Back at the base, the group finally arrived just as the sun bled its last light across the barren horizon. The place they loosely called their base wasn't anything grand—merely a cluster of makeshift houses huddled together in the middle of desolation.
Yet despite the location, the houses themselves were surprisingly comfortable, each one fully furnished with a king-sized bed, a bathroom, a closet, and all the bare necessities one might expect in a noble's lodge.
All of that comfort, of course, was thanks to Art.
It was his decision, his creation. Where there should have been a harsh, unforgiving land, he had used his ability to forge the houses, softening the bleak reality of the Deathland.
Without him, they would have been reduced to sleeping on dirt, with freezing nights gnawing their bones. With him, they had roofs over their heads, warmth to stave off the bitter cold, and even a semblance of normalcy.
