It was still early when Levi found himself crouched beside a pile of firewood behind Mae's hut, gripping a dull hatchet. The handle was worn smooth from years of use, but the edge still bit into the wood if swung with effort.
He didn't like effort.
But he liked the idea of being poor even less.
With a grunt, he brought the blade down on a thick branch, splitting it with a satisfying crack. Chips flew, and the smell of fresh wood filled the air.
He checked the cheat.
Still blank.
No wood.
"Maybe it has to be more than just chopping…" he muttered.
He picked up a smaller stick and began shaving curls from it, trying to whittle a shape. Not that he had any idea how to carve. He ended up with something that looked like a splintered spoon and a broken dagger had a misshapen child.
Still, he kept going—flattening one end, smoothing the other, testing different shapes.
Then, suddenly—
A flicker.
A blink in the edge of his mind.
Materials: Wood – 1
Levi stared.
He tapped it. The number was solid.
"Oh," he breathed. "So it does work…"
A grin spread across his face.
He spent the next hour summoning and unsummoning the single piece of wood. It always appeared the same: the one he'd carved, not just any old log. It had to be that one. He tried changing its shape, smoothing the sides, even burning one end over a flame.
The number stayed the same, but the object updated.
"So it keeps the form," he whispered, holding up the charred piece. "It remembers what I did to it."
His mind raced.
If this works with wood… what else can it work with?
He thought of stones—those massive slabs still littered about the ruins of Moat Cailin.
He looked toward the horizon, where the old fortress stood like broken teeth jutting from the swamp.
A smarter man might've asked permission. But Levi?
He only smiled.
"Why work hard when history already did the heavy lifting?"
That night, he waited.
Not quite midnight, but well past the hour when most of Bogwater had gone quiet. Even Mae's soft breathing from the other side of the hut was steady and deep.
Levi slipped out, cloak over his shoulders and a sack slung across his back.
The walk to Moat Cailin was easier in the dark. No questions. No Jory trailing behind with curious eyes. No need to explain why he wanted to poke around old ruins.
The stones were still there, half-sunk in the mud, forgotten by time. Great gray slabs, cracked and worn by the weight of centuries. Most were too large to lift. But a few…
He found one leaning against the base of a broken tower—flat, wide, no bigger than a hearthstone. It would do.
Levi crouched beside it, placing both hands on its rough surface.
It was cold.
It smelled of earth and old battles.
He waited.
Nothing.
"Come on…"
He knocked it with his knuckles. Nothing. He tried lifting it. Too heavy. Still nothing.
Then he got an idea.
He reached into his sack and pulled out his carved stick—the one tied to the cheat. He tapped the stone with it. Then pressed the wood flat against the stone's surface.
Still nothing.
He grunted and sat back, frustrated.
Then, finally—just as he turned to leave—
Materials: Stone – 1
His heart skipped.
He checked again.
Still there.
It had worked.
Levi spun in place, arms raised to the sky. "Yes!"
His cheer was swallowed by the swamp, but it didn't matter.
He could now summon wood.
And stone.
He pulled the cheat screen back up and willed the stone slab to appear.
And there it was—planted in the dirt beside him, the same slab he'd touched, same cracks and grooves. He tried lifting it.
Too heavy.
Still, it was his. He could summon it again. Anywhere. Anytime.
He imagined stacking ten of them into a wall.
A real wall.
And with wood and berries already in hand, gold (sort of) in pocket…
He grinned wide.
"One day, Moat Cailin won't just be ruins," he whispered. "It'll be mine."