The village was quiet when I woke up.
Not silent — the kind of quiet where the world was still stretching, yawning, figuring out what kind of day it wanted to be. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, just a faint gold smear over the treetops. Most of the village was still asleep.
Except for Mira.
She sat near the edge of the square, arms crossed, expression somewhere between a pout and a glare.
"You never told me about your journey," she said without preamble.
I rubbed my eyes, still half in the dream haze. "I was kind of busy trying to settle in a wave of new people."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're free now, aren't you?"
"Damn," I muttered. "You really need my attention that bad today? Got something to show me?"
Her whole face shifted from smug to excited. "Actually, yeah."
She slipped the bag off her shoulder and dug around inside, then pulled out something that caught the early morning light — a metal sphere, about the size of a fist. Smooth. Cold. Familiar.
It looked like the crystal cores from the ruins… except this one was metallic.
"What is it?" I asked, leaning closer.
She smirked, clearly enjoying the reveal. "The Screen called it a Rare Earth Core. I'm not sure what it does yet."
Her smirk faltered. "Any ideas?"
"Nope," I said, scratching my chin. "Blueprint Memory doesn't let me create blueprints just by seeing things. I have to understand how they're built. And this…"
I tilted my head. "It's weird though. Your tool symbol is a mallet, right? Not a hammer?"
She nodded excitedly.
"What class did you end up getting, anyway?"
Her eyes lit up like she'd been waiting all week for that question. "Stonemason. The Screens called it rare. It even gave me a special ability — lets me know everything about rocks just by touching them."
She plucked a nearby stone off the ground. "This one's granite. High density, mid-range fracture tolerance, excellent for load-bearing construction — and it sparkles under moonlight, by the way."
I blinked. "You just know all that?"
"I feel it. Like it downloads straight into my head. Texture, temperature, mineral content. It's… actually kind of amazing."
She turned the Earth Core over in her hands. "The weird part? I can sense what it's meant for. It's a stone — not metal, not ore. And it's meant for foundational work. Like, literally, it wants to be buried under something important."
"But it's a sphere," she said, frowning. "How do you build anything on a ball?"
"Maybe we'll find out once we stop sleeping in tents," I offered.
She sighed, clearly frustrated. "Guess it's useless for now."
"I wouldn't say useless," I said, careful not to discourage her. "Let's wait until we start laying real stonework. If it's meant to be a foundation, maybe it needs something big to anchor."
She nodded slowly, tucking it back into her bag.
"So," she said, crossing her legs, "what exactly did you run into out there?"
I told her — the ruins, the overgrown buildings, the glassy cores buried in ash. I even told her about the armor, the secret quest, and the Guardian made of vines and bone.
She listened in wide-eyed silence until I mentioned Builder's Insight.
"That's crazy," she said. "I only got one ability, and you have — what, three? Four?"
"Four," I admitted. "Blueprint Memory, Material Sense, Natural Attunement, and Builder's Insight. All from quests or the Job and Level Stones."
I paused, watching the sky.
"They don't even feel earned, sometimes. Like the Screens just gave them to me."
She gave me a look like I'd just said something incredibly dumb.
"Oh no, how terrible — the guy who risked his life and built an entire village got a few perks. What a tragedy. Kairo, come on."
She crossed her arms again — though it was more performative than serious.
I cracked a small smile. "Thanks."
She grinned. "Talk to me again when you build something that doesn't look like it's gonna fall over in a light breeze."
"Noted."
I turned away, back toward the slowly waking village.
I was halfway across the square when I saw her.
Sera stood at the far edge of the firelight, near the old stone wall someone had repurposed into a tool bench. Her eyes caught mine, and for a moment, I thought she might just turn away.
But instead, she waved me over.
Not a big wave — just a lift of the fingers, like a quiet summons.
I walked toward her, boots crunching softly against the dirt. She didn't speak until I was close.
"There's something you should see," she said.
Her voice was low. Serious.
She turned and started walking toward the treeline — not the dense forest, but a patch just beyond the trench where the ground dipped slightly. The same place she'd been watching last night.
I followed.
When we reached the spot, she slowed, then stopped, pointing toward the ground.
It wasn't obvious at first.
But when I stepped closer, I saw it.
A narrow, blackened mark curled through the grass like a brand. No scorch pattern. No ashes. Just a strange, deliberate line — thin, clean, and spiraling inward, like a loop that had no beginning.
It looked unnatural. Precise. Too exact for fire, too delicate for toolwork.
"You see it too," Sera said. Not a question.
"Yeah," I said. I crouched beside it, brushing a few loose blades of grass away. The soil underneath was dry and pale, like whatever burned it had pulled something out, not left something behind.
"Any idea what caused it?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But it wasn't there yesterday."
I looked up at her. Her face was still calm, but I could see the tension in her hands, clenched at her sides.
"You didn't touch it, did you?"
She shook her head.
"Good."
We stood in silence for a beat longer.
