The lakeside village felt like it was the kind of place where even the breeze seemed to take its time. Narrow cobbled streets curved around tidy buildings with flower boxes in every window, their shutters flung open to the spring sun. The breeze smelled of water and warm stone, and even the goats lazing near the fountain didn’t bother to move.

  Dave and Sam were already seated at a small table outside the village café, its awning faded to a pleasant rose. Their breakfast was half-eaten. A pot of tea steamed between them. Nearby, a fisherman cursed cheerfully as he knotted a line, and two children ran in circles with sticks, playing some elaborate game about heroes and monsters.

  “More spell notes?” Sam asked, watching Dave scribble on a napkin. He looked up.

  “Actually? Breakfast math. I think they undercharged us.”

  She grinned and leaned forward to pinch his cheek. “Geek!”

  He gave a crooked smile, then leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea.

  "Lowering their prices so that the adventurers don't smash anything up," remarked Dave, shaking his head ruefully but not losing his smile.

  Sam gave him her sad smile.

  "I'll fly over a note," Dave reassured Sam, who returned to her content smile.

  Dave manifested a small piece of paper and his pens flew from his pockets to write rapidly across it. He wrote a note explaining that he and Sam were commoners, not nobility and they’d appreciate that being passed around. Then, one pen deftly scooped up a side and got underneath, a second pen came down from the top and pinched the paper between them. Dave blew on his tea while telekinetically making the whole arrangement fly to the café counter where the owner would notice it presently. Sam beamed. For a moment, they watched the village together. Quiet. Safe.

  A bread cart rumbled past behind them, its driver whistling a folk tune neither of them knew. Sam perked up at the smell. Dave offered her a piece of toast with jam he’d been slathering on. She took it with a wink and a cheerful, “Bribery won’t save you.”

  They lingered over breakfast for a while more, chatting about nothing in particular, pointing out quirky roof tiles and arguing about whether the ducks on the lake were the same type they’d seen in the capital. They were too far away for Dave to click on and select to know for sure. Dave pulled out a pair of magic dice from his pocket and rolled them idly on the table while Sam tried to guess the ever-shifting total.

  Eventually, Sam leaned her elbows on the table, eyes bright with amusement.

  “So. It's safe to talk about Johan's date now?”

  “Don’t remind me,” grinned Dave, and covered his face with one hand.

  After a dramatic rescue during the last contract, a noblewoman had invited Johan to walk the new Lutetia gardens with her. He’d shown up dressed in his country best, looking like he was modelling the latest season in outdoors wear. He'd even brought posies.

  Avril had been red-faced and fuming the moment she found out about the date, of course. She’d rounded up the entire team and dragged them behind hedges to spy on it all, insisting they needed to “protect the party’s dignity.” They'd only agreed to go because Avril was going to go anyway, and together they could restrain her if needed. Blushing furiously, she led the charge into the hedges like a commander rallying irregulars. But, as the date went on, her attitude changed.

  Johan, as it turned out, had no idea it was a date. He’d admired the landscaping. Talked about the soil the garden used. Gently declined the wine because he didn’t want to "while escorting a better."

  Avril pretended to be upset, but her eyes gleamed every time Johan said something especially oblivious.

  He even began talking about peaceful farm life with his family — describing the rhythm of the seasons, his mother’s braided bread, and how he and his sister used to mark the frostline with little sticks. Avril scowled at this part. Even Dave and Sam were falling in love with this kind, humble, and deeply rooted man who just happened to be two metres tall, well-muscled, blond and have a jawline the gods probably chiselled.

  However, Avril's mirth was fated to return.

  “You are as beautiful as the best field of grass, milady," chuckled Dave, impersonating Johan’s voice. "You may tell others I have said that.”

  Sam laughed.

  "She was like hourglass of wet sand!" laughed Sam.

  "Yeah," guffawed Dave. "Whole brain time stop!"

  “Remember when she tried to kiss him?”

  “And he thought she was falling. Braced her up like a bodyguard and said, ‘Careful, the ground’s uneven here.’”

