By the time they trudged back toward the village proper, James’s muscles ached pleasantly, his mana reserves comfortably low but not dangerously so. The air aboveground felt wonderfully open, even with the encircling forest and the looming bulk of the Heartroot at the edge of the clearing.

  The massive tree had grown again. It loomed over the longhouses now, trunk thick and ridged, branches spreading wide with leaves that shimmered faintly with their own inner light. Mana butterflies drifted lazily among its branches, wings flickering like little fragments of the sky. As dusk deepened, fireflies joined them, their soft glow mingling with the Circle’s steady warmth.

  Smoke curled up from Marla’s cookfire, bringing with it the scent of stew rich with root vegetables and meat. The smell of freshly baked Skystalk bread drifted under it, that faintly sweet, nutty aroma that never failed to make James’s stomach growl. Voices floated across the clearing, children laughing, adults chatting, someone humming under their breath as they set places at the stone table inside the Circle of the First Hearth.

  James’s steps quickened instinctively, drawn toward the warm glow and the promise of food.

  “Chieftain?”

  He stopped.

  Elira and Ollen stood just off the main path, both of them still wearing the smudges of soil on their hands and clothes that had become their default look. Bits of Skystalk husk clung to Ollen’s sleeves where he’d tried and failed to brush them off.

  “Gardeners,” James said, forcing his tired brain into something like attentiveness. “Tell me you’re here to say everything is thriving and you don’t need anything from me.”

  Elira winced. “We, ah… mostly wanted to say everything is thriving.”

  Ollen shifted his weight, lifting a hand and dropping it again. “And that we’re going to drown in grain if someone doesn’t help.”

  Elira shot him a look. “Not drown. Just...”

  “Be buried?” Ollen offered. “Slowly? Under a mound of Skystalk?”

  James rubbed at his forehead. “Start at the beginning.”

  “The Skystalk plots are doing very well,” Elira said. “Better than very well. I picked up Soil Tending and Ollen got Early Sprout Sense this week. Between that and the Heartroot’s aura and whatever the Circle is doing to morale, the plants are… happy. Very happy.”

  “Good,” James said. “That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

  “It is when everyone wants bread,” Ollen said. “Even the children are asking for bread. We’ve expanded the beds as much as we can with just us, but we’re reaching the point where either we tend properly and harvest less, or we throw more seeds in and let the quality drop.”

  “And with Marla finally figuring out how to bake that flatbread version you wanted,” Elira added, “demand has doubled. She’s trying to ration it, but…”

  “Everyone went a little feral,” James guessed.

  Elira gave him a thin smile. “You could say that.”

  “How many hands do you need?” James asked, already knowing the answer was ‘more than they had.’

  “Two more full-time would be perfect,” Ollen said promptly. “One more would be tolerable.”

  James mentally reviewed their current assignments. Builders on rotation. Warriors almost constantly training or delving. Varn and Harlon overworked. Mira sewing clothes out of aether-fawn wool and whatever scraps she had left. Irla training two younger villagers in basic herb recognition so she didn’t have to pick every single leaf herself. The need for miners to gather iron...

  He felt that now-familiar frustration simmer just beneath the surface. So many needs. So few people. Every time he added something, three other tasks quietly stacked up in the background.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally. He made sure his voice sounded lighter than he felt. “No promises yet. But we can at least try to schedule some help on your heavy days. Maybe tie some of the young ones’ chores to garden work.”

  Elira’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Thank you.”

  “And if you find someone who seems particularly plant-obsessed, let me know,” James added. “Maybe we can nudge a profession awake.”

  “We’ll keep an eye out,” Ollen said. “Right now, the only ones obsessed are us and Finni.”

  “Finni is obsessed with leaves, not work,” Elira said. “There’s a difference.”

  James shook his head, lips quirking. “Go wash up. Eat. We’ll figure it out before you collapse in your own fields.”

  They left looking at least a little reassured, and James allowed himself to finally step into the Circle.

  The stone table that ran along the inside curve of the gazebo’s ring was already half-filled. Plates of bread were passed back and forth, steam rising from bowls of stew. The fire in the central hearth burned with that steady, not-quite-normal flame it had taken on since the Circle’s creation, light washing over stone carvings and the delicate arches of the domed roof. Children darted between adults, their laughter mingling with talk of the day’s work and the latest minor skill ups.

  James slid into a space near Marla, who pressed a bowl into his hands before he could protest.

  “You look like you fought the tunnels and lost,” she said.

  “We came to a draw,” James said. He tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it into the stew. “We reached the cavern. Found more snakes. Wicksnap zapped them. Finni complained.”

  “So, a normal day,” Rogan said from across the table.

  “More or less.”

  They talked as they ate. Kerrin gave a brief report of their battles, understated but thorough, while Wicksnap occasionally interjected to clarify spell usage. Trell, between bites, described how the lift would change everything once it was fully reinforced. Merrit, for once, allowed himself to wax just a little poetic about stress lines and how nice it was to build something that worked with the rock instead of just sitting on top of it.

