this. My dad used to take me.”

Harvey didn’t interrupt. He just nodded.

Clint exhaled.

“He hated that place,” he went on. “Said it was a waste of time. Pushed me into blacksmithing instead. Said it was practical.”

A pause.

“Been stuck ever since.”

“I didn’t know you were from Grampleton,” Emily said gently.

Clint flinched slightly. “E-Emily—yeah. You, uh… you sneak up on people.”

She smiled a little.

“So that’s why you invited me to the carnival.”

Clint looked down. “I thought you’d think it was stupid.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I liked it.”

He glanced up, surprised.

“I just… didn’t feel anything romantic,” she added, softer now. “It felt like sharing something that mattered to you.”

Clint absorbed that. Nodded once.

“…Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.”

A breath.

“You were the first person who really saw me,” he admitted. “I just… read too much into that.”

Emily stepped a little closer, careful.

“Clint, I do care about you,” she said. “Just not like that.”

“I know,” he said quickly. Then, quieter, “I know.”

He hesitated, then pulled her into a brief, careful hug—light, respectful. Not clinging.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

When he stepped back, something in him had settled.

He turned to me.

“And Eric… sorry,” he said. “Guess it’s hard not to get bitter when everything seems to orbit around someone else.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Yeah… I don’t exactly plan for that.”

Harvey spoke then, calm and even.

“People do see you, Clint,” he said. “They just don’t always say it out loud.”

Clint glanced at him, surprised.

Harvey adjusted his glasses slightly.

“And Eric,” he added, “just happens to make things… louder.”

That earned a quiet huff from Clint. Not quite a laugh—but close.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Guess that’s true.”

I looked at him.

“We good?”

Clint met my eyes this time. No hesitation.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re good.”

I held out my hand. He took it—firm, steady.

When we let go, Harvey gave a small nod.

Emily smiled.

And for once, Clint didn’t look like he was standing on the outside of the room.

​

We found Leah, Elliott, and Willy off to the side.

Willy was slumped in his chair, hat tipped forward, arms hanging loose like he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up anymore. Leah sat close, tense. Elliott sat beside her—upright, composed, like the room hadn’t quite touched him.

“…didn’t even get the chance to speak,” Willy muttered.

His voice wasn’t angry.

Just… worn.

Elliott tilted his head slightly, considering.

“Not every voice survives a storm,” he said softly. “Some are simply… carried out with the tide.”

Willy blinked at him.

“…Right,” he muttered.

Leah let out a sharp breath.
“God, these meetings suck,” she snapped. “It’s always the same thing—people yelling, nothing getting done.”

I stepped in, trying to lighten it—badly.

“Hey, Willy. Must be rough getting the short end of the stick, huh?”

Willy gave a tired shrug.

“Government doesn’t even think fishin’ is a real job,” he said. “Or maybe they just don’t think I am.”

Leah’s frustration flared immediately.

“Lewis—seriously, I don’t get him,” she said. “He just shuts everything down the second it gets uncomfortable. Like you’re not even allowed to say anything unless it fits whatever story he’s trying to keep together.”

“Leah…” I said, quieter.

“No, Eric,” she snapped. “I’m not letting that go. He does this every time. Why even hold a meeting if you’re just going to—”

“Leah.”

It came out sharper than I meant.

She froze.

For a second, I didn’t recognize my own voice.

Willy shifted uncomfortably. Elliott closed his eyes—not annoyed, just… distant, like he was listening to something else entirely.

“…Sorry,” Leah muttered after a moment. “I just— I don’t know. It’s frustrating. Feels like nothing changes.”

Her voice dropped.

“Like we’re just… stuck.”

“Stuck is a kind of stillness,” Elliott said, opening his eyes again. “And stillness can be… beautiful. If you stop fighting it.”

Leah frowned slightly.

“This isn’t beautiful, Elliott.”

“No,” he agreed calmly. “But it is honest.”

That didn’t help.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean… I get why you’re upset. I just—Lewis is trying. Even if he… sucks at it sometimes.”

Leah didn’t argue. That was almost worse.

She just exhaled, the fight draining out of her.

“I don’t even know why I came,” she admitted. “I usually just stay in my cabin. Sculpt. Paint. At least that makes sense.”

Elliott turned toward her, something softer in his expression now.

“Because you hoped it might matter,” he said.

Leah didn’t answer that.

He stood then, smooth, deliberate—like he was stepping out of a scene before it could decay any further.

“Come,” he said gently. “There are better ways to spend an evening than sitting in the wreckage of civic ambition.”

