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They stayed where they was, watching Power Armor silhouettes lumber back toward HQ through calmer snow, watching the settlement reclaim itself inch by inch.
The quiet that followed felt fragile.
Like it might shatter if anyone spoke too loudly.
Sico remained at the window for a few more seconds, letting the stillness sink into his bones. The storm hadn't apologized for what it had done. It never did. It had simply spent itself and moved on, leaving Sanctuary buried, bruised, but alive.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders once, feeling the stiffness settle in now that the urgency had eased.
"I'm going outside," he said.
Magnolia turned to him immediately. "You don't need to."
"I know," Sico replied. "But I should."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I'll keep HQ running."
He grabbed his coat, still damp but warm enough, and pulled it on. The weight of it settled familiarly on his shoulders. Boots next, laces tightened with practiced efficiency. He clipped the radio back onto his belt and headed for the doors.
As he pushed them open, cold air rushed in to meet him—not the violent, biting force from earlier, but a deep, lingering chill that crept under clothing and reminded him the storm had left its mark.
Outside, Sanctuary looked transformed.
Snow lay thick everywhere, smooth and unbroken in places, churned and piled in others. Drifts rose halfway up doors, against walls, along barricades. Roofs sagged under white weight, some reinforced with visible supports, others bearing cracks that hadn't been there before.
The sky was still gray, but lighter now, as if exhausted.
And there, emerging from the white, came the Power Armor teams.
They moved slowly, deliberately, each step crunching deep into the snow. Ice clung to their armor plating, frosted along edges and joints. Their helmet lights were dimmed now, no longer cutting desperately through the storm but glowing softly in the aftermath.
Sico stepped forward, boots sinking almost to his calves.
A few guards nearby straightened when they saw him, but he waved them off gently. This wasn't a moment for formality.
The first Power Armor unit came to a stop a few meters away. Servo-motors whined as the suit settled, snow cascading off its shoulders.
The helmet turned toward him.
"President Sico," Alpha's voice came through the external speaker, distorted but unmistakable.
Sico stopped in front of them, snow dusting the hem of his coat.
"You held the line," he said, loud enough for all of them to hear. "Every one of you."
More armored figures gathered, forming a loose semicircle around him. Steam rose faintly where warm metal met cold air.
"You went out when no one else could," Sico continued. "You kept our people safe when the storm tried to take that choice away."
He looked from helmet to helmet, knowing there were faces inside that tired, sore, probably cold despite the armor.
"Thank you," he said simply. "Sanctuary stands because of you."
For a moment, there was only the soft hiss of systems and the distant creak of snow settling.
Then Alpha inclined his helmet slightly.
"It's what we're here for, sir," he replied.
A few of the others echoed it in their own ways with short acknowledgments, nods, a raised armored fist.
Sico smiled faintly.
"Get inside," he said. "Decontam, rest, warm food. You've earned it."
"Yes, sir," Alpha said.
The teams began moving again, trudging toward the Army HQ entrance, leaving deep, heavy tracks behind them.
Sico turned slowly, taking in the wider view now that the immediate crisis had passed.
The damage was impossible to miss.
A warehouse roof lay partially collapsed, snow piled thick over bent metal. A row of older homes showed visible cracks along walls, one with its porch roof caved in entirely. A guard tower leaned slightly off-angle, its base undermined by drifting snow.
Sanctuary had survived, but it had been wounded.
Sico exhaled and reached for his radio.
"Sturges," he said. "Come in."
There was a brief pause, then a familiar, slightly frazzled voice answered.
"Yeah, I'm here. You seeing this mess too?"
"Yes," Sico replied. "I need your team ready. As soon as it's safe, we start repairs."
Sturges sighed audibly. "Already counting cracked beams and busted supports."
"Prioritize residential buildings," Sico said. "Hospital access, houses, then everything else."
"Got it," Sturges replied. "We'll need extra materials. Some of this damage isn't cosmetic."
"You'll get what you need," Sico said. "Pull from reserves if you have to."
"Alright," Sturges said. "Give us a few hours to dig out and assess properly."
"Take the time you need," Sico replied. "But let me know if anything's at risk of collapse."
"Will do."
The channel went quiet.