  Laughter spilled between them like a dam. A bird fluttered to a nearby table, eyed their crumbs, and decided better of it given the noise.

  Sam wiped her eyes.

  “She looked like she might scream. And Avril—oh, she looked like she was forgiven of all sins by the gods in person.”

  Dave smirked at the memory.

  “She was so smug. I caught her humming afterward. Naturally, she pretended it was outrage.”

  Sam grinned mischievously.

  “After the winter festival, Avril must have been so confused, yes? Remember her face?”

  “Yeah," said Dave, remembering that disaster he'd helped create. "They went candle dancing, didn't they? She gave him a hand-woven ribbon and, you know? Clear signals.”

  “And he tied it around a snowman to ‘keep it warm.’”

  It had been their first break in a long while — the Mid-Winter Firelight Festival in a snowy valley town. Music, lanterns, the smell of cloves and woodsmoke in the air. Couples had danced under glowing braziers, red and gold lights flickering like captured fireflies.

  Avril, in a rare and vulnerable moment, had taken the initiative. She handed Johan a charm-ribbon — red with white lace, protective runes embroidered in silver. Traditional, unmistakable.

  Johan, touched by the gesture, had thanked her with a warm smile and tied it around the scarf of a snowman built by the local children. “So he won’t get cold,” he’d explained.

  He hadn’t been cruel. Just oblivious. He hadn’t known what the ribbon meant — or, worse, had known only the surface meaning: protection, warmth, blessing. Not intimacy.

  Avril had said nothing, only nodded once and vanished behind the cider tent. She never brought it up again.

  They both shook their heads with mirth thinking about that night.

  Then Sam gave him a sidelong glance.

  “What about you? You talked to the Fertility Church? They ask for babies?”

  Dave blinked.

  “That sounds dramatic, Sam.” He gave a faint, neutral smile. “But, yes, I have seen the Fertility Church, but a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Or avoid a kiss and tell.”

  “You ever have anything serious?” asked Sam delicately.

  Dave hesitated, taking a deep breath. He looked toward the lake with a smile on his face.

  “Yeah. Back home. She was amazing. Sweet as can be. Thoughtful.”

  Sam watched him but he didn't say more. Just smiled sadly at the lake. She didn't interrupt and thought it best to let the moment sit.

  Eventually they stood, paying in full plus a generous tip, and began strolling along the village edge, passing shops and friendly locals nodding their hellos. A dog barked once at their heels, wagging its tail and fled when Dave and Sam immediately tried to pat the 'good boy'. Wagging its tail and acting abashed, it settled under a cart.

  While Dave browsed things of practical value; he paused at a table of semi-magical oddities; nails infused with wood quintessence, a self-winding measuring tape enchanted to never knot, flint-caps that sparked against any surface, a roll of spell proof wax paper used to wrap magical meats, and a magic-quintessence infused broom head for sweeping up thaumic residue. Sam lingered over seed bundles labeled with hand-drawn pictures, poked at a rack of gardening charms and purchased jars of honey dyed pink with wildflowers. She stopped at a cart selling painted eggs and bought one just because the old woman seemed pleased to have a customer.

  Finally, Sam looked at Dave with a resigned smile.

  “We going to talk about Johan...?”

  Dave groaned, rolled his eyes, clenched his teeth, shook his head and put his hand over his face all at the same time.

  “I don't even know where to begin,” he sighed. “Be secret, make sure you wait, Johan. Just lie low, keep the squads tight, then secure the glass after we’d delivered and gotten clear.”

  "Instead?" Sam giggled.

  “Someone from the Adventure Society sees our people moving into the area. Gets suspicious. Asks if Johan has orders.”

  Johan had been tasked with lying in wait after the volcanic glass operation. Just a random search of the ships at some docks that'd just happen to occur, post-delivery of something terribly important.

  Then someone from the Adventure Society noticed the movement of troops. They'd asked who was leading them and, as always when talks of leadership came up, everyone pointed at Johan. They asked Johan questions. Asked if he'd filled out the proper requisition forms. Filed for permission to move troops across camps. Of course he hadn't. It was a secret mission under the authority of house Ainsworth and approved by several barons. Johan should have told the people questioning him to kick rocks.