I blinked.

Leah hesitated, glancing back at Willy, then at the scattered chairs, the empty space where something was supposed to happen.

Then she sighed.

“…Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay.”

Elliott offered her a small, almost theatrical nod—like an invitation, not a request.

And just like that, they left.

Willy didn’t stop them.

Didn’t look up.

Just stayed where he was.

I watched them go, something about it sitting wrong in my chest.

“…He’s weird,” I muttered.

Emily let out a quiet breath beside me.

“He’s… somewhere else,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not even what he says. It’s like—none of this actually touches him.”

Across the room, Leah was already leaning closer to him as they walked, her shoulders a little less tense.

Emily followed my gaze.

“Maybe that’s why she talks to him,” she said softly.

I frowned.

“Because he doesn’t feel real?”

Emily shook her head.

“Because he doesn’t make this feel real.”

That… stuck.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

​

Now this was an odd combination. I never thought I’d see Robin sitting with two old veterans instead of her husband.

“Well,” Robin muttered, arms folded, “the government cares about veterans about as much as it cares about lumber. So, I guess that tracks.”

Marlon didn’t look up.

“The Dwarf War ended years ago,” he said quietly. “George never forgot it. Kent’s still stuck fighting its aftermath. And Gill…”

Gill didn’t move.

Marlon exhaled.

“You know what. Never mind.”

That caught Robin’s attention.

“What did George mean,” she asked carefully, “about you two fighting all the time?”

Marlon grimaced.

“Gill fought with everyone,” he admitted. “Didn’t matter the rank. Didn’t matter the reason. He thought in margins. Losses. Trade-offs. Like it was all numbers.”
He shook his head.
“That kind of thinking doesn’t sit well in an army full of patriots.”

Gill remained silent.

Robin hesitated, then turned to him anyway.

“You uh… you got anything you want to add, Gill?”

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then Gill spoke.

“What is there to say?” he asked flatly. “This is the circus of life. Same acts. Same blood. History just changes costumes.”

Robin stiffened.

“…Right,” she said, forcing a small laugh. “Sorry I asked.”

She wasn’t the only one unsettled. I could feel my shoulders tighten.

“Um… Robin?” I called.

She turned, almost relieved.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there.”

She stood quickly, and we moved off to somewhere quieter—just me, Emily, and Robin—leaving Marlon and Gill behind.

Gill didn’t look up as we went.

​

Robin looked completely spent. Not angry. Not bitter. Just… worn thin.

“Well,” she muttered, rubbing her temples, “it’s always the same cycle. I talk about logistics. Demetrius barely responds. Then he snaps at Harvey over something personal. And when he’s finally pushed…”

She let out a hollow laugh.

“He leaves. Every time.”

She looked at me like the words themselves might give out beneath her.

“I—I wish I’d thought more before marrying him.”

That landed softer than before. Not regret. Not quite.

Just… something unfinished.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped Robin in a quiet, grounding hug.

Robin held onto her longer than expected.

“I was alone,” Robin admitted, her voice small now. “After Sebastian’s father left, it was just… me. A kid. A house. A business I didn’t know how to keep afloat.”

Her grip tightened.

“And everyone kept telling me the same thing—you can’t do this alone.”

Emily didn’t interrupt.

“So when Demetrius came along…” Robin exhaled shakily. “He was stable. Smart. Reliable. He made things make sense again.”

A pause.

“I didn’t fall in love,” she said. “I fell into… something that felt safe.”

That was when her voice finally broke.

“And now I don’t know how to get out of it without breaking everything.”

Emily pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You didn’t fail,” she said gently. “You survived the way you knew how.”

Robin’s eyes welled up again.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered. “I don’t want to just survive anymore.”

Silence settled between them for a moment.

Then Emily spoke again—carefully this time, like she was choosing each word as she went.

“When I was younger,” she said, “I tried to follow everything exactly the way I was taught. What a good life looked like. What a good relationship looked like.”

She smiled faintly, but there was something tired behind it.

“It always felt like I was… being handed a script.”

Robin watched her closely.

“And whenever something didn’t fit,” Emily continued, “the answer was always to try harder. Be better. Be more patient. More understanding.”

She shook her head softly.

“But people aren’t scripts. And neither are we.”

Robin let out a shaky breath.

“The Church helped me for a while,” Emily added, quieter now. “It gave me structure when I needed it. But at some point… I had to start listening to myself too.”

She hesitated.

