The Map Only I Can Read

Ren woke early, before the sun rose, before the birds began to sing. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the window—the sky still dark, there was a hope in his chest.

But also fear.

He feared Solen's prayer had done nothing. That the soil was still cold. That the seeds lay buried in silence.

He pulled on his outer and stepped outside. The air was crisp, heavy with dew. His boots moved slowly through the grass as he made his way toward the fields—toward the blessed patch of land where Solen had knelt the night before.

Each step was a silent question.

Please, let something have changed.

He reached the edge of the fields. He stopped.

And then he saw it.

Not a miracle. Not a jungle springing from dry ground.

But there, in the middle of the furrowed row Solen had blessed, were tiny green shoots. Just tips. Barely more than a whisper from the dirt.

But they hadn't been there yesterday.

Ren knelt slowly, resting one hand on his knee as he leaned forward. He stared at the fragile signs of life—eyes narrowed, brain already turning.

"Faster than normal, one inch… almost" he muttered. "That's barley shoots. Should've taken four days to grow this big."

He rubbed his thumb along his jaw, voice low as he thought aloud.

"If Evelyn's Greenwake potion poured here, and we pair it with blessed soil… one cycle could take a month instead of two. Maybe less. Enough for a harvest before the supplies run dry."

Behind him, two voices called his name.

"Ren!"

He didn't respond. His eyes remained locked on the soil, lips still moving as numbers lined up in his head.

Kaela slowed her pace as she approached and nudged Solen gently. "He's doing that thing again."

Solen nodded, smiling faintly. "Planning."

They stood in silence, giving him space.

Ren finally exhaled, long and steady.

It wasn't enough. Not yet.

But it was real.

And that meant they had a chance.

Ren turned, finding Kaela and Solen standing behind him, quietly waiting.

He exhaled, then spoke. "The blessing worked. Not a miracle, but it's real. The shoots broke through."

He gestured toward the furrows. "If we pace the planting right and focus on the southern field next, we might actually pull off a harvest before the stocks run out."

They listened carefully, trading quiet glances—astonishment flickering across their faces, no matter how they tried to hide it.

Ren caught the look and smirked. "So? You see my brilliant plan now? Impressed?" he asked with a small chuckle.

Kaela rolled her eyes. "Sure. We're fascinated. Just don't forget—it's still only a plan, Solen is the one who did it."

"With the gods' blessing, I hope it succeeds," Solen added, his voice gentler. "I can't bear to see these people suffer. I'll do whatever I can to make it work."

"Soft heart," Kaela teased, elbowing him lightly.

Ren gave them both a nod, then turned and started walking back toward the Wasteland Tower. The morning light stretched across the soil behind him.

As Kaela and Solen followed at a slower pace, Kaela spoke in a low voice.

"I felt something from this guy Solen."

Solen nodded. "Maybe the gods really did send him here—to bring an answers to this empty land."

***

Early morning had passed. The sun began to rise, warm and watchful above the eastern ridge.

Villagers stirred. Children ran through the dusty paths, their laughter bouncing between tents and old stone. Life, quiet and fragile, was beginning to take root.

Today was the second day of the field project. The work that might decide whether they survived the coming months or not.

Those who had worked yesterday, they came—vouchers in hand—ready to exchange them for a modest breakfast at the food tent in front of the tower.

But this time, no one had to call them. No horns, no shouting.

They gathered on their own will.

It felt like going to work—not in the usual sense of a job with wages and routine—but something deeper. Something personal.

There were no real jobs here. No economy turning. No coin flowing.

But they worked anyway. Not for pay, but for hope.

Hope that if they gave all they had—young or old—they might buy themselves and their neighbors just one more day to survive.

After the morning meal, Ren stood before them, dragging a wooden chair into the center of the square so all could see. He climbed up and raised his voice.

"We need a field."

His voice cut through the morning. Quiet fell instantly.

"I'll be honest with you," Ren continued, scanning the crowd. "The food we have won't last. Not for almost hundred people. Maybe not even one more month."

A few exchanged worried glances. He didn't sugarcoat it.

"So we build a field. If we want to eat, we plant. It's that simple."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"Those who can still work—must work. You'll get your food today, like I promised yesterday. But I can't keep giving meals for everyone out of my own pocket. If I tried… I'd starve first."

That earned a few low chuckles.

He smiled faintly, then added, "Starting yesterday, we're not just surviving—we're building something. A real village, a home, a place worth for living in."

Ren took a breath, "If this works, years from now, people will speak of the ones who started it all—who planted the first seeds. And that… is you."

Silence again—but not awkward. It was weighty. Charged.

One person clapped.

Then another followed.

Soon, applause broke out across the square. It wasn't loud. But it was warm. And real.

For a moment, the village felt more alive than ever before.

Ren stepped down from the chair just as Tobren approached.

"How do you do that?" Tobren whispered. "That kind of speech?"

Ren shrugged. "Part of my old job."

"The one you mentioned before?"

"Yeah. I'll explain it someday. For now—focus on what matters first."

He reached into his pouch and pulled out the notebook he'd scribbled in late last night.

"Here. This is how we'll shape the fields. Trenches here, rows like this. And we keep the drainage low."

Tobren squinted at the drawings, nodding slowly.

After a few moments, he turned to the waiting crowd of workers and began explaining Ren's plan.

And with that, the village moved again.

Not because they were told to.

But because they believed in what came next…

It had to be a good thing for them.