The Map Only I Can Read

Ironpeak looked like a town built out of sheer defiance.

Wedged into a natural cleft of dark rock, it clung to the mountainside like a stubborn scab. Narrow stone buildings leaned against each other like tired workers after a long day. Smoke trailed from crooked chimneys. Laundry hung from makeshift lines between rooftops, swaying like flags in the wind.

And noise—real noise. Hammers striking metal. Wheels turning. People shouting. Dogs barking. The kind of life Ren hadn't heard in days.

As he approached the gates—two tall iron-banded doors flanked by jagged wooden spikes—a gruff voice called out.

"Hold it!"

Two guards stepped forward. One tall and wiry, the other short but broad, both dressed in patched leather and chainmail that had seen better decades. Their spears weren't ceremonial—they were chipped, dented, but real.

"What's your business in Ironpeak?" asked the taller one.

"Work," Ren replied plainly. "And maybe trade, if I'm lucky."

The guards exchanged a look. The short one sniffed. "You don't look like a merchant."

"I'm not," Ren said. "I'm from Wasteland."

That earned a pause.

The tall one lowered his spear slightly. "The exile? That pit still breathing?"

"Barely, but…" Ren said. "If it still breathing then there is still a chance to live."

Another pause. The short guard scratched his beard, then jerked his head toward the town. "Don't cause trouble. If you get caught stealing, we won't send you back—we'll just bury you up the hill."

"Noted," Ren said calmly.

They let him through.

The first thing that struck him was how compact everything was. Buildings stacked vertically instead of spread wide. Staircases carved into cliff faces. Narrow alleys running like veins. Ironpeak wasn't rich—but it was efficient.

He passed a forge glowing red with heat. A blacksmith, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hammered on a glowing horseshoe. Sparks danced upward like fireflies. A young apprentice ran back and forth, lugging coal in a battered bucket. Tools—shovels, pickaxes, nails—hung on a wall display with hand-written prices.

Ren stopped. His eyes scanned each item. His mind made lists.

Tools. Nails. Rope. A water barrels. Maybe even iron netting to use as filters for debris in the canals.

He moved on.

A market street opened next, narrow but lively. Stalls sold smoked meat, boiled roots, sun-dried tomatoes. A potter spun clay by hand, while a boy next to him called out prices with enthusiasm.

"I don't even know how much the King gave me yesterday." he murmured.

Ren glanced around.

Is there anyone here I could ask? he wondered.

Suddenly, a loud, angry voice broke the air.

A crowd had begun to gather — some whispering, some just watching in silence.

"You skipped your rent again. Fourth time now!" said a well-dressed man, his belly straining beneath a spotless coat.

"N–no, sir," the woman stammered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I have five younger siblings to feed. What I have barely covers our meals, let alone rent."

The man's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Not my problem. Rent's due today. If I don't have it by nightfall…" He leaned in slightly. "Pack up. Go join the rest in the Wasteland."

She dropped to her knees, clutching at his leg. "Please, sir. Just a week. Two at most—"

He tossed her hand away. "Enough! You're lucky I'm giving you more time until tonight."

Then he turned and stormed off.

The onlookers who had done nothing but stare began murmuring as they slowly dispersed.

Ren was the only one who stepped closer.

"Hey," he said gently. "Can you stand up?"

"I… I can't think straight right now," she replied through her tears.

"I meant—maybe sit over there, on the bench," Ren gestured. "You're still in the middle of the street."

"Oh... right. I'm sorry for being in your way." She wiped her eyes and slowly walked to the bench.

Ren left for a moment and returned with a glass of water from the closest stall.

"Here," he said, offering it. "Drink this."

"Thank you..." She took it gratefully and drank without hesitation.

"You don't have to say anything," Ren said, sitting beside her. "But if you want to talk, go ahead. I'm not from around here, so chances are we won't cross paths again."

She gave him a faint smile. "Where are you from, then?"

"No need to call me mister, just Ren is fine. I'm from the east—Wasteland."

"I'm Evelyn," she said. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. "Wasteland? Isn't that... nothing out there?"

"Pretty much," Ren chuckled. "Just grass, rocks, and some tired mountains. But I'm hoping to bring it back to life."

They coversation continue — about the currency, the city, kingdom, the past and the possibilities.

The afternoon slowly faded, and evening crept in like a soft breath.

As they sat quietly on the bench, Evelyn whispered, "That man… he owns nearly a third of this town. Lodges, rents, shops, stalls. That's why no one dares speak up."

Ren glanced her way. "How much do you owe?"

"Rent's five silver a month. I've missed four months already. He says twenty silver, rounding it down." She looked away, embarrassed.

Ren pulled out his pouch. After a quick count, he handed her two gold coins.

She stared. "Ren…?"

"That covers it."

Ren looked away for a moment, murmuring more to himself than to her, "Guess I've still got enough to spare."

She stared, confused, unsure if he meant money, patience, or something else entirely.

He gave her a small, quiet smile and said, "Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"When I start building my village, don't disappear."

She smiled back, tight but genuine. "I'll be there." Then, after a pause, she tilted her head. "You just arrived, right? Do you… have a place to stay?"

Ren shifted his weight, a little hesitant. "Uhm, Evelyn…"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "This might sound a little strange, but…"

"What is it, Ren?" she asked gently. "Just say it. If there's anything I can do, I'm happy to help."

He hesitated, eyes dropping. "Would it be okay if I stayed at your place tonight? Just for the night. I promise."

Evelyn blinked—then a teasing smile played on her lips. "Oh? That's a bold move, Ren. Are you asking to spend the night with me?"

He nearly choked. "N–Not like that! I just—there's really nowhere else, and I figured…"

She laughed, soft and disarming. "Relax, I'm only teasing. Of course you can stay."

Then, with mock seriousness:

"But fair warning—you'll have to survive the chaos squad."

Ren smiled with relief. "Thanks, Evelyn."

She looked at him, warmer now. "No… I should be the one thanking you."

Her voice softened.

"If it weren't for you, we'd probably be out on the streets by now."