“Not everything that keeps you together… lets you breathe.”

That one stayed in the air.

Robin closed her eyes.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” she admitted. “If I stay like this, I’m going to disappear.”

Emily didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t rush to reassure her.

“Then maybe,” she said softly, “this isn’t about ruining your life.”

Robin opened her eyes.

“Maybe it’s about choosing to have one.”

That did it.

Robin broke fully this time, her shoulders shaking as she tried—and failed—to hold it together.

“I don’t know what to do,” she gasped. “I want a divorce—but Sebastian and Maru will be caught in the middle.”

She wiped at her face, frustrated with herself.

“I’ve been going to Harvey more than I should. Not just for checkups. I just… don’t have anyone else.”

A pause.

“They need someone steady,” she said. “And he’s the only one who feels… present.”

I swallowed, finally stepping in.

“Demetrius just…” I hesitated. “When he talks about Maru, it sounds like he’s describing a project. Not a person.”

Robin flinched—but she didn’t disagree.

“And he was really interested in what I was doing at the community center, and—”

I stopped.

Robin caught it immediately.

“And… what?”

The words sat in my throat.

The scrolls. The mines. Everything unraveling underneath this town.

I couldn’t say it.

“N-Nothing,” I said.

She studied me for a long moment—long enough that I thought she might push.

But she didn’t.

“…Alright.”

Robin straightened slowly, wiping her face one last time.

“I should go,” she muttered. “Before this turns into another conversation that goes nowhere.”

She paused at the edge of the room.

“I just hope he’s not hiding in his lab again.”

And then she left.

​

“It’s been… a rough few days,” Jodi said.

She said it like she was testing the words. Like they might fall apart if she pressed too hard.

Caroline nodded, her voice quiet.

“I know… It’s been like that for all of us.”

Jodi let out a small breath—something between a laugh and a sigh.

“I keep thinking things will settle down,” she admitted. “Just… go back to normal for a bit.”

She glanced toward the door.

“I really hope Sam and the others are alright. I know the forest isn’t that dangerous but…” She trailed off. “I don’t like not knowing.”

Caroline didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted, distant.

“Abigail’s out there all the time,” she murmured. “I stopped trying to stop her.”

Jodi gave a faint, tired smile.

“Kids don’t really listen when you want them to.”

Emily nodded gently.

“They don’t. They just… find their own way anyway.”

Vincent tugged at Jodi’s sleeve, grounding her.

“When’s Sam coming back?” he asked, voice small.

Jodi answered too quickly.

“Soon. He’ll be back soon.”

Vincent nodded, satisfied enough, and wandered off again.

Jodi watched him go—just for a second too long.

Caroline stepped a little closer to her.

“Pierre’s in the kitchen,” she said quietly, like she was changing the subject before it could sink too deep. “He’s… not taking any of this well.”

Jodi huffed softly.

“When does he ever?”

Caroline didn’t smile. She’d heard that tone too many times.

Emily hesitated, then spoke.

“Jodi… what you said earlier…” Her voice softened. “It really meant something.”

Jodi shook her head immediately.

“I didn’t mean to make it a whole thing,” she said. “I just needed to talk. Just for a second. Like things were… normal.”

Her voice caught slightly on that word.

“Before everything starts again.”

Silence settled.

I felt it then—that pressure in my chest I hadn’t been able to name all night.

“Jodi…”

My voice didn’t come out right.

She turned to me—and whatever she saw on my face made her expression shift instantly.

“Eric?” she said, softer now.

I swallowed.

“You… reminded me of my mom.”

The words felt heavier than they should have.

“I haven’t seen her in years,” I added quietly. “I only talk to her through letters.”

Jodi didn’t hesitate.

She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was immediate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then it broke. “I’m so sorry.”

Her grip tightened, like she was trying to hold onto something that wasn’t hers to keep.

“I wanted to be there for you,” she said, voice shaking. “For all of you. I wanted this town to feel like… like somewhere safe to grow up in.”

Her breath hitched.

“And now I don’t even know if I can stay.”

I closed my eyes, steadying myself against her.

“Then don’t,” I said quietly. “Not for us.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes red.

“You don’t have to stay here just to prove something,” I added. “If you need to leave… then leave.”

That hurt to say.

More than I expected.

Jodi’s expression softened—something warm, but fragile.

“Oh, Eric…” she murmured.

She reached up, brushing a tear from my face before I even realized it was there.

“I’m not gone yet,” she said gently. “Let me… have a little more time.”

A small, unsteady breath.