  But he hadn't. Johan, ever dutiful and happy to just keep people happy, filed a formal report, the requisition forms and permissions. His writings included strategic goals, annotated maps and a poetic summary of intent. He thought that Dave would be proud of his thorough administrative diligence.

  They passed a bakery whose windows were fogged with steam and sweetness. The smell of rising bread mixed with sugar made Dave momentarily forget his irritation. But only momentarily.

  “He didn’t just file paperwork,” Dave muttered. “He added footnotes.”

  “He quoted scripture,” Sam added.

  The memory tugged at both of them now — the fallout. Those reports had triggered administrative reviews. Political murmuring. And, eventually, alarm bells in the factional councils of the Adventure Society. Not everyone was on the same page. Some assumed a coup. Others thought they were being muscled out of credit. The glass was just an excuse. Checkpoints were redrawn. Guards tripled. The plan collapsed.

  "I just don't know about that man," groaned Dave, stepping around some chickens that were pecking away at something in the street. "How can he misunderstand the situation so badly?"

  "He still kind of believes the stories," smiled Sam, patting Dave on the arm.

  Dave rolled his eyes, giving them a good workout.

  "The righteous lords!" mimicked Sam, puffing up her chest and mimicking Johan's stride.

  Dave laughed.

  “I know, he meant well but... holy hell," muttered Dave in resignation. "I suppose he thought doing it right meant no one could question us later?”

  Sam grinned up at Dave, nodding.

  “He thinks that doing it properly will protect everyone,” smiled Sam. "That if he could prove he had done it right, no one could use it against us.”

  There was a pause where they passed a group of children who waved at Sam. Just village kids carrying little woven lunch bundles. Sam waved back with a happy smile that beamed from every part of her face.

  “He’s too good for spywork,” Dave concluded.

  “He’s too good for this world,” Sam echoed.

  They walked for a while more, ending up buying candied ginger for Sam from a stall. The vendor offered samples, and Dave made a show of analyzing each one like a wine sommelier. He didn't like ginger. Sam ended up trying one of each and buying a lot. She kept the wrappers from those she'd eaten to fold into little stars.

  Finally, Sam broke the silence again. “Do you know who told him to file that report?”

  Dave didn’t look at her. Just stared at the water as he spoke.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”

  Because Dave knew that whoever that was — they were either working for the Builder cult, influenced by them…

  Or just dumb as a sack of bricks.

  Sam smiled. They moved on from the candied ginger stand, walking down a gentle slope that led toward the market square. Laughter filtered through the crisp air, and behind a stall of leather goods, a musician played a soft tune on a reed flute. They stopped to watch a pair of teenagers attempted a sword drill near and old well, taking turns dramatically “dying” after each bout. Sam applauded one of their performances, and the grinning “corpse” waved happily before springing up again for another round.

  Somewhere in front of them, someone began hammering on metal — not a blacksmith, but a tinkerer testing something that sounded suspiciously like a spring-loaded mousetrap. A pair of ducks quacked furiously in protest in a pond.

  They continued away from the market square. There were still more shops to browse but they'd be open later. Hours of well-earned peace were left in the day.

  They meandered toward the old orchard path that curved around the village edge. The sun had risen fully now, painting everything gold and soft. Bees trailed between blossoms. Somewhere, someone was playing a reed flute — a simple tune, repeating like a lullaby.

  Sam had taken to walking just a little ahead, swaying slightly with the breeze, picking dandelions and inspecting them like they were rare alchemical samples. Dave followed at a thoughtful pace, occasionally scribbling something onto a folded bit of paper he kept in his coat sleeve.

  He paused, glancing over his shoulder, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small square of cream-colored parchment — meticulously lined, with a certain je ne sais quoi that spoke of magic.

  “Actually, now's a good time to tell you. I’ve been working on something new,” he said.

  Sam looked over, curious.

  “Another business?”

  “No, actually.” He offered the parchment to her. “A spell card.”

