The first thing she heard was a soft, rhythmic whirring, a gentle, mechanical sigh that was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was the fan. Her fan. The one in her tent. Riley's eyes fluttered open, not to the harsh, sterile white of a dungeon or the bruised, bleeding sky of a dead city, but to the intricate, flowing silver patterns stitched into the canvas ceiling above her. She was lying on a cloud of impossible softness, the air cool and still against her skin. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
Then the memory crashed back in, a tidal wave of shrieking metal, roaring fire, and the gut-wrenching sensation of a world plummeting away beneath her.
Oh, right, she thought, a profound weariness settling deep in her bones. I passed out.
A part of her, the newly-minted, action-oriented part that had just ridden a giant monster bird to its doom, screamed at her to get up, to be productive, to check on the others. But another part, the ancient, slothful part that had perfected the art of hitting the snooze button nine times on a Tuesday morning, held her captive in the warm, comfortable embrace of the fur mattress. Urgh. What time was it? How long had she been a useless, unconscious lump?
It was just so profoundly, cosmically stupid. She, Riley Davis, a woman whose primary form of exercise for the last five years had been the frantic, two-handed typing of work reports, had jumped onto the back of a flying monster. A Grade-D regional boss monster. She let out a long, slow sigh, the sound muffled by a ridiculously fluffy pillow.
Why? Why in the ever-loving hell had she done that?
She didn't know. Not really.
Maybe it was the adrenaline, a pure, lizard-brain instinct for survival that had hijacked her common sense.
Or maybe, and this thought was a quiet, ugly little worm of inadequacy squirming in her gut, maybe it was because she had felt so utterly, hopelessly outclassed. Michael was the sword. Emma was the fist. Andy was the cannon. They were all growing, evolving, their power blooming with every fight. And she… she was the landlady. She had the best skills, the most potential, but in the heat of the moment, she had felt like a spectator at her own life-or-death struggle. So she had done something stupid. Something reckless.
Now, looking back on it from the safety of her magical tent, she knew she had been stupid to the point of clinical insanity.
Another quiet sigh escaped her lips, this one carrying the weight of a lifetime.
"Why can't you be more like your sister, Riley?"
"Have you ever actually tried your best?"
"You need to do better…"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the ghosts back into their closets. The unwanted highlight reel of her greatest failures, narrated by disappointed people in her past, was not helpful right now. Why was she even thinking about them? This was pointless. Riley brought her hands up and gently slapped her own cheeks, the soft thap-thap sound a small, defiant rhythm in the quiet tent.
She wasn't useless.
Hell, she was the damn landlady of this entire pocket of reality. She was the one who had built this sanctuary from nothing, the one who had figured out the golden rabbit's pattern, the one whose perfectly timed barrier had saved their asses more than once. If she was useless, then the word had lost all meaning.
Her eyes opened, and the world seemed a little sharper, a little clearer. Everyone was good at their own thing. She couldn't punch a hole through a monster's skull, and she couldn't swing a sword with the grace of a swordmaster. She shouldn't tie herself in knots trying to compete in an arena she wasn't built for, and then feel like crap about it. Michael was the sword. Emma was the fist. Andy was the cannon. And she… she was the foundation. She was the fortress.
Right. Maybe from now on, she should focus on what she did best: taking care of this zone. Building it. Expanding it. Making it a place worth fighting for.
With a new, solid sense of purpose, Riley pushed herself into a sitting position. And immediately noticed she was wearing a large, white shirt. The sleeves hung down past her elbows, the hem reaching her mid-thighs. It was soft, comfortable, and judging by the sheer size of it, it definitely belonged to Michael. Oh, God, she thought, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She really, really hoped it had been Emma who had changed her. Whatever.
She pulled up the
Just as she was about to step outside and greet the day, a familiar, melodic chime echoed in her mind.
[You have received the reward for slaying the
The air in the center of the tent shimmered, and a cardboard box materialized, hovering a few inches above the fur mattress. It wasn't the plain, utilitarian cardboard of the dungeon chests. This one had a subtle, glossy sheen to its surface, its edges crisp and perfect. It looked… expensive.
Riley's eyebrows shot up. She scrambled over, her previous lethargy completely forgotten, and tore it open with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning.
Inside, nestled on a bed of what looked like spun silver, lay a heavy cloth pouch. The moment her fingers brushed against it, it dissolved into a shower of pure, golden data that flowed into her.
[You have received 5000 Coins.]
Oh, wow. Five thousand. The number glowed in her mind, a beautiful, beautiful number. That was half of what she needed for the next level-up. Combined with what she already had, she was getting close. But she wasn't in a hurry. She was still fourteen members short of the requirement, so for now, she could invest in other things.
But the box wasn't empty. There were other items, and the sight of them, nestled side-by-side, made her pause, a strange, hard-to-describe feeling settling in her chest.
One was a seed. A real seed. It was about