The starship cut through a cold, clear sky as it approached Maplewood, where snow dusted the rooftops and frost glittered on the bare branches of maple trees. Below, a gristmill stood beside a frozen creek—its wooden blades motionless, its windows fogged, and a line of villagers with burlap sacks of grain waiting patiently outside, their breath fogging in the air.
Lin Che landed in a snow-dusted field near the mill, and a man with a thick beard and a fur-lined coat hurried over. His boots crunched through the snow, and he carried a sack of grain slung over his shoulder. "You're the travelers from Elder Gao," he said, his voice hearty but tired. "I'm Ben—run the gristmill with my wife, Lila. The mill's stone stopped turning three weeks ago. We ground grain for the whole village—without it, no one can make bread for winter. The stores are almost empty."
Xiao Ya knelt beside the frozen creek, pressing her hand to the ice. Her fingers glowed green, and a thin layer of ice melted away, revealing flowing water beneath. "The creek's not fully frozen—just the surface," she said, looking up. "But the mill's stone is stuck because the gears are rusted shut. The cold made the metal contract, and moisture turned to rust. The plants by the mill say the gears haven't been oiled in months."
Mo Ying slung her toolbox over her shoulder, already heading for the mill's door. "First, we'll take apart the gear system—soak the rusted parts in oil. Ben, you got any machine oil? And a wrench—something strong to loosen the bolts."
Ben nodded, hurrying into the mill. "Lila keeps oil in the storage room. And my pa's old wrench—heavy enough to loosen anything."
Su Qing flipped open her Arcane Manual, scanning a page on metal preservation. "Once the gears are free, I can carve runes into them—they'll keep the metal from rusting, even in the cold. That way, the mill won't get stuck again this winter."
Lin Che grabbed a shovel from the starship's storage, brushing snow off the mill's foundation. "Let's get started. The sooner the mill runs, the sooner the villagers get their bread."
Inside the mill, the air smelled of dust and old grain. The large stone grinder sat in the center, its gears frozen in place, and sacks of grain were piled in the corner, waiting to be ground. Ben handed Mo Ying a can of thick oil and a rusted wrench, while Lila— a woman with braided hair and a flour-dusted apron—brought out mugs of hot tea.
"Thank you for coming," Lila said, handing a mug to Xiao Ya. "We thought we'd have to trade our tools for bread this winter—now, maybe we won't."
Mo Ying poured oil over the rusted gears, letting it soak into the metal. "Give it ten minutes," she said to Lin Che. "Then we'll use the wrench to loosen the bolts. Xiao Ya, can you have the plants clear the snow around the mill's water wheel? We'll need the creek's current to turn it once the gears are free."
Xiao Ya nodded, stepping outside. She walked to the water wheel, her hands glowing green, and soon, small green shoots pushed up through the snow, wrapping around the wheel's spokes and brushing away the frost. The surface of the creek melted further, and water began to flow more freely, lapping at the wheel's base.
Back inside, Mo Ying and Lin Che gripped the wrench, pulling with all their strength. The rusted bolt creaked, then snapped loose, and the gear slowly began to turn. One by one, they loosened the other bolts, oiling each gear as they went, until the entire system spun smoothly.
Su Qing knelt beside the gears, carving runes into the metal with a small knife. Each rune glowed soft green, sinking into the metal and warding off rust. "That's it," she said, standing up. "The gears will stay free, even if the temperature drops."
Ben walked to the mill's lever, taking a deep breath. "Let's test it," he said. He pulled the lever, and the water wheel outside began to turn—slow at first, then faster—powering the stone grinder. The sound of stone grinding grain filled the air, and the villagers outside cheered, holding up their sacks.
Lila laughed, wiping away a tear. "It's working. Thank you—all of you."
That afternoon, the mill ran nonstop. Ben and Lila ground grain for every villager, while Lin Che and the others helped carry sacks to cottages. The village square smelled of fresh bread by evening—women baked loaves in their ovens, and children gathered outside, waiting for a warm slice.
Ben and Lila hosted a feast in their cottage, where they served bowls of hot vegetable soup and slices of crusty bread. The villagers brought jars of jam and honey, and the room was warm with chatter and laughter. Ben told stories of his pa, who'd taught him to run the mill, and how the mill had been in the family for three generations.
"We don't have much to give," Ben said, handing Lin Che a small cloth bag. "But this—this is our best flour. Ground fresh this afternoon. Make bread with it, and remember Maplewood."
Lin Che opened the bag—inside, the flour was fine and white, still warm from the mill. "Thank you. We will."
The next morning, they prepared to leave. The villagers walked them to the starship, waving and holding loaves of bread. Ben and Lila stood at the front, smiling, and Lila tossed a jar of honey to Xiao Ya—"For your bread!" she called.
As the starship lifted off, Lin Che looked out the window. Below, the gristmill's water wheel turned steadily, and the village square was busy with villagers carrying sacks of grain. The snow glistened in the sun, and the air smelled of fresh bread.
Inside the cabin, Xiao Ya held the jar of honey, while Su Qing flipped open Elder Gao's map. "Elder Gao has one more village marked," she said, pointing to a spot in the east. "Birch Grove. Their well pump is broken—they have to carry water from the creek, and it's freezing. We could help."
Mo Ying nodded, adjusting the starship's controls. "Well pumps? I've fixed a bellows, bridge, sawmill, roof, gristmill—pumps are easy. We've got this."
Lin Che looked at the dashboard, where the cloth bag of flour sat beside the journal, cedar bowl, apple butter, corn seeds, and iron key. Each item was a piece of a village—of people they'd helped, of hope they'd restored. The Star Marrow on his wrist glowed softly, warm and steady.
This was their journey: not grand battles, but small, vital gifts—flour for bread, a working mill, a warm home. It wasn't fame or glory, but it was real. It was kindness, shared.
"Birch Grove," he said. "Let's go."
The starship turned east, toward the rising sun. Snow fell outside, but inside, it was warm. Ahead, a new village waited. A new problem. A new chance to help.
And as always—they were ready.