“I want to see the Luau through. Just… one more normal thing.”

Caroline stepped in then, wrapping her arms around Jodi from the side.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” she said softly. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Jodi leaned into her, just for a moment.

Caroline held on a little tighter than she needed to.

I could see it now—she wasn’t just comforting her.

She was afraid of losing her.

Emily’s hand found mine, grounding me.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s give them some space.”

I nodded.

And we stepped away—leaving them there, holding onto each other like the night hadn’t quite taken everything yet.

 

[Gamer1234556]

Chapter 18​

Shane and Claire were huddled together, too close, like if they let go—even a little—something would fall apart.

Neither of them noticed us at first.

Shane’s voice came out rough, uneven.

“I didn’t mean for it to… turn into that.”

Claire didn’t pull away, but she didn’t soften it either.

“It already did.”

He flinched.

“I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Did you have to say it like that? In front of everyone?”

Claire looked at him then. Really looked.

“You weren’t listening before,” she said quietly.

That landed.

Shane didn’t argue.

He just… deflated.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know.”

Emily stepped forward slightly.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Shane,” she said. Not cold. Just tired. “Being around you like this… it hurts.”

Shane swallowed hard, nodding too quickly.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t sound practiced. It didn’t sound clean.

Just… late.

“I keep messing things up,” he said. “I push people away, and then I act surprised when they leave.”

His eyes flickered toward me—then away again.

“I did it to you too.”

I didn’t answer.

Claire shifted closer to him, steady.

“You don’t get to stop there,” she said softly. “You don’t just say sorry and stay the same.”

Shane let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to stay the same.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—

“I just don’t know how to be anything else.”

That was the first honest thing he’d said.

Claire reached for his hand.

“Then don’t do it alone,” she said. “You didn’t before.”

He looked at her, confused.

“You stayed with me,” she continued. “Even when you didn’t say anything. Even when you thought you were making things worse.”

Her voice trembled slightly.

“You didn’t fix me. But you didn’t leave either.”

Shane’s hand tightened around hers.

“It’s… better late than never,” she added, almost like she needed to believe it too. “Marnie’s still here. Jas is still here.”

A beat.

“I’m still here.”

Shane’s composure cracked again, quieter this time.

“It messed me up,” he admitted. “What you said… back then.”

Claire’s brows furrowed.

“What?”

“You said you wanted to disappear,” he said. “Like it wouldn’t matter if you were gone.”

Her breath caught.

“I didn’t know what to do with that,” he went on. “I just… sat there.”

Claire looked down.

“I was in pain too,” she whispered. “At least you stayed.”

That was when Emily moved.

Not toward them—but toward me.

“Eric,” she said gently. “We should go.”

I didn’t move.

My eyes were still on Shane.

On the way he held onto Claire like she was the only thing keeping him from slipping.

Like he hadn’t done the same thing to us—and then let go.

“He’s not alone,” Emily added, quieter now. “And you don’t have to be the one to carry this.”

I swallowed.

“I could’ve—” I started.

“No,” she said, firm this time. “You don’t get pulled back into this just because he’s hurting.”

That stopped me.

I looked at Shane again.

At Claire.

At the space where I used to think I was supposed to stand.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said suddenly.

I wasn’t even sure who he was saying it to this time.

Maybe everyone.

Maybe no one.

I let out a slow breath.

“…Yeah,” I said.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It wasn’t acceptance.

It was just… all I had.

There was a pause. Long enough that something could have been said.

Nothing was.

Emily’s hand found mine.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

We turned to leave.

Behind us, Shane pulled Claire closer, like he was afraid she might disappear if he didn’t.

I didn’t look back again.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I didn’t know what I’d feel if I did.

​

Lewis and Marnie were still holding onto each other.

Not like comfort.

Like if they let go, something worse might rush in to fill the space.

“I tried so hard,” Lewis whispered. “I thought if I just… kept things together, it would hold.”

His voice broke.

“And it still fell apart.”

Marnie shook her head, tears slipping freely now.

“I didn’t need it to be perfect,” she said. “I just wanted one good ending. Just once.”

Neither of them noticed me.

Or maybe they did—and didn’t have the strength to stop.

Lewis let out a shaky breath.

“Peter would’ve known what to do,” he murmured. “He always did.”

That name hit harder than anything else that night.

“He kept people together,” Lewis went on, voice distant now. “Back then, it felt like things actually meant something.”

A pause.

“…Why did he have to go?”

Marnie stiffened.

Not visibly. Not all at once.