Sico lowered the radio and stood there for a long moment, snow crunching softly beneath his boots as he shifted his weight.
Around him, Sanctuary slowly stirred back to life.
Doors opened wider now. Settlers stepped out cautiously, bundled tight, eyes wide as they took in the transformed landscape. Some laughed in disbelief. Others went silent, staring at damage to homes they'd spent years patching together.
A woman knelt in the snow, brushing ice from a fallen sign, her breath coming out in short, foggy bursts. A man climbed onto a roof with careful steps, testing each one before committing his weight.
Children reappeared too, of course.
They were the first to adapt.
Within minutes, they were already sliding down snowbanks, throwing handfuls of powder at each other, shrieking with laughter until parents yelled half-hearted warnings about staying close.
Life asserted itself.
Sico walked slowly through the central square, nodding to people who noticed him. Some greeted him quietly. Others just watched, eyes tired but grateful.
Near one of the shelters, he spotted Curie stepping outside, her coat pulled tight around her, white hair catching snowflakes like threads of silver.
She noticed him and approached.
"The radiation levels are continuing to drop," she said. "I will still recommend limited outdoor exposure today, but the immediate risk has passed."
"Thank you," Sico replied. "For everything."
She tilted her head slightly. "It is my purpose. And I am glad."
He nodded, understanding more than she might realize.
They stood together for a moment, watching as medical staff began carefully moving supplies, checking on patients who were well enough to return home.
Sico lingered a moment longer with Curie, watching Sanctuary breathe itself back into motion.
There was a rhythm to it now. Cautious steps. Careful voices. The sound of shovels already scraping somewhere in the distance, settlers testing whether the snow would yield to effort or demand patience first.
Curie adjusted her scarf, eyes following a pair of orderlies guiding an elderly man back toward his home.
"They will be tired," she said softly. "The body forgets how much it has endured until it is safe again."
"Yes," Sico replied. "That's usually when it hits."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, as if seeing not the President of the Freemasons Republic but the man beneath the coat and decisions.
"You should rest as well," she added.
He gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. "Soon."
Curie didn't press. She rarely did. Instead, she nodded once and turned back toward the hospital, already shifting her focus to the next task, the next calculation, the next person who needed her.
Sico watched her go, then turned his attention outward again.
The storm had left more than broken roofs and buried doors.
It had frozen Sanctuary in place.
Paths were impassable. Walkways disappeared beneath drifts taller than a grown man in some areas. Supply routes between sectors were choked. Even the central square, normally open and navigable, looked like a field of white dunes broken only by the tops of benches and signs.
People could survive inside their homes.
But they couldn't live like this.
Not for long.
Sico reached for his radio.
"Preston," he said, voice steady but carrying the weight of what he'd already decided. "Come in."
There was a brief pause, then the familiar response.
"I'm here," Preston replied. "Storm finally let go?"
"It did," Sico said. "But it left us buried."
A low, humorless chuckle came through the radio. "Yeah. I saw."
"I need soldiers mobilized," Sico continued. "Shovels. Picks. Clearing snow across Sanctuary. Residential paths first, then supply routes, then public areas."
There was no hesitation this time.
"Understood," Preston said immediately. "You want infantry or engineers?"
"Both," Sico replied. "Anyone who can lift and dig. Rotate teams so no one burns out."
"Copy," Preston said. "I'll start organizing squads."
Sico switched channels.
"Sarah," he said.
Her reply was immediate, sharp despite the fatigue that must have been setting in by now. "Go ahead."
"I want coordinated snow clearing operations," Sico said. "Soldiers assisting settlers. Priority on access routes from hospital, houses, shelters, food distribution points."
"Already thinking the same," Sarah replied. "I'll assign section leaders and set boundaries. No one goes wandering off alone."
"Good," Sico said. "And Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Make it visible," he added. "Let people see the soldiers out there with them. This isn't just recovery. It's reassurance."
There was a brief pause, then her voice softened just a fraction.
"They'll see it," she said. "I'll make sure of it."
The radio clicked off.
Sico lowered his hand and exhaled slowly.
This was the work after the crisis.
The part that didn't come with alarms or adrenaline, but mattered just as much.
Within minutes, the soundscape of Sanctuary changed again.