  James listened, half-present and half-drifting, letting the voices wash over him. He watched Maude and Inna at the far side of the table, both gesturing animatedly as they reenacted some sparring bout gone wrong. Watched Mira touch her stomach absentmindedly now and then, Harlon’s hand hovering near her elbow in a way that said he was still astonished by the idea of a child.

  For all the exhaustion, for all the problems stacked like lumber waiting to be cut, there was something solid here now. A rhythm. A life.

  The conversation faltered as the Circle’s outer shadows shifted.

  Heads turned.

  Finni walked into the light with the air of someone who knew, absolutely knew, that he was about to cause trouble and was rather pleased about it. He was grinning. That was warning enough.

  The pair of animals behind him were the real showstopper.

  They stepped carefully over the boundary stones of the Circle, their hooves surprisingly quiet. Each was tall as an elk at the shoulder, bodies broad and heavy with muscle. Their skin wasn’t furred, but a smooth, thick grey hide crossed with faint lighter markings that almost resembled the dapple of sunlight through leaves. From the center of their foreheads rose a single horn, long and slightly curved, its surface matte rather than glossy, as if carved from pale stone.

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  Between them, peeking out nervously, was a calf. It had the same horn, only shorter, and its eyes were huge and dark and curious.

  For a heartbeat, there was silence.

  Then the children squealed.

  Half a dozen small forms shot up from the table and raced toward the beasts, only to be snagged by parental hands and sharp words. Even so, they clustered as close as they dared, eyes bright, fingers twitching in desperate desire to touch.

  James put a hand over his face.

  Of course.

  “Please tell me you didn’t just stroll into the village with random wild megafauna,” he said, dropping his hand and standing.

  “They’re not random,” Finni protested, looking deeply offended. “And they’re not wild. They’re forest-gifted. Also, what is megafauna?”

  Rogan had already stood up too, expression somewhere between impressed and wary. His hand hovered near the hilt of his spear out of reflex, though he didn’t draw it. Marla remained seated, arms crossing over her chest, one eyebrow creeping steadily upward.

  “Forest-gifted,” she repeated.

  “Yes,” Finni said. “The forest looked at our tiny, hardworking, slightly overextended village and said ‘they need help.’ So it sent me these. I am very beloved.”

  “Forest has odd taste,” Rogan muttered.

  James walked closer, keeping a respectful distance from the beasts. They watched him with calm, dark eyes, ears flicking occasionally, nostrils flaring as they took in the scents of smoke and stew and people.

  Close up, he could see the heavy ridges of muscle under their hide, the thick joints of their legs built for hauling, the subtle scarring along their flanks that spoke of lives lived pushing through underbrush and bracing against fallen trunks. These weren’t delicate creatures. They were living engines.

  “What are they?” James asked.

  “Longhorn Dray-Beasts,” Finni said proudly. He reached out and scratched one along a spot behind its jaw. The animal leaned into the touch, the motion slow and ponderous. “They live deeper in the forest, where the trees grow thick and the ground is soft. They pull fallen logs and uprooted stumps for the great groves.”

  James blinked. “The trees… have draft animals?”

  “Of course,” Finni said. “What do you think, they move themselves?”

  James opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes.

  “Are they safe?” he asked instead. “Docile? How strong are we talking?”

  Finni sobered slightly. “They’re calm,” he said. “If you treat them with respect. They don’t like sudden pain or loud shouting right next to them. But they’re not aggressive. The forest wouldn’t send dangerous creatures into a village full of children. And they can pull…” He whistled softly. “A lot. Whole trees. Larger stones than any of you can lift. They walk through mud like it’s nothing. And they don’t mind the presence of other mana sources, which is important.”

  James let out a slow breath. “And what did this cost us, exactly?”

  Finni’s grin flickered back. “Only my undying devotion to their care and a promise to treat them better than some tribes treat their own people,” he said. “And I may have… unlocked something.”

  He glanced upward, eyes unfocusing for a moment and read out loud, “New Skill Gained: Animal Husbandry, Lv.1, you understand the basic needs and temperaments of domesticated and semi-domesticated beasts. Minor bonuses to calming, feeding, and reading animal moods.

  Finni’s smile turned a little stunned at the edges. “Ah,” he said. “It seems I am now also beloved by the System.”

  “That makes one of us,” James muttered.

  Finni went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I can tell when they’re anxious,” he said. “What kind of plants they prefer. How to soothe them if they’re startled. And I get… a sense, I suppose, of other creatures that would suit us. Eggs that could be taken without angering their parents. Herds that could be guided instead of hunted.”

  James felt something click into place.

  He turned to face Finni fully. “From now on,” he said, voice firm, “you are officially responsible for all animals in this village.”

  Finni’s eyes widened.

  “I mean it,” James went on. “These Dray-Beasts. The aether fawns. Any new species you convince the forest to ‘lend’ us. You care for them. You figure out what we can take, milk, hide, wool, eggs, whatever, without harming them or the forest. You manage who gets close and when. And you start thinking about what we don’t have yet. Chickens. Goats. Something that lays eggs we can eat regularly. I want you to build us a herd, Finni. Not through raiding. Through… persuasion.”