But I saw it.

“Lewis…” she said quietly. “He didn’t choose to leave.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lewis said quickly, but the damage was already there.

Marnie pulled back just slightly—not enough to break away, just enough to breathe.

“He always left things unfinished,” she said.

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Lewis blinked.

“What?”

Marnie shook her head immediately.

“Nothing. I didn’t—”

But it was already there now.

Years of it.

“He kept everyone together, sure,” she said, softer now, like she was trying to take it back and couldn’t. “But he didn’t stay long enough to see what happened after.”

Lewis stared at her.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know it’s not.”

Her voice cracked again.

“But it still hurts.”

Silence.

Not the kind that settles.

The kind that opens something up.

I felt something in my chest tighten.

Because I remembered him differently.

I remembered laughter. Warmth. Someone who made everything feel steady.

But standing here now—

I could feel the gap he left behind.

“I just…” Lewis started, then stopped. “I miss him.”

Marnie nodded, eyes down.

“…Me too.”

But it didn’t sound the same.

Gus stepped in then, gentle as ever—but deliberate.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he said quietly. “We’ve all had more than we can carry.”

They both looked at him, like they’d just remembered where they were.

“I’m heading out,” Gus added. “Hopefully the Luau gives us something better to hold onto.”

He didn’t quite believe it.

None of us did.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter than I expected. “I should get back to the farm.”

The words felt automatic.

Like something I was supposed to say.

Emily’s hand found my arm.

“I’ll come with you.”

I glanced at her.

“Want me to walk you home?”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said softly. “To your farm.”

A small pause.

“I think we both need that.”

I nodded.

Yeah.

We did.

As we turned to leave, I looked back—just once.

Lewis and Marnie were still standing there.

Close.

But not quite together anymore.

Like something invisible had settled between them.

Not anger.

Not distance.

Just… time.

Too much of it.

And for a moment—

I saw it.

Not just them.

Us.

Two people trying to hold something together while everything around them slowly came apart.

The thought hit harder than it should have.

I looked away quickly.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Emily didn’t let go of my hand.

And for once—

I held on just as tightly.

​

As we were about to head home, we ran into the younger crowd — Abigail, Sam, Sebastian, Alex, and Haley.

They didn’t look like they had just come from a meeting.

They looked like they had seen something.

Haley especially. She was pale, arms wrapped around herself, eyes unfocused like she was still somewhere else.

“W-Where are you going?” she asked Emily, her voice thin.

“I… need to talk to Eric,” Emily said gently. “I’ll be back.”

Sam and Abigail exchanged a look — the kind that meant don’t make this worse.

“Well— uh— I better hope Vince didn’t delete my save files,” Sam muttered too quickly, already backing away. “I left the console on…”

“Yeah,” Abigail added, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite land. “Journey of the Prairie King. They were obsessed with it earlier.”

They disappeared almost immediately, retreating into the safety of routine.

Alex stepped closer to Haley, lowering his voice.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go to my place. Grandma might still be up. We’ll just… sit for a bit.”

Haley nodded, barely registering anything else as he guided her away. He didn’t even look at me — he was too focused on keeping her together.

That left Sebastian.

He lingered a few steps away, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight.

“You…” I started.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away.

He glanced toward where the others had gone — like he was making sure they were out of earshot.

Then he looked back at me.

“We had a visit,” he said.

A beat.

“From the Wizard.”

My stomach dropped.

“You’re joking.”

“I wish.”

Emily frowned. “What did he do?”

Sebastian let out a short breath — not quite a laugh.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “He didn’t do anything.”

He hesitated.

Then, quieter—

“He just looked at us. Like he already knew how this ends.”

Something cold settled in my chest.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened.

“He said…” He paused, like repeating it would make it worse.
“‘You’re already involved. Whether you understand it or not.’”

The words hung there.

Emily’s grip on my arm tightened slightly.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said quickly. “It’s just—how he talks.”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That’s exactly the problem. It does mean something. You just don’t know what yet.”

I frowned. “So what? We’re just supposed to sit around and wait until it makes sense?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sounds like it.”

Sebastian looked at me then. Really looked.

“You think this is something you can fix,” he said. Not accusing. Just… certain.

“I think doing nothing is worse.”

“And I think,” he shot back, sharper now, “that you don’t understand what happens when you start pulling at things you can’t put back.”

Silence.

The night felt heavier now.

“You didn’t see him,” Sebastian went on, quieter. “The way he was looking at us… it wasn’t a warning.”