  She tilted her head, taking it gently between her fingers. A soft flicker of heat pulsed through the material — faint but focused, like a spell waiting to be born. She sniffed it. “Smells like old book ink. Or teacher ink.”

  “That’s because I used my modified version of the illusion ink. Holds the spell matrix in place. The paper’s not conjured — it's spell paper. Magically pure. The kind of thing that can absorb coins.” Dave gestured vaguely with one hand. “It's for experiments in portable spellcasting.”

  Sam narrowed her eyes.

  “One-use?”

  “Yeah. I want to stop using a slot every day on a teleport 'just in case', you know. So I'm thinking this is a solution.”

  She turned it in her fingers.

  “But will only work if the magic flow is right.”

  “Yeah. That's where you come in. I was thinking maybe you could stabilize it? Mana Beacon?”

  Sam brightened.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Oh! Yes. I help!”

  "Wanna test it?" grinned Dave.

  Sam nodded happily.

  They found a low stone fence near the orchard’s edge and sat down. Birds rustled in the branches above, dropping tiny petals onto their laps. Dave cleared a space in the dirt and placed a rock in the center. Sam extended one hand, palm glowing faintly as she activated her racial trait.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened.

  Dave invested mana into the spell card to activate it. The card shimmered and the rock teleported back to where it'd originally been. Dave grinned.

  “It works.”

  Sam looked delighted.

  “Your magic... so complicated for moving rocks. But I like helping.”

  He smirked at her.

  “You know this is how it starts. Next thing, I'm scaling it up and dropping armies from the sky.”

  “Better you than enemies!” She laughed.

  Dave leaned back on his hands, eyes half-lidded.

  “If this works in a real life, it changes everything. I can preload complicated spells. Use them without casting time. We could even chain rituals — stack magical background adjustments across multiple cards. My hope is to design whole spell frameworks in advance.”

  Sam was already nodding with her wide smile encouraging Dave on.

  “You have to test more. Like always!”

  “I want to test everything,” Dave said. “Adjustments, attunements, anchor cards...”

  He trailed off, but Sam could hear the processes churning behind his eyes.

  They spent the next few minutes debating card layering — Dave sketching sigils in the dirt, Sam offering field perspectives from past fights. Eventually, he asked, “Do you think Tome could store these?”

  “Tome?” she asked. “Maybe? Why don’t you ask?”

  “Afraid I’ll be given more homework,” said Dave through anxious teeth.

  Sam tittered and leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees.

  “It’s alright,” she said, and Pat Dave on the head. “The homework is good. This feels like something you do.”

  Dave paused a moment before raising his eyebrows in agreement.

  “I suppose I do have a certain style.”

  A gust of wind carried the scent of pears and woodsmoke. Sam flicked her fingers and coaxed a ladybug onto her nail, studying it with fascination. Dave made notes and sketched it absently into the corner of his notes.

  Somewhere down the hill, a baker rang a bell — signaling that the late morning loaves were ready.

  They stayed where they were a little longer, wrapped in a sense of peace that encompassed the town.

  Taking their time, the duo strolled down the old orchard path when they were ready. It wound back toward the village square, passing tidy rows of garden beds. Winter was breaking, but spring’s bounty was still uncertain. Some plants had taken the thaw well. Others, less so. And a few looked wrong.

  Sam the farmer’s daughter felt obligated to assist the poor farmers and soon volunteered the use of her abilities, which the farmers took eagerly. Sam’s ability to perceive and control life and death was the lifeblood of a farmer.

  She was soon in beet fields crouched beside a cluster of beetroot tops, her faintly misty eyes ghosting over the soil. With Death Sight Sam could see what ailed a plant.

  “Blight,” she chirped, brushing her hands on her tunic. “Sneaky-sneaky! Might be fungal, but something feed it.” She clicked her tongue, then called softly over her shoulder. “Slimy, come.”