Doors opened not just cautiously now, but deliberately. Soldiers emerged from barracks and HQ storage areas, hauling shovels, repurposed plows, scrap-metal scoops welded together for exactly this kind of aftermath. Some laughed quietly as they adjusted gloves and scarves, steam puffing from their mouths in thick clouds.
Others were silent, eyes scanning the drifts like an enemy they intended to defeat through sheer persistence.
Preston appeared near the edge of the square, barking orders with practiced ease.
"Alright! You heard the call! Residential lanes first! Clear paths wide enough for carts and stretchers! Don't try to be heroes, pace yourselves!"
Teams broke off, boots crunching as they fanned out into Sanctuary's snowbound arteries.
Sarah moved among them, checking assignments, clapping a hand on a soldier's shoulder here, pointing toward a buried intersection there.
"Pairs," she reminded them. "No one works alone. If you feel dizzy, cold, or stupid, you stop and signal."
A few soldiers smirked.
She fixed them with a look. "I mean it."
They sobered immediately.
Sico walked alongside the first group as they began cutting a path down the main residential lane. Shovels bit into snow with a dull, satisfying sound, the resistance surprising at first before yielding in heavy slabs.
The snow was deeper than it looked.
Packed by wind, layered by hours of accumulation, it fought every movement.
A soldier grunted as he lifted a load and tossed it aside. "Feels like the storm's still trying to win."
Sico picked up a shovel from a nearby crate without comment and stepped in beside him.
The soldier froze for half a second. "Sir—"
"Don't," Sico said quietly, setting the blade and pushing down with his weight. Snow cracked and gave way beneath it. "Just work."
That was all it took.
Word spread fast.
Within minutes, settlers joined in.
An older woman brought out her own shovel, smaller but well-used, and began clearing the steps of her neighbor's home. A teenager dragged a broken door from a shed and used it as a makeshift plow, pushing snow aside in long, determined sweeps.
Laughter bubbled up again that not the carefree kind from before the storm, but something more grounded. The kind that came from shared effort.
Sico worked steadily, shoulders burning, breath fogging the air. He didn't rush. He didn't stop.
Every few minutes, someone glanced his way, surprised to see him there, sleeves dusted white, boots soaked like everyone else's.
He met their eyes with a nod and kept going.
This mattered too.
At one corner, a narrow alley had been completely swallowed, snow piled nearly to the rooftops on either side. Two soldiers stood staring at it, assessing.
"That'll take hours," one muttered.
"Then we start now," Sico replied, stepping past them and driving his shovel into the drift.
They exchanged a look, then followed.
Progress was slow.
Painfully slow.
But it was progress.
Paths began to reappear as at first it was narrow, then wider as teams circled back to deepen and reinforce them. The sound of shoveling echoed through Sanctuary, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat returning after a long pause.
From time to time, someone would call out a warning as a chunk of ice fell from a roof. Others would pause to help reinforce a sagging beam or knock loose snow before it could collapse.
At the hospital, soldiers cleared entrances methodically, widening access until carts could pass freely again. Medical staff stepped out to thank them, handing out cups of hot broth that steamed in the cold air.
One nurse pressed a cup into Sico's hands without realizing who he was.
"Drink," she said firmly. "You'll freeze otherwise."
He accepted it with a quiet smile. "Thank you."
She only noticed later, eyes widening, but by then he was already moving again.
Hours passed like this.
The sun dipped lower behind the gray, casting long shadows across the snow. Sanctuary looked different now that not buried, but reshaped. Scarred, yes. But functional.
Preston approached Sico near the central square, snow clinging to his coat, hair damp with sweat.
"Main routes are clearing," he reported. "Residential access is about seventy percent open."
"Good," Sico replied. "Rotate your teams. No one pushes through exhaustion."
Preston nodded. "Already doing it."
Sarah joined them moments later.
"We'll need another full day to get everything back to normal," she said. "But people can move. That's what matters."
"Yes," Sico agreed. "That's what matters."
They stood together, watching soldiers and settlers work side by side, shovels rising and falling in rough unison.
"This would've been chaos once," Preston said quietly.
Sico didn't answer right away.
He watched a young boy help his father clear a path, both of them laughing as the shovel slipped and dumped snow back onto their boots.
