The settlement of Ashveil was nothing more than a crumbling fortress patched with wood and iron scraps, but compared to the wasteland, it was heaven.
Dozens of NPCs watched us with awe. Whispers followed:
"Bearers…"
"Fragments…"
"They'll save us."
The girl muttered under her breath, "They're treating us like gods."
The scarred man introduced himself as Garrik, Ashveil's captain. "Bearers are rare—each one carries a fragment of the sky itself. The beasts hunt you because of it. But we… we protect you."
My AI's voice disagreed, cold and sharp:
> [NPCs are unreliable. Their usefulness is limited to resources and information. Trust probability: 42%.]
I ignored it. Garrik's people were starving, their walls crumbling, yet they offered us food and shelter. These weren't just NPCs—they were survivors.
For the first time, I wondered if saving this world might mean more than just surviving it.