  A series of flops announced the arrival of Slimy, who came rolling in wetly. A slime creature the size of a barrel – probably. It was hard to tell what with having no bones and only a morphology surmised as ‘wing it’ but no matter the shape it was always a partially translucent grey and gelatinous, with a personality that only Sam knew but she described as ‘eager to please’. The compost-focused familiar, flubbered and blubbered happily toward the blighted patch and thunked itself into the shallow hole Sam had dug, digesting the tainted topsoil like a wriggling mulch machine.

  Dave approached from the far end of the farmer’s house, hands dusty from the village clerk’s ledgers.

  “You were right,” he said. “The price list for squash was three years out of date. They’ve been underpaying the farmers by about sixteen percent.”

  “And you… fix it!” beamed Sam, perking up.

  “Filed a correction, updated the books. Explained it using very small numbers and very big handwriting the merchants they’re selling to will be able to understand.” He held up a piece of paper. “Also the local Mayor’s office has a new menu board.”

  “You are local hero,” Sam teased. “Do you get a badge?”

  “Not unless I make one.”

  “Make one for Slimy too.”

  “I can see the good fellow deserves it.”

  They shared a moment, watching as Slimy gently flopped a pseudopod at a small girl child of the farmer’s who was offering it a worm she found in the compost heap. The girl waved at Sam and called, “Auntie!”

  Sam stood up straighter, eyes sparkling.

  “Hello, little sugar cane,” she called affectionately.

  The girl giggled and handed her a wildflower.

  “For the healing lady.”

  Sam had healed her father’s sprained wrist earlier. Dave watched Sam accept the flower like it was gold-leafed. He said nothing. Just smiled.

  Later, they sat beneath an old willow that arched toward the lake like it wanted to touch the water. Sam had braided the flower into her hair. Slimy roamed nearby, flopping into frosty puddles with serene contentment.

  She was quieter now. More still. Her fingers toyed with a blade of grass, slowly folding it into a loop.

  “I saw someone,” she said suddenly. “At the Builder meet. Back in the city.”

  Dave looked up. He knew his friend would speak in her own time.

  “Renelle d’Abadie. Do you remember the name?”

  Dave’s expression flicked as he used Stop And Think to look up everything he knew from those key words.

  “One of the higher essence users in that cult, you said. Fourth circle, I think. Worked in education, not operations like you.”

  “Yes.” Sam breathed out through her nose. “She was at that place. Definitely her. Same face, same… body moving. Different colour hair, though. Hair was dyed blonde, but she walked like everyone should move away from her.”

  “You think she saw you?”

  “She did,” Sam breathed but hesitated. “But maybe she didn’t know me? I don’t know. I just pretended I did not see her and kept going. But… she definitely see me.”

  “You think she joined? Or, it's a cult merger?” asked Dave, rubbing his chin with finger and thumb. “Hell, maybe it’s something really exciting and it’s one cult spying on another, hey?”

  Sam just shrugged and gave her most pensive smile.

  “I don’t know!” she sang. “Maybe… maybe they never cared that I left.”

  She picked up a pebble and rolled it between her palms.

  “I thought the cult was gone.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “But maybe they never really stopped and I’m still on their list.”

  Dave considered.

  “Was Renelle the type to report you?”

  Sam looked at him.

  “Everyone was! It’s a cult!”

  “Oh yeah,” muttered Dave, feeling dumb but he rallied. “I’ll think of something to deal with it.”

  “But what can you do?” smiled Sam sadly, blinking.

  “I’ll think of something,” said Dave, shrugging. “If someone’s gunning for you, that’s my problem too. I’ll definitely be able to think of a story for you to sell the cult if they accuse you of skipping out on your previous cult too loudly. After all, didn’t that Laird lady who was leading it kill a whole bunch of their own members? Bring that up and ask the Builder cult at one of those big meetings how they feel about that.”

  A sudden thump made them look up. A small boy scrambled down the side of the orchard wall they were strolling past with a pocket full of apricots and a guilty expression. He froze, looking at the two adults. Sam smiled at him.

  “Run!” she whispered.

  “We were never here,” said Dave carefully.

  Sam made a zip-lip motion.

  “No evidence.”