"No," Sico said finally. "It would've been silence."
That night, fires burned brighter.
Not just from necessity, but from something closer to celebration.
People shared food. Stories of the storm grew exaggerated already, laughter filling the gaps between fear and relief. Children fell asleep early, exhausted from excitement and cold air, cheeks flushed, dreams likely full of white fields and towering armored figures.
Sico returned to HQ well after dark, muscles aching, hands raw despite gloves. He paused at the entrance, brushing snow from his coat, and looked back once more at Sanctuary.
Lights glowed steadily now, no longer swallowed by storm or drift.
Paths cut through the snow like veins.
Life flowed again.
Inside, Magnolia waited near the central table, a map spread out before her, marked with cleared routes and areas still needing attention.
"You didn't need to do that yourself," she said gently.
"I know," Sico replied, setting his shovel aside. "But I wanted to."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "It showed."
He leaned over the map, exhaustion finally catching up to him, but beneath it was something steadier.
"We'll finish clearing tomorrow," he said. "Then repairs. Then winter prep again."
Magnolia smiled faintly. "Winter never stops."
"No," Sico said. "But neither do we."
Outside, Sanctuary rested under a blanket of snow that no longer felt like a threat.
Morning came slowly after the storm.
Not with sunlight bursting through the clouds or birds daring to sing too early, but with a gradual thinning of gray, a subtle lightening of the sky that suggested the world had decided that it would keep going.
Sico was awake before the bells rang.
Sleep had come in fragments: short stretches broken by aches in his shoulders, stiffness in his hands, and the distant sounds of Sanctuary settling in the cold. Wood contracting. Snow sliding off roofs. Guards changing shifts outside HQ.
He sat up on the edge of his bed for a long moment, boots planted on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, breathing slow and measured.
The fatigue was deep today. Not the sharp exhaustion of battle or crisis, but the heavy kind that sank into muscle and bone with the kind earned by hours of labor, responsibility, and shared effort.
He welcomed it.
It meant the Republic was still standing.
After a quick wash and a change into warmer layers, Sico pulled on his coat and stepped outside just as the first crews were already moving.
Sanctuary looked different again.
Where yesterday had been chaos slowly giving way to motion, today felt organized. Purposeful. The main paths carved the day before had been widened overnight by rotating teams. Snowbanks lined the sides of streets like crude walls, packed down and shaped by repeated shovelfuls.
Smoke rose from chimneys in steady columns.
The smell of hot food drifted through the air.
Life hadn't just returned, it had adjusted.
Sico made his way toward the central square, boots crunching softly on packed snow. Along the way, he passed soldiers and settlers already at work together. Some carried lumber and scrap metal toward damaged buildings. Others shoveled, scraped ice, or hauled away broken debris revealed once the snow had been cleared.
A group of engineers knelt near a cracked water line, steam curling around them as they worked with gloved hands and low voices. Nearby, two children handed them tools with exaggerated seriousness, earning patient smiles in return.
Sico slowed his pace, taking it all in.
This was the second phase.
Not survival.
Recovery.
He spotted Preston near the supply depot, sleeves rolled up, clipboard tucked under one arm as he spoke with a mixed group of soldiers and civilians.
"…east lane's clear enough for carts now," Preston was saying. "But the west side still needs work before sunset. We'll rotate teams through there after midday."
One of the settlers nodded. "Roof on my place is cracked."
"Already flagged," Preston replied. "Sturges' crew will get to it."
Sico approached, and Preston noticed him immediately.
"Morning," Preston said, straightening slightly but not snapping to attention. There was no need for it here.
"Morning," Sico replied. "How does it look?"
"Better than I expected," Preston said honestly. "We're ahead of where we thought we'd be."
"That's good," Sico said. "But don't push it."
Preston nodded. "We won't. People are tired, but morale's high."
"That's what counts," Sico said.
They walked together for a bit, Sico listening as Preston outlined progress sector by sector. Residential areas were nearly accessible again. Supply routes between the agricultural district and the food hall had been cleared before dawn. The hospital and shelters had full access, with extra paths marked and maintained in case of emergencies.
"There's still a problem area near the southern ridge," Preston added. "Snow drifted hard against the older structures. We're worried about collapse."
