The Map Only I Can Read

From the broken edges of the Wasteland, from sunburnt ridges and hollow ruins, the last of the scattered exiles began to arrive.

They came one by one.

Word had spread.

Not through messengers, not through magic—but through the sound of shovels on dry earth. Of children laughing. Of smoke curling from cooking pots.

Something was happening in the east. Something that felt like hope for them.

Second day, more people arrived from the fourth village, Tobren counted seventy-two heads.

Third day, They'd come in groups—cautious, slow, but no longer hiding. That brought the total close to a hundred.

Some came walking. Others were carried by makeshift carts. One woman, older than any of them could guess, arrived leaning on a stick made from a snapped fence post. She refused help, but wept openly when handed a warm bowl of porridge.

Ren stood at the edge of the village square, arms folded, watching them arrive.

"Eighty-two," Tobren said beside him, counting carefully from his ledger.

"Plus our guild escort."

"Plus us," Ren murmured. "It's ninety-seven, more than I expected."

"They all came because they believe there's a better hope here."

Ren didn't answer. Not yet. Not until he figured out what came next.

The trenches worked. The basin held water. The charcoal filters did their job.

But the new arrivals changed the numbers.

The ration chart on Halrick's tower wall was already outdated. The dried meat wouldn't stretch three weeks, even if boiled into stew. The wheat would be gone by the next moon.

There was no miracle coming. No divine blessing or mysterious magic to summon food from thin air.

Ren did what he'd always done—what he was trained to do back in the world that abandoned him.

He calculated.

"We need fields," he muttered. "Fast."

Tobren heard. "We mark tomorrow?"

Ren nodded. "As soon as possible. And we need hands ready to dig. Anyone who can't dig—cook, gather firewood, or help Lenna with herbs. Everyone works… have to."

He made a note to speak with Solen that night. A small blessing might hasten the first sprouting. And he'd seen a potion in Moira's shop once—Evelyn had called it "Greenwake.", a little shortcut from greenwake plus solen, it'll change the situation.

He glanced at the children, already mimicking the adults by building a tiny trench with sticks and stones.

"Even the little ones," Ren added. "They learn by watching."

He moved through the village slowly that evening, making his own notes. Families from the second and fourth villages preferred east-facing huts. The group from the fifth brought woven mats and baskets—useful for carrying dried roots. Several of the men from the third village still had tools, cracked but salvageable. A boy from the first could sing. He calmed the crying babies.

Ren marked all of it down.

Every small talent mattered now.

As night fell, and the fire circle was reignited, the village no longer felt scattered. It felt like a body regrowing its limbs.

They weren't many. And they weren't strong.

But they were here.

And Ren knew that, if everyone gave their help and cooperation, everyone here was more than enough to start.

***

The next morning came with no clatter of cookware, no lively bargaining, no bustling market. The scent of food was faint—thin broth, stretched grains. Scarcity lingered in the air.

But something stronger remained.

Will. And hope.

Ren stood once more at the center of the square, calling everyone to gather.

This time, he wasn't greeted by silence or confusion. Faces turned. Eyes listened.

The plan is simple and clear. "We're finishing the fields today. Expanding them. Making the soil breathe again. If we want to eat next month, we plant today."

He gestured toward the food tent. "The kitchen still runs on work vouchers. Nothing's changed. If you're new, speak with Halrick. He keeps the vouchers. You earn a meal by work."

Most of the newcomers nodded quietly. Some exchanged uncertain glances, but none refused.

They followed, without complaint, got to the field—southeast of the village.

The reclaimed land outside the eastern trench became a field. Not lush, not even green yet—but furrowed and waiting. Kaela moved between rows, marking mana-rich points with small colored stones. Solen whispered quiet blessings over the earth. Lenna handed out seed bundles—barley, beans, bitterroots.

Ren worked alongside them, sleeves rolled, hands in the soil.

No miracle came. But the land stirred, just a little.

And that was enough to get things started.

***

Ren stepped aside from the rows after break for lunch, wiping sweat from his brow. The work was progressing, but slowly. The fields were expanding, yet even with every hand available, it wouldn't be fast enough. Not before the food ran out.

He found Kaela kneeling by a ridge, gently brushing her fingers over the soil.

"Kaela," Ren called softly.

She looked up. "Hmm?"

"Can you… help it grow? Faster, I mean. With magic?"

She stood, brushing dust from her palms. "I can sense the mana points, like we marked. I can even enrich the soil a bit, but actual growth magic?" She shook her head. "That's… complicated. Not my field."

Ren nodded. He had expected as much.

"I've read about it," she added, thoughtful. "Old stories. Forest druids. Specialized casters with deep pacts to nature. It's not as simple as waving a hand and watching sprouts appear."

"Right," Ren murmured, then turned. "Where's Solen?"

He found the young saint not far away, kneeling beside a half-planted row, hands clasped in prayer. His voice was low—more rhythm than words.

"Do you have a moment?" Ren asked.

Solen stood and approached, brushing soil from his white robes.

"Have you ever tried blessing land?" Ren asked. "Not just for health or protection—something to help it grow."

Solen frowned, thinking. "It's not part of my usual blessings. Healing, purification, sanctuary—that's where my strength. But…"

"But?"

"I remember a chapter from one of the church's older scrolls," he said slowly. "It spoke of seasonal rituals. Blessings over orchards, fields, vineyards. They were used in holy festivals, usually performed by higher clerics, bishop." He glanced at his hands. "I've never tried. But I can try."

Ren nodded once. "Good, that's all I'm asking."

Solen gave a solemn smile. "Then I'll need a quiet moment. And a clear intent."

Kaela, who had returned to their side, arched a brow. "If it works, even a little, we'll know by morning."

Ren turned back toward the field. "Then tomorrow, we check the soil."

Kaela crossed her arms. "How about you learning some magic?"

"I think I'm a planner, not a magician" Ren replied.

"How do you know you can't do magic?"

"Later I'll tell you."

Kaela laughed softly. "Fair enough."

Together, they returned to the others.

There is no instant growth magic. Nothing is instant.

But if one prayer, one blessing, one potion could make a single seed sprout faster… it would be worth enough.