  The boy bolted, laughing, and a grumpy voice called from behind the wall, “You’re a terrible thief, Marcus de’Luc! Use a ladder next time! You bruise them when you climb!”

  “Anyway, I’m currently riding high in the cult’s esteem so if Renelle’s in the Builder’s plans, I’m sure I can track her down and once I get a good look at her, I can scry her and then she’s screwed. Remember the other day how I found that guy from the wood his floorboards were made out of?

  Sam just beamed her biggest smile up at Dave.

  “Yeah, don’t you worry, Sam,” said Dave with a wink. “If she’s still in the camps, you and I will walk her into a trap soon. Calm, clean, no fuss and just ask her a few questions. Or we steal her shoes every day for a month. Your call.”

  Sam laughed despite herself.

  “You don’t think I’ll do it?” laughed Dave.

  “I know you can!” laughed Sam back. “But that’s stalking! How you make bad things sound funny?”

  “You do enough bad things, it becomes routine, you know?” quipped Dave. “Eventually you just start playing around, making it fun.”

  Sam patted his head again. The walk led them through a row of apricot trees just beginning to blossom. Bees thrummed lazily from bloom to bloom, and the wind carried a light, resinous scent.

  “They’re shifting their message,” Dave said after a lull. “The Builder cult. Did you hear?”

  Sam sighed heavily.

  “I heard. Purity god, yes?”

  “Yeah. That’s not random. It’s a strategy.” He grumbled. “The way they’re phrasing it? Like it wasn’t them who betrayed the world. Saying the world betrayed them. Makes them look like martyrs. They’re reframing Betrayal Day as a holy event.”

  “I remember they raided all the grain silos. That was a holy event too?”

  “They’re smart enough to avoid bringing that up,” Dave admitted. “They’re co-opting moral authority. Wrapping themselves in fresh priestly robes. Now, anyone who doesn’t want to believe our current situation is being given a righteous-feeling way out.”

  “So tricky,” Sam muttered.

  “Yeah. That’s the move. They’re not just a group of crazies bent on power anymore. Now they’re righteous resistance against the oppression of the gods! A whole moral excuse, tailor-made for anyone who feels wronged by the world.”

  He gestured vaguely toward the horizon.

  “They’ve got a story for everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re a drunk, beaten-down labourer or some rich prick in a mansion with delusions of grandeur. If you’re unhappy with life and morally flexible enough, they’ve got a sermon to turn you to them. Suddenly, that person feels like they’re fighting for the victims. A legion of potential martyrs.”

  Sam bit her lip.

  “So the cult stops looking like rebels. Starts looking like the good guys.”

  “Not just the good guys,” said Dave, nodding. “The honest ones. Not like the lying aristocrats who are in charge now, making their life miserable. No, the cult will openly say what everyone’s too scared to admit.”

  She looked at him, anticipating the conclusion she could feel coming.

  “That the rulers of the entire empire are corrupt, two-faced bastards who’ll feed your grandmother to the monsters if it meant they’d get an extra two lessers to rub together.” He gave a grim nod. “Yeah, I expect the Builder cult are going to have an easy time fanning those flames of resentment.”

  They walked in silence for a few paces.

  “I hate when the bad people are smart,” complained Sam.

  “Me too.”

  “What’s your plan to stop them?”

  “I’m going to start a newspaper.”

  “A news paper? Paper news?”

  “Yeah, it’s like a big version of the Gazette sheet you sometimes see on notice boards? You know, the one that has state publications about about monsters, diplomacy, and trade?”

  “Oh!” Sam nodded.

  “Well, a newspaper is like that except you can write anything in it. Articles of interest for everyone, not just the mighty.” Dave smiled nastily. “Articles about who’s holding back the cleanup in Lutetia and why.”

  Sam tilted her head and grinned.

  “Good thing Hugh doesn’t sleep!” she chattered. “Someone will see the assassins coming.”

  “I hope they come,” murmured Dave coldly. “I’m pretty sure I have forensic techniques this world has never seen.”

  Sam’s face suggested pity for any would-be assassins.