"I'll check it," Sico said immediately.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," Sico cut in gently. "But I want eyes on it."
Preston didn't argue.
As they parted ways, Sico adjusted his gloves and headed south.
The farther he walked, the quieter Sanctuary became. The bustle of the central square faded, replaced by the scrape of shovels, the thud of hammer on wood, and the occasional crack as ice broke loose from metal.
The southern ridge had taken the brunt of the storm.
Snow had piled high against older buildings, structures built long before the Republic had the resources to reinforce everything properly. Some walls bowed under pressure. Roofs sagged visibly, supported now by hastily installed beams.
Sturges was already there, directing crews with his usual blend of technical focus and weary humor.
"If this thing collapses, it's gonna do it the second we turn our backs," he muttered, gesturing at a particularly unhappy-looking warehouse.
"Then we don't turn our backs," Sico said.
Sturges glanced over, surprised, then nodded. "Fair enough."
They walked the perimeter together, boots crunching, breath fogging.
"Structural integrity were questionable," Sturges said, tapping a beam. "We can stabilize it, but long-term? Might be better to tear it down and rebuild."
"Do what you need," Sico said. "Safety first."
"That's the plan," Sturges replied. "I'll shift more people here after lunch."
Sico stayed longer than necessary, watching crews work, asking quiet questions, listening. He didn't micromanage. He trusted these people. His presence wasn't about control, it was about accountability.
And solidarity.
By midday, the clouds thinned further, allowing pale sunlight to spill across Sanctuary. It glinted off snowbanks and wet metal, making people squint as they worked.
Sico returned toward the central districts just as Sarah approached from the opposite direction.
She looked tired. Not worn down but stretched thin, like someone who had been awake too long out of necessity rather than choice.
"Perimeter's secure," she reported as they fell into step beside each other. "No movement overnight. Patrols rotated clean."
"Good," Sico said. "Any injuries?"
"A few cases of frostbite," Sarah said. "Nothing serious. Med's handling it."
She hesitated, then added, "Morale's holding."
"Yes," Sico said quietly. "I can feel it."
They paused near an intersection where soldiers were helping an elderly couple dig out their front door. One of the soldiers slipped, nearly losing balance, and the couple laughed that gentle, warm laughter that cut through the cold.
Sarah watched it for a moment.
"This," she said. "This is why they follow you."
Sico didn't respond immediately.
"They don't follow me," he said finally. "They follow what we're building."
Sarah shook her head slightly but didn't argue.
By afternoon, the rhythm of Sanctuary had settled into something almost familiar. Repair crews worked in shifts. Food distribution resumed fully, with hot meals handed out not just as aid, but as encouragement.
Sico moved constantly.
He checked on the hospital again, where Curie briefed him on minor injuries and stress related illnesses. He stopped by the agricultural district, where farmers were already planning how to protect crops if another storm hit.
He listened.
Always listened.
In one small street, he found Magnolia speaking with a group of settlers, reviewing plans for temporary housing where damage had been too severe.
"They'll have warm places to sleep tonight," she was saying. "Permanent repairs will come after."
Sico waited until she finished before stepping closer.
"Everything holding together?" he asked.
"For now," Magnolia said. "It'll be tight. But we'll manage."
She studied him for a second. "You're pushing yourself."
"So is everyone else," Sico replied.
"That doesn't mean you're exempt from rest," she said.
He smiled faintly. "I know."
But he didn't slow.
As the day wore on, the true cost of the storm became clearer. Not in dramatic collapses or emergencies, but in small things from broken hinges, cracked windows, lost supplies, exhausted people.
Sico addressed them all with the same quiet seriousness.
By late afternoon, a council of section leaders gathered briefly in HQ to synchronize final efforts for the day. Maps were updated. Priorities adjusted. Tomorrow's objectives laid out with care.
When the meeting ended, Sico lingered, staring at the map as others filtered out.
Nearly every major route was marked green now.
Accessible.
Alive.
He traced one path with his finger—the one that connected HQ to the hospital, then out toward the southern ridge, then back toward the residential blocks.
A loop.
A circulation.
Magnolia noticed his focus.
"It looks different when it works," she said softly.
"Yes," Sico replied. "It does."
