The Darklands had changed. Gone were the desolate stretches of cracked earth and swirling crimson storms that seemed to claw at the horizon like the fingers of a dying world. In their place lay a landscape transformed—rolling plains blanketed in long grass that swayed gently in a cool, unfamiliar breeze. Thin ribbons of rivers snaked their way through the land, glinting in the sunlight like veins of silver, while scattered groves of trees whispered secrets to one another in the wind. The air smelled cleaner here, fresher, though it carried an odd metallic undertone that reminded them they were still far from paradise.
Snow and Rain rode in silence atop Shimmer, the horse gifted to them by the Havenium. Rain had insisted on the name after the way the animal's sleek black coat seemed to glisten in the sunlight. Snow had rolled her eyes but didn't object. Shimmer was sturdy and sure-footed, a good companion for the journey ahead.
Rain shifted in the saddle, her eyes scanning the horizon, drinking in the vastness of the landscape. "I didn't think the Darklands could look like this," she said, her voice carrying a note of awe.
"Neither did I," Snow replied, her tone more measured, though her gaze was equally attentive. "Makes you wonder what changed. The world or the people? If the world can be healed like this, maybe humans can be too. or did they already change?"
"Maybe it does," Rain said quietly.
Snow didn't answer, but the skeptical tilt of her brow said enough.
They had been riding for hours when they spotted movement in the distance—a line of wagons and carts snaking their way along a faint dirt path that cut through the plains. The convoy moved steadily, its mismatched collection of vehicles and beasts of burden giving it an almost haphazard appearance, like a mechanical centipede crawling across the earth.
Rain's eyes lit up at the sight. "A convoy! Do you think they're traders?"
"Could be," Snow said, narrowing her eyes. "Could also be raiders pretending to be traders. We'd better keep our guard up."
As they drew closer, the convoy's nature became clearer. Families rode in open wagons, their belongings piled high around them. Packs of children darted between the carts, laughing and playing as if they weren't wandering through one of the most dangerous regions of the world. Snow relaxed slightly. These weren't raiders. They were survivors, like everyone else.
Rain waved to one of the families, and to her surprise, a small girl standing at the edge of a wagon's bed waved back enthusiastically. Rain squinted, her heart skipping as recognition hit her.
"It's them," she said, her voice breaking with excitement. "Snow, it's that family from Crowe's trading station!"
Snow's gaze followed hers, and sure enough, the family they had helped—the father, mother, and their young daughter—were part of the convoy. The little girl's face lit up as the horse drew near, and she tugged at her mother's sleeve, pointing frantically at Rain.
The father was the first to approach them as the convoy came to a halt. His face, weathered but warm, broke into a broad smile. "Well, I'll be damned. It's you two!"
Rain dismounted Shimmer in a hurry, rushing to meet them. "You're alive! I can't believe it!"
"We could say the same about you," the father said, his voice thick with gratitude. "After Crowe's men threw us out, we didn't think we'd make it. But thanks to you, we had enough food to keep us going until we found the Direbacks."
"The Direbacks?" Snow asked, staying seated but watching closely.
"A nomadic convoy," the mother explained, joining her husband. "They roam between the north and other regions, trading and picking up stragglers like us. If it weren't for them, we'd still be wandering the wastes."
Rain crouched to greet the little girl, who was clinging shyly to her mother's skirt. "Hey there," Rain said softly, smiling. "Do you remember me?"
The girl nodded, her wide eyes full of admiration. "You gave us food."
Rain's chest tightened. She reached out and gently tousled the girl's hair. "I'm glad you're safe."
The father placed a hand on Rain's shoulder. "We owe you everything. If there's ever anything we can do for you—"
"You already did," Rain said, standing. "Just seeing you alive and well is enough."
Snow cleared her throat. "We should keep moving. Convoys attract attention, and not the good kind."
The family bid them farewell, and after exchanging a few more words with the Direbacks, Snow and Rain departed, leaving the convoy behind.
By the time they reached The Hole, the sun was dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon in fiery hues. The trading post was a sight to behold: a massive sinkhole carved into the earth, its edges ringed with makeshift scaffolding and structures that clung precariously to the rocky walls. The heart of the colony was a bustling open-air bazaar, its stalls crammed together in chaotic rows, each one hawking wares of every kind. The air was thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and roasted meat, mingling in a way that was both inviting and repulsive.
"So this is The Hole," Snow muttered, her eyes scanning the colony.
Rain wrinkled her nose. "It smells worse than I imagined."
"Smell's the least of your worries here," Snow said. "Places like this don't have rules. Keep your wits about you."
They tethered Shimmer to a post near the entrance and made their way into the bazaar. The noise was deafening—shouts of traders hawking their goods, the clinking of coins, and the occasional sound of a scuffle breaking out in the background.
Rain's eyes darted from stall to stall, taking in the variety of goods on display. There were weapons, tools, canned food, and even a few rare artifacts from the Once-World. But her excitement quickly turned to dismay as she noticed the prices scrawled on the signs.
"Fifteen metal coins for a can of beans?" she exclaimed, her voice rising above the din.
Snow smirked. "Supply and demand. No one's here to enforce fair trade, so the sellers charge whatever they want."
Rain scowled. "This is robbery."
"Then we'll need to get some money," Snow said, her tone matter-of-fact. She pointed to a wooden sign nailed to one of the larger buildings.
Rain followed her gaze and sighed. "You are kidding me, right?"
