The smell of fresh-cut timber lingered even as the finishing nails were hammered home. Levi leaned back and wiped sweat from his brow, staring up at the modest home he now called his own.
The walls were smooth enough, the roof thatched and sealed. Not a manor by any means, but it stood, firm and square on the edge of Bogwater like a defiant banner. Beside it stood the finished storage house—twice as large, with layered racks and dry stone walls lined with bundles of rush, salted meat, hard bread, and smoked fish.
It had taken nearly five full moons to reach this point. Five months of waking in a strange world. Five months of slow, aching labor. And now?
People were arriving.
Not many—not yet. But the first ones had already begun trailing in.
A family from the deeper marshes, their lean bodies caked in mud, asking for a place to stay. An old couple who had heard there was warmth and bread. A trader returning on foot with a broken wheel but coin in his pouch and news in his mouth.
Levi gave what space he could. A roof, if not comfort. A meal, if not plenty.
He'd thought the buildings were for himself at first—for survival, for privacy, for proof he wasn't just dreaming. But now the walls echoed with others' voices, and he was starting to realize: this wasn't just a hut in the Neck anymore. It was the beginning of a village reborn.
That evening, Levi sat inside, alone but not idle. His hand hovered over a rough piece of papyrus, where a crooked line separated two lists.
Goods StoredPeople Fed
He'd written each one by hand, crossing off what was used, adding what came in. And now, a third heading itched in his mind.
Routes Owned
He didn't want to be just a buyer. Or a host. No—if the North needed goods and if Bogwater could provide food, shelter, even rest, then he'd do more than survive.
He'd own the trade.
Hire men. Map safe paths. Offer protection in exchange for shares. Create a line of trade from the Neck to the North—and with it, power. Quiet power, the kind that moved behind curtains and ledger ink.
A knock broke his thoughts.
Harwin stepped in, boots still muddy. "Jory's been asking about tools again. Says he wants to draw his own plans now."
Levi smiled faintly. "Good. He'll make fewer mistakes than I did."
The older man chuckled, then stepped further in, letting his gaze wander across the finished walls. "You've changed the air around here, boy. Folks come with coin now, not complaints. Just… don't draw too much attention."
"I don't want a title," Levi said. "Just a name on the road. One that answers to me."
Harwin grunted in approval and left.
Later that night, Mae stopped by with a satchel of smoked roots. She placed them on his table without asking and stared at him for a while.
"You keep building," she said softly, "but where will you stop?"
Levi didn't answer.
Because he didn't know yet.
Outside, a fog was rolling in. But behind Levi's new walls, a fire crackled steady and warm.
Tomorrow, someone else would arrive.
And the day after that, maybe another.
Soon, it wouldn't just be his project. It would be something people depended on.
He dipped his quill again and added a new line beneath "Routes Owned."
Merchant name - none yet but soon will be named after me Levi hallaw.