Evening came gently.
The temperature dropped again, but not as sharply. Fires were prepared early. Guards took their positions, alert but calm.
Sico stepped outside one last time as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Sanctuary in muted blues and golds.
People moved along the cleared paths with confidence now. Children ran without slipping. Carts rolled smoothly where yesterday there had been nothing but drifts.
He stopped near the central square and simply stood there.
No radio.
No clipboard.
Just observation.
A soldier passed him, shovel slung over one shoulder, and nodded.
A settler waved.
Somewhere, someone laughed.
The storm had tried to break them, but it had failed.
Sico stayed in the square a little longer than he needed to.
He told himself it was to observe, to make sure nothing had been overlooked, but the truth was simpler. He wanted to let the image settle. Sanctuary moving again under its own weight. Not rushing. Not scrambling. Just living.
Eventually, though, responsibility nudged him forward again.
The farms lay beyond the residential blocks, where the land opened up and the snow thinned just enough to reveal patches of dark soil beneath. They were Sanctuary's quiet backbone. Not as visible as the walls or the patrols, not as dramatic as Power Armor standing against a blizzard, but just as vital.
If the farms had suffered badly, everything else would feel it in the weeks to come.
Sico adjusted his coat and headed that way.
The path to the agricultural district was one of the first routes cleared that morning. Wide enough for carts, reinforced along the edges, marked with poles so drifting snow wouldn't reclaim it too quickly. As he walked, the sounds of Sanctuary softened again. Less metal. Less hammering. More wind through bare branches. The muted crunch of boots on frozen earth.
The smell changed too.
Woodsmoke faded, replaced by the damp, mineral scent of soil and fertilizer. Cold air carried it cleanly, sharp but reassuring.
Ahead, he could already see movement.
Figures bent over the ground, shoulders hunched against the chill. Crates stacked in neat rows. Tools laid out carefully on tarps. The farms were awake.
Sico slowed as he approached, hands slipping into his coat pockets. He didn't announce himself. Didn't want to interrupt the rhythm unless he had to.
Jenny was easy to spot.
She stood near the center of the main field, scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, sleeves rolled up despite the cold, directing her team with clipped gestures and a voice that carried without needing to rise. She'd been farming before Sanctuary was anything more than a cluster of hopeful shelters. She knew this land better than anyone alive.
Around her, farmers worked steadily. Some knelt, hands in the soil, fingers red despite gloves. Others hauled sacks of seed or dragged planks into place to reinforce raised beds damaged by the storm.
Snow still clung stubbornly to the edges of the fields, but the central plots had been cleared down to earth. Dark. Cold. Alive.
Sico stepped closer, boots crunching softly.
Jenny noticed him almost immediately.
She straightened, wiping her hands on her pants, and gave him a nod that not stiff, not deferential. Just acknowledgment.
"Morning, Sico," she said.
"Morning," he replied. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not," Jenny said. "We're already behind. Storm or not."
She gestured to the field with a small tilt of her chin. "Figured you'd come by."
"I needed to," Sico said honestly. His gaze swept over the rows, the crates, the people working despite the cold. "How bad was it?"
Jenny exhaled slowly before answering.
"Yesterday?" she said. "Rough."
She motioned for him to walk with her, and he did, careful where he stepped. They moved along a cleared strip between beds, the soil dark and wet where the snow had been scraped away.
"The wind did most of the damage," Jenny continued. "Snapped a lot of the weaker stalks. Snow weight crushed some beds that weren't reinforced well enough."
She crouched and brushed a hand across the earth, fingers lingering like she was listening to something beneath the surface.
"About fifty percent," she said quietly.
Sico stopped walking.
"Fifty," he repeated.
Jenny nodded. "Almost half the crops took enough damage that they won't recover."
He didn't react outwardly. No sharp intake of breath. No curse. But something tightened behind his ribs.
"That's why you're replanting," he said.
"Yes," Jenny replied. "We can't afford to wait and see if what's left makes it. We're planting a new batch now, supplementing what survived."
She looked up at him then, eyes clear, tired, but steady.
"We planned for losses," she added. "Not this much, but… some."
Sico let the silence stretch for a moment.