Then she said, quietly, "When I saw it last night… I heard something."
I turned sharply. "Heard what?"
"Not a sound. Not out loud." Her voice lowered. "It was like a thought. Or a warning."
I didn't say anything.
She finally met my eyes.
"It said, 'Not all that awakens belongs.'"
The words sat heavy between us. Too specific to be imagination. Too vague to be useful.
But I believed her.
Whatever left that mark wasn't random.
And it wasn't done.
I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands. "We'll keep this quiet for now. I don't want the village panicking."
Sera nodded.
"But if anything like this happens again—"
"I'll tell you," she said immediately.
I didn't thank her.
Didn't need to.
The mark still lingered behind us as we walked back — a quiet curve in the earth, whispering something neither of us knew how to answer yet.
But we would.
Soon.
The next morning, the sky was the color of pale ash.
We didn't ring a bell or call a meeting. Just set a time, cleared a space, and waited to see who would come.
Word had spread fast. Maybe too fast.
By the time the sun cleared the eastern ridge, nearly everyone was gathered near the fire pit. Not just the first wave — even the second wave had shown up. Some leaned against trees. Others crouched near the edges. Most didn't speak.
But they were listening.
That was enough.
I stepped forward.
"This isn't about choosing a ruler," I said. "It's about building something bigger than a bunch of shelters and tools. If this village's going to survive, it needs more than supplies. It needs a foundation."
Someone muttered the word "laws" under their breath. Another laughed nervously.
I didn't flinch.
"Not rules for the sake of rules. A system. A way for people to be heard. Protected. Supported. I don't want control. I want structure."
There was silence.
Then a voice from the edge of the crowd cut through the air.
"He's right."
Everyone turned.
Sera stepped into view. Hands in her coat pockets, eyes steady.
"You've all been waiting for someone to prove this place is worth staying in," she said. "Well, this is it. You want safety? You want to belong? Then speak up now, or stop complaining later."
A few second-wavers exchanged glances. One girl nodded slightly. A guy near the water station crossed his arms but didn't look away.
Sera went on, "I didn't follow Kairo here because he was loud, or strong, or knew what to say. I followed him because when things got bad, he kept building. He didn't ask if we were grateful. He just kept going."
Her words landed differently than mine ever could.
Because they weren't coming from someone already in the circle.
They came from someone who chose to step inside it.
"I don't care if we call him leader, builder, or village idiot," she added. "But someone has to stand at the center of this. Might as well be the guy who already is."
I tried not to let it show, but her words hit me harder than I expected.
There was a long pause.
Then Mira cleared her throat. "Well, I vote yes. Builder. Leader. Same thing, really."
Marra just grunted, arms crossed. "As long as it doesn't make him soft."
Finn raised a hand like we were in school. "Same here. Long as I don't have to give speeches."
One by one, hands started to lift.
First wave. Second wave.
Not everyone. But enough.
Enough to start.
I raised a hand, not to quiet them — just to step back into the space they'd opened.
"I'm not leading alone," I said. "If we're serious about building something that lasts, we need more than one voice. More than one perspective."
A few murmurs passed through the crowd. Not objections — just curiosity.
"Group Three," I continued. "Lara, Marra, and I started this together. Mira's been organizing since day one. And Sera…" I glanced toward her, "…she saw the cracks before anyone else."
Sera's eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. But she didn't argue.
"That's five of us," I said. "But I don't want a group of insiders making every call. The people who've just arrived deserve a say too."
Finn stood slowly. "Well, I didn't come here planning to lead anyone," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I've seen enough bad leaders to know we need better. If you'll have me, I'm in."
Theo followed, quiet and firm. "We've walked the same ground. Faced the same things. If this village is going to work, it needs people who've seen what's outside of it too."
Then Sarah and Victoria stepped forward, almost in sync.
Victoria shrugged. "We already volunteered to journey with you once. Might as well make it official."
Sarah nodded. "You trusted us. We can return the favor."
Nine.
The air shifted again — not heavy this time, but purposeful.
Like the wind had decided to listen.
I stepped back, letting the sight settle in. Nine people — not chosen by force or by title, but by effort. By trust. By shared risk.
"We're not here to rule," I said finally. "We're here to guide. To protect. To hold the line until this place can stand on its own."
A silence stretched — the kind that didn't need to be filled.
Then Mira whispered, just loud enough for us to hear: "What do we call it?"
Marra rolled her eyes. "It's a council. Call it a council."
Sera shrugged. "Or a circle. Something old. Something that lasts."
I looked at the nine of us. Dirt on our boots. Ash on our sleeves. None of us perfect.
But we were still here.
"We'll decide on the name later," I said.
Then I looked at the crowd.
"For now, if you've got concerns, bring them to us. If you have ideas, speak up. And if you're willing to help this place grow, there's always room at the fire."
The fire crackled softly.
And for the first time in days, no one looked ready to run.