Asher crouched at the edge of the glassy glacial tarn. His eyes followed the mirror image of the surrounding stone towers shimmering on the dark, still surface of the water. Down in the center of the alpine basin, the dawn air was crisp and completely silent. It was untouched by the howling gales of the higher ridges or the heavy noise of civilization. There were no tracks along the muddy shoreline except for their own. No old ruins hiding in the brush. No lingering echoes of the wars that used to tear the world apart. It was just a vast, beautiful expanse of untouched wilderness waking up under a pale morning sky. Jaren walked up behind him with a half eaten piece of dried meat in one hand and a steaming tin cup in the other. He stopped, peered down at his own reflection in the tarn, and grimaced dramatically. “If you stare into that water long enough, boss, you start to look like an old mountain troll,” Jaren joked. “Though given my current morning hair, the troll comparison i

Asher crouched beside a crumbling concrete guard post covered in thick green moss. His fingers brushed against a rusted metal hatch that had not been opened in decades. All around them the dense jungle closed in tight. It hid the rusted bones of old defense towers and overgrown wire beneath a peaceful blanket of wildflowers and creeping vines. There were no active patrols here. No warning sirens. No lingering ghosts of the old wars that used to tear the lowlands apart. It was just an abandoned relic of a dead age, resting quietly in the heart of the living forest. Jaren walked up behind him and kicked lightly at a rusted metal crate half buried in the mud. He grinned down at the ancient debris. “If this old checkpoint comes to life and asks me for my security clearance, I am going to politely tell it my credentials expired during the apocalypse,” Jaren joked. “Though if there is any pre collapse chocolate hidden inside these boxes, my security clearance is immediately renewed. I

Asher hauled himself over the final shelf of weathered limestone. His heavy boots found solid ground on the flat, wind swept stone of the ridge top. All around them the land opened up in a wide sweep of rolling hills, dense forest, and distant silver rivers winding toward the eastern horizon. The sky was bright and fading. There were no orchard trees here. No damp jungle vines. No closed-in shadows. It was just an open spine of old gray rock rising high above the wild country, catching the last warm light of the afternoon before night settled over the lowlands. Jaren dragged himself over the rocky ledge and collapsed flat onto his back with his arms flung wide. He stared up at the soft evening sky and grinned. “If anyone asks me to climb another foot upward today, I am going to lie down right here and identify as a permanent mountain fixture,” Jaren panted. “Though I have to admit, the rooftop seating has fantastic legroom. Look at all this sky.” Elara stepped up beside Asher

A Week After The morning air smelled like wet ash and rotting pond water. A thick layer of grey fog rolled across the cracked asphalt of the old highway, swallowing the rusted shells of abandoned cars that sat half sunken in the ditches. Nobody spoke. The silence between them felt heavier than the steel packs slung over their aching shoulders. Asher stopped walking right at the split in the road where the broken concrete met the dirt trail. He shrugged his pack higher, feeling the familiar bite of the straps against his sore collarbone, and turned to look at the four people standing behind him. They had come a long way from the western peaks, fighting through freezing rain and dodging scavengers, but the glue holding them together had finally dried up and cracked. "This is where we stop sharing dirt," Asher said. His voice was flat, low, and cut right through the damp morning chill. Vane adjusted his wire rimmed glasses, squinting through the mist at the northern tree line wh

The air inside the dim roadside tavern smelled like stale beer, sweat, and old blood. A single flickering oil lamp threw long, shaky shadows across the scarred wooden tables. Asher sat alone in the far corner booth. He held a clay mug of cheap liquor and watched the storm beat against the boarded up windows. He ignored the handful of rough looking men huddled around the pool table near the entrance. His attention stayed on the dark liquid in his cup and the heavy quiet of riding alone. Heavy footsteps crossed the splintered floorboards and stopped right beside his table. Asher did not look up. A large man with a scarred cheek and a jagged iron knife in his belt leaned over the edge of the wood. He blocked the dim lamp light. “This corner is taken, stranger,” the man growled. His voice was thick with cheap whiskey and bad intent. “Move your gear or we move it for you.” Asher raised his eyes slowly. His face stayed cold and distant, No trace fear, no anger. “Try it.” The