Fifty percent wasn't catastrophic, but it wasn't nothing either. It meant tighter margins. Careful rationing. No room for complacency.
"How long until the new batch takes?" he asked.
"Depends," Jenny said. "Cold slows everything. Best case? First usable yield in a few weeks. Full recovery takes longer."
She stood and dusted her hands again. "We'll manage."
"I know you will," Sico said.
They continued walking, passing a group of younger farmers carefully placing seeds into furrows, hands moving with deliberate gentleness. One of them glanced up, recognized Sico, and gave a quick, almost shy nod before returning to work.
Sico watched them for a moment.
"This storm," he said quietly, "it tested everything."
Jenny snorted softly. "That's weather for you. Doesn't care about plans."
"No," Sico agreed. "But people do."
She looked at him sideways, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. "That's why we're still here."
They stopped near a stack of crates labeled by hand: SEEDS – WINTER HARDY, EMERGENCY STOCK, SPRING ROTATION.
Sico frowned slightly at the last one.
"You're dipping into spring reserves," he said.
"We have to," Jenny replied without hesitation. "If we don't plant now, we lose time we can't afford. We'll adjust the spring schedule later."
Sico considered that, then nodded. "If you need more supplies—"
"I know," Jenny cut in gently. "You'll find a way."
She didn't say it with reverence or expectation. Just fact.
Sico met her gaze. "Tell me what you need anyway."
She did.
More frost-resistant coverings. Reinforced frames. Additional heating units for the most vulnerable plots. Extra hands, especially people strong enough to break frozen soil without exhausting themselves too quickly.
"I'll talk to Preston and Sarah," Sico said. "We'll rotate soldiers through here as well. Not full-time, but enough to help."
Jenny raised an eyebrow. "They won't love it."
"They don't have to," Sico replied. "They'll do it."
She chuckled quietly. "You know, you could just order all this."
"I could," Sico said. "But I'd rather understand it first."
Jenny studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "That's why I tell you the truth."
They stood together in silence for a bit, watching the field come back to life.
It was slow work.
Painstaking.
Every seed placed was an act of defiance. Against the storm. Against hunger. Against the idea that survival alone was enough.
One of Jenny's team called out to her, holding up a damaged frame.
"Jenny! This one's cracked clean through."
She sighed. "Mark it. We'll replace it."
She looked back at Sico. "You see? Not dramatic. Just constant."
"Yes," Sico said. "That's usually how it is."
They walked a little farther, toward the edge of the field where snow still lay thick and untouched. Beyond it, the land sloped downward, dotted with half-buried scarecrows and fencing posts bent by wind.
"People don't always see this part," Jenny said quietly. "They see the food when it's on their plates. They don't see how close it always is."
Sico nodded. "I do."
She glanced at him, a bit surprised. "Most leaders say that."
"I don't say it," Sico replied. "I live it."
That earned him a longer look and something like approval.
As they turned back toward the main field, a runner approached, breath fogging, boots slipping slightly on packed snow.
"Jenny," the runner said. "We've got another delivery of compost and scrap frames coming in from storage."
"Good," Jenny replied. "Send them to the south plots."
The runner nodded, then hesitated when he noticed Sico.
"Sir," he said awkwardly.
Sico nodded back. "Carry on."
The runner hurried off.
Jenny shook her head faintly. "You make people nervous."
"Only when they think they should be," Sico said.
She laughed quietly at that.
They reached the center of the field again, where planting continued steadily. Sico stopped, hands on his hips, surveying the scene.
"Fifty percent loss," he said again, not as a question this time.
"Yes," Jenny replied.
"And you're already adapting," he said.
"We don't have a choice," she answered. "But we also don't wait for permission."
Sico smiled slightly. "Good."
He turned toward her fully.
"Keep me updated," he said. "Daily reports. I want to know if conditions change."
"You'll know," Jenny said. "One way or another."
He inclined his head in thanks.
As Sico prepared to leave, he paused once more, looking out over the fields.
The storm had taken half their crops.
But it hadn't taken their hands.
Or their will.
Or their understanding of what came next.
He walked back toward Sanctuary with a heavier mind, but a steadier heart. Behind him, seeds were being planted into cold soil, pressed down by gloved hands that believed, stubbornly, that growth was still possible.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-