A pause.

“It was recognition.”

That hit harder than it should have.

I swallowed. “Then that means we matter.”

Sebastian let out a breath, almost frustrated.

“Or it means we’re already in too deep.”

Neither of us spoke after that.

There wasn’t really anything left to say.

We just stood there — both convinced we were right, and neither willing to give.

Then, without another word, we parted ways—

carrying the weight with us.

​

We walked home in silence.

The farm greeted us the same way it always did — quiet, patient, unchanged by everything that had just happened.

Like it was waiting for me to catch up.

Emily looked around, taking it in—not just seeing it, but measuring it. Like she was searching for something steady.

“Your crops look almost ready,” she said softly. “You’ve really grown as a farmer.”

I let out a slow breath.

“I just… hope the Governor sees it,” I admitted. “If the Luau goes well, it might actually—”

“Eric.”

Her voice wasn’t sharp.

But it stopped me.

I looked at her.

“Don’t think about him,” she said gently. “Think about this.”

She gestured—not just at the farm, but at everything around us.

“Think about what you’ve already done.”

I shook my head slightly.

“It’s not enough,” I said. “Not if everything else falls apart.”

There it was.

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Emily stepped closer.

“Everything isn’t on you,” she said.

“It feels like it is.”

My voice came out tighter than I expected.

“If the Luau fails—if the town falls apart—what was the point of any of this?”

The words hung there.

Too heavy.

Too honest.

Emily didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at me.

Really looked.

And I could see it now—

Not just concern.

Not just warmth.

Fear.

Not of the town.

Of me.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

Her hands found mine—not tentative, not unsure.

Steady.

“You’re doing it again.”

I frowned. “Doing what?”

“Trying to carry something that was never yours to hold alone.”

That hit harder than anything else that night.

I looked away.

“I’m not trying to—”

“You are,” she said, still gentle. Still certain. “You’re tying everything to one moment. One outcome.”

“The Luau matters.”

“It does,” she agreed. “But not like this.”

A pause.

“Not in a way that decides whether any of this was worth it.”

I swallowed.

“It feels like it does.”

“I know.”

That was the difference, she understood and didn’t argue.

And then—she stepped closer. Not to comfort me, but to stop me.

“Look at me,” she said softly. “If the Luau goes wrong, the town doesn’t disappear.”

Her voice trembled slightly—but she didn’t look away.

“People will still be here. Hurting, maybe. Disappointed. But still here.”

Her grip tightened just a little.

“And so will you.”

Something in my chest cracked.

Because I hadn’t been thinking about that.

Not really.

“I don’t need you to save everything,” she continued. “I need you to stay.”

Silence.

“I can’t do this,” she added, quieter now, “if you disappear into it.”

That was the first time she said it.

Not as hope, as a line.

I felt it settle.

Slow. Heavy. Real.

“I’m still here,” I said, but it sounded weaker than I meant it to.

“Right now, you are,” she said. “I just need to know you will be… after.”

That was the choice.

Not the Luau. Not the town. This.

I stepped closer, closing the space between us.

“I don’t know how to fix everything,” I admitted.

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t even know if I can hold it together.”

“You don’t have to do that either.”

Her voice softened.

“You just have to not let it take you with it.”

That landed.

Slowly.

Completely.

And for the first time all night—

I stopped trying to solve something.

I just… stood there.

With her.

My hands moved to her shoulders, grounding myself in something real.

Something that wasn’t falling apart.

“I do love this place,” I said. “But…”

“I know,” she whispered.

We didn’t need to finish that sentence.

And then—she kissed me.

Not sudden. Not desperate. Deliberate.

Like she was choosing this moment, choosing me.

I closed my eyes and held onto her—not like I was falling, but like I was trying to stay.

When she pulled back, her breath was uneven—but her voice wasn’t.

“Even if this town falls apart,” she said softly, “I’m still here.”

A pause.

“For you.”

Her eyes met mine.

No hesitation this time.

“I love you.”

The words hit differently now.

Not like comfort, but a promise.

“I love you too,” I said.

And this time—I meant it.

Not because things were okay, but because they weren’t.

And I was still choosing it anyway.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then she stepped back, just slightly.

Not distant.

Just… letting the moment settle.

At the door, she paused.

“We’ll enjoy the Luau,” she said quietly.

A small breath.

“No matter what happens after.”

And then she was gone.

I stood there, the farm quiet around me.

Still uncertain. Still afraid.

But not alone anymore.

And for the first time—that felt like enough.