Snow's smirk widened. "Come on, Rain. Didn't you say you wanted an adventure?
Rain groaned but followed Snow toward the building. The bazaar buzzed on behind them, its chaos swallowing the path they had taken. The Hole had many corners, and they were about to dive into one of them.
————————————————————————————————————————————
Finally, the duo arrived at the place. On the side of its entrance lies a big sign. The paint was faded, but the words were clear enough: GAMBLING HOUSE
The den was carved haphazardly into the wall of the sinkhole, a precarious collection of timber beams and rusted metal sheets barely holding it together. The uneven floor creaked with every step, and the dim light of makeshift lanterns cast long, jittery shadows across the space. A heavy fug of smoke and sweat clung to the air, swirling above the heads of gamblers hunched over crude tables. Dice clattered. Coins clinked. Voices rose and fell in sharp bursts, laced with triumph or defeat.
Rain hesitated at the entrance, her nose wrinkling at the stench. "Charming," she muttered, glancing at Snow.
Snow, unbothered, stepped through the threshold. "Keep your head down and don't look anyone in the eye unless you mean business."
Rain rolled her eyes. "I know how not to get stabbed, thanks."
The interior of the den was a maze of mismatched tables, each hosting its own game. The largest table at the center was surrounded by a rowdy crowd cheering over a game of Dead Man's Bridge. But Snow wasn't interested in the big show. Her gaze scanned the smaller tables tucked into the corners until she spotted what she was looking for—a table where three men sat, throwing dice across a worn cloth marked with faded lines.
"There," Snow said, jerking her chin toward it.
Rain followed her gaze and frowned. "Caravan? Really? Didn't we see that played back in Brownstone Canyon?"
"Exactly," Snow said, weaving through the den's chaos toward the table. "Which means we know how it works."
Rain trailed after her, still unconvinced. "Knowing how it works doesn't mean you'll win."
"It's not about winning," Snow replied over her shoulder. "It's about not starving."
The men at the Caravan table looked up as the girls approached. One of them, a lanky man with a greasy beard and a sneer, leaned back in his chair and eyed them with open disdain.
"What's this, then? Little birds fluttering in from the perch?"
"Little birds with metal to bet," Snow said coolly, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
That got their attention. The bearded man's sneer widened. "Metal, huh? And how much are we talking?"
Snow pulled a small pouch from her belt and upended it onto the table. Twenty metal coins clinked onto the surface, catching the light of the nearest lantern. It wasn't much, but in this place, it was enough to turn heads.
Rain winced. "Snow, that's almost all we have—"
Snow cut her off with a sharp glance. "I know what I'm doing."
The bearded man laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Confident, aren't you? Fine. Twenty metal it is. Winner takes all."
"Winner takes all," Snow agreed.
The other two men shuffled back to give them space, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity. A small crowd began to gather, drawn by the promise of a high-stakes game.
Rain perched nervously on a nearby stool, her eyes flitting between Snow and the gambler. "Okay," she said, mostly to herself, "let's review the rules."
"Rules are simple," the bearded man said, cutting her off. He gestured toward the dice on the table—three each on two sides, carved roughly from bone. "You roll up to three dice. Goal is to get as close to thirteen as you can without going over. Go over, you're broke. Singles count as seven. That's it."
"Actually," Rain said, her voice steadying as she slipped into lecture mode, "it's about more than just numbers. Caravan's about chance and risk management. Think of it like managing an actual caravan—you have to maximize your haul. Too little, and you won't make a profit. Too much, and you'll overload and break down."
The bearded man blinked at her, then snorted. "Right. Thanks for the sermon, preacher. Let's play."
Snow didn't reply. She reached out, picked up the dice, and gave them a testing roll in her palm before tossing them onto the table. They landed with a clatter—one showing a single dot and the other showing two.
Rain leaned forward. "A single counts as seven, so that's nine altogether."
The gambler's turn came next. He rolled two dice, which landed on six and four. A total of ten. "I'll hold," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest.
Rain hissed under her breath. "He's playing it safe. You're going to need to roll again. You can win if it's a two, three, or four."
Snow nodded, her expression unreadable. She picked up the third die, feeling its weight between her fingers. For a moment, she let it sit there, her thumb brushing against its rough edges. Then she tossed it.
It hit the table, bounced once, and came to rest with the four facing up.
Rain let out a startled laugh. "Thirteen! You win!"
The gambler's jaw dropped, and for a moment, he could only stare at the dice as if willing them to change. When they didn't, he let out a string of curses that turned the heads of several onlookers.
Snow leaned back in her chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Thanks for the game," she said, sweeping the pile of coins into her pouch.
The gambler glared at her. "Beginner's luck," he growled.
"Try me again if you think so," Snow said, her voice light but laced with challenge. She stood, turning to the growing crowd. "In fact, any of you think you can do better, step up. I'll take your metal, too."
The crowd murmured, a mixture of amusement and intrigue rippling through them. Several people moved closer to the table, their eyes glinting with interest.
Rain shook her head, half-exasperated, half-impressed. "You really know how to stir things up, don't you?"
Snow shrugged, her smirk widening. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."
As the next challenger stepped forward, the gambling den seemed to hum with new energy. Snow's confidence was infectious, drawing both admiration and envy from the onlookers. Rain, watching from her perch, couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Whatever happened next, one thing was clear—Snow knew how to play the game, and not just the one on the table.