  They turned toward the lakeside again. The sun had started its descent, casting long shadows over the water. Boats drifted in, their nets full and the fishermen already ashore chatting easily with one another.

  Sam poked Dave in the ribs playfully.

  “So. How many businesses do you actually have now?”

  He raised a brow.

  “Ugh, Four, I think. Maybe six pending, depending on the circumstances.”

  Sam narrowed her eyes.

  “What circumstances? Tell them all!”

  “Sure. The Lightning Research Group, they’re supposed to be building electric motors but so far, all they’ve got is an electric fence which is already in field trials keeping monsters out of rural farmland. Should be good if we can scale it up before a monster surge.”

  “I remember that one.” Sam nodded. “You made a zap-glove.”

  “Very functional.”

  “It burned you!”

  “Still counts as functional! Next: Foundational Materials. That company is basically running right now on what the Remore’s and I have managed to figure out with electricity. Namely electroplating and using a crude electromagnet to purify certain alchemical ingredients cheaply. Although we’ve come up with a primitive chromatograph. Soon we’ll be selling the most pure alchemical ingredients on the market by far.”

  “?o-hǒo!” breathed Sam in appreciation. “And?”

  “Foundational Materials Research. The research side of Foundational Materials. We’re prototyping high carbon steels. Reinforced steel frames for transport systems. Maybe aircraft structures. Also steel-reinforced concrete for defensive structures during the surge. Also, fine steel work with low-grade turbine prototypes.”

  “You think of this? You are crazy.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

  “Fine! Last one?”

  “The Steam Power Company. It uses steam… nevermind. They built a mine pump. Working on a turbine generator. Maybe a train. Depends on how badly the major cities in the empire want to not flood.”

  Sam tilted her head, curious now.

  “So many things! How much money you get?”

  “None yet.”

  Sam’s face said everything about her opinion on this.

  “Most of them haven’t had time to turn a profit yet,” explained Dave. “Once the research is done and they’re selling a product there ought to be money coming in.”

  “Seems a lot of time when you can make money out of monsters.”

  Dave shrugged.

  “They’re also leverage. Legitimacy in the eyes of the ruling classes once they start producing. And if the Geller’s come after me again, they’ll find it’s harder to disappear someone who owns an entire public utility.”

  “Alright!” declared Sam. “Geller insurance. I approve!”

  “And logistics,” Dave added. “To fight the Builder cult. And then for the surge after. I like winning, remember?”

  She squinted at him.

  “How does a newspaper help winning?”

  “Propaganda,” said Dave simply. “More allies, less enemies.”

  “Sheesh! You have electricity fences, steel tubes, big alchemy,” she said, mock serious. “What next from the secret lab? Talking bread?”

  “Only if the bread is explosive.”

  They both laughed but there was something in Dave’s, a glimmer that said it was a joke and also a desire. He had actually lamented on more than one occasion that he didn’t remember enough non-biological chemistry to make explosives.

  Sam grew quiet.

  “The newspaper, you said more friends, less enemies. Sounds like recruitment?”

  “Propaganda is that and more,” he explained simply. “People have a kind of first impression bias. Whatever piece of news they hear first and feels right they’ll just… believe. It’s actually a big problem in my own reality. It doesn’t matter what’s real. Not only do people not fact-check their feelings, they’ll hate others for doing it.” He looked mournful for a moment, thinking about something from his own reality. “So I have to make like Murdoch and make sure I’m telling people my version of the truth first.”

  Sam didn’t know how to react to that and so, stayed silent. They walked to the lakeshore, enjoying the sunset as they went. Evening began falling gently over the village, as if someone was slowly dimming the world by hand and causing a brilliant spread of colours across the sky.

  The lake turned from silver to smoke-blue, rippling in long, languid sighs beneath the fading light. Lanterns bobbed along the shoreline, casting golden circles across the water. Crickets began their nightly chorus from the hedgerows, and the scent of roasting dinners from the houses mingled with the damp earth.

  Dave and Sam found themselves on the village pier, wooden boards creaking quietly underfoot as they settled side by side. The lake stretched out before them, a wide, quiet expanse..