  Finni swallowed, his earlier playfulness edged now with something like awe. “You’re giving me… all of them?”

  “I’m giving you responsibility,” James said. “The animals are still themselves. Treat them well.”

  Finni straightened, shoulders pulling back. “I will,” he said. There was no joke in his voice now. “You have my word. And the forest’s, probably.”

  “The forest doesn’t get to make decisions in my village,” Marla said. “But you do.” She nodded once, sharply. “If they stomp on any of my cooking pots, I’m coming to you first.”

  Finni paled slightly. “I will… make sure they don’t,” he said.

  Rogan chuckled, the sound low and satisfied. “They’ll be useful,” he said, eyeing the beasts again. “We can rig harnesses. Move logs from deeper in the forest. Stones from the river. No more dragging things by hand.”

  James turned back to the watching builders. “You hear that?” he called. “You all just gained two very large, very strong coworkers. Use them wisely.”

  Merrit’s eyes lit up. “We could haul much bigger stones,” he said. “We could start on that second line of fortifications along the ridge without breaking everyone’s legs.”

  “And I won’t have to watch Trell try to lift beams clearly not meant for one person,” Pella added. “This may add years back to my life.”

  Trell snorted, but he didn’t argue.

  The Longhorn Dray-Beasts were led carefully toward the pasture, children trailing at a respectful distance now that they understood these creatures were more than just oversized pets. The calf trotted between its parents, occasionally stretching its neck out toward a curious hand, then jerking back shyly.

  Finni talked soothingly to them the whole way, his voice shifting into a flow James recognized from when Finni spoke with trees. The words were different, but the cadence was the same.

  James stood there for a moment, watching them go, a knot of tension between his shoulders loosening just a little.

  They had work animals now. Real, solid, dependable muscle to amplify their efforts. It wouldn’t fix everything. They still needed more people, more ore, more time. But it was one more piece of the puzzle.

  He rejoined the others at the table, fielded a few more questions, listened to a few more stories. Talk turned, briefly, to what Rogan and Kerrin wanted in terms of armor once they had enough metal to do more than make nails and pickaxes. James drew rough shapes of breastplates and pauldrons in the air with mana, watched Rogan’s eyes sharpen with a kind of hungry focus.

  “A wall of metal between my ribs and their teeth,” Rogan said, half to himself. “I could hold much longer in a line with that.”

  “And swords,” James said. “Eventually. Longer blades. Different shapes. Not just spears and knives.”

  Gradually, the table emptied. One by one, villagers drifted off toward the longhouses, some pausing to touch the Circle’s stone, others to murmur quiet thanks near the hearth. The fire burned on, steady and comforting.

  James stayed until the last bowl was cleared, the last mug of milk finished. He helped Marla stack bowls near the wash area, traded a few last jokes with Rogan about whose back would give out first, then finally let himself slip away.

  The clearing was quieter now. The mana butterflies had mostly settled among the Heartroot’s branches, their light dimmed to a soft glow. Fireflies drifted along the ground like tiny lanterns. Overhead, the sky had darkened to deep blue, the first stars pricking through.

  James walked to the Heartroot and laid his palm against its bark.

  Warmth seeped into his skin almost immediately, a gentle thrum that matched the slow beat of his own heart. The tree’s aura reached into the clearing, subtle and constant, wrapping the village in a blanket of quietly pulsing mana. It smelled faintly of sap and something floral he couldn’t quite name.

  “We’re getting there,” he murmured. “Slowly. Too slowly, probably. But we’re getting there.”

  He thought of the tunnels, stretching out like veins under their feet. Of the cavern with its ruins and its secrets. Of the pulley lift, half-finished but functional. Of the Dray-Beasts, lowering their heads to graze beside the aether fawns.

  He thought of Trell and Alder, sweating and straining and still waiting for the System to tell them who they were meant to be.

  He thought of seasons not yet arrived. Of tribes not yet met.

  The future pressed in on him like weight, like a dozen blueprints stacked one atop the other. Some clear. Some still half-formed. All demanding time and attention he didn’t have.

  But beneath all that, there was pride, too. Real, solid pride for the people who had taken his wild sketches and made them real. For the village that had gone from a scattering of fearful survivors to something that sat together every night under a shared roof to eat and laugh and argue and plan.

  He let his hand rest there a moment longer, letting the warmth seep into his bones.

  “Chieftain. I have news.”

  The voice came from behind him, low and edged with something that snapped his body into alertness before his mind fully processed the words.

  James turned, heart jolting.

  Bren stood just beyond the edge of the Heartroot’s soft light, shadows slicing across his face. His expression was grave, mouth a thin line. His eyes flicked once toward the forest, once toward the tunnels, as if checking both before settling fully on James.

  Every instinct James had honed since waking up in this world straightened inside him.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

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