  Sam sat down and let her legs dangle over the edge, toes splashing the water in a slow rhythm. Slimy had been absorbed back into her stomach hours ago but now she let Misty out of her eyes. The wispy, mana-draining, fog-familiar softly wafted under the pier and began exuding a mist that floated atop the lake.

  “Feels like a peaceful world here,” said Sam softly.

  “Because it is,” Dave replied. “Places like this… they’re not big enough for the big players to pay attention. Nobody screws it up with greed and self-importance. So, the common people here can just build their simple, little lives without interference. When it comes down to it, most people just want to live a life full of productive work, reasonable food on the table in good amounts and surrounded by friends to laugh with.”

  “?o-hǒo, poetry,”

  He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug.

  “I’ve had lots of tea today. It softens me.”

  She smiled, and allowed her gaze to drift outward again to where the lake’s horizon met the sky,

  “Do you think we’ll ever be done?” she asked after a while.

  Dave was quiet. He knew what she meant. The Builder cult, her old cult, the nobility, the Adventure Society, the Magic Society. All of it. The polity war behind every adventure contract. The constant vigilance when reading any official bit of paper.

  “It’ll finish,” he said. “We’ll beat them. And, some other crazy person will have their day at being the bad guy but that won’t be ours to fight.” He smiled at Sam reassuringly. “Because there’s going to be a new generation of good guys to beat them but,” he winked at Sam, “unlike our enemies we’re not selfish. We share. And we’re going to write books and train our youngsters how to win better than we did.”

  Sam nodded, smiling radiantly at the thought.

  They watched as a pair of boys pushed a little raft into the water, cheering quietly as it floated straight. One of them had attached a stick with a cloth flag — painted red, with a symbol too abstract to identify. A game, no doubt. Maybe conquest. Maybe exploration. It didn’t matter. They were having fun.

  Behind them, the café shutters were being drawn. A window above creaked open and someone’s soft voice began to hum. It sounded like a lullaby, or something close. It didn’t carry words, just feeling. It felt comfortable. Like a home should.

  Sam lay down on the pier and pushed on Dave’s shoulder from behind. He didn’t flinch, or speak. Just turned to her.

  “You don’t talk about your old world much,” she said, eyes half-lidded.

  “Not much to say.”

  “That’s not true,” she murmured.

  Dave looked out over the lake again. His voice was calm.

  “It wasn’t perfect but at least it was comfortable. With no world-destroying cults that I knew about.”

  “Your family?” Sam asked simply. She didn’t need to elaborate more.

  “I miss them,” said Dave, quietly. “But, if they could see me now… I don’t know if my mum would recognise me.”

  “For me too,” murmured Sam gently. “My family must think I’m dead. But, I know if I go back, they will still love me.” She opened one eye and shot Dave a smile. “You’re still you. They’re still them. Alright?”

  “Is that your professional diagnosis, healer?”

  She smiled fully now.

  “Oh! You’re also older. More wrinkles!”

  “Ringing endorsement,” Dave chuckled.

  They stayed like that a little longer, letting the quiet stretch and breathe. Eventually, Sam sat up.

  “We should go.”

  “Yeah, alright.”

  They stood. Dave offered a hand to steady her off the pier. She took it without hesitation — not because she needed help, but because it offered a fun opportunity to control her meta-weight and make Dave groan.

  As they walked back toward their inn, lanterns blinking to life along the narrow streets, Dave spoke once more.

  “We’ll leave late morning. There’s still three days before the next secret Builder meeting.”

  Sam grinned.

  “Time enough for two more breakfast teas and more impulsive town improvement.”

  “Try not to summon your living trees to dig in the mayoral flower garden again.”

  “No promises!”

  Their voices faded into the soft glow of the village night.

  Somewhere in the square, someone had started playing a waltz on a fiddle. Just slow enough to summon that nostalgic feel and just bright enough to keep the chill of the dark at bay.

  And for a little while longer, in this one quiet pocket of the world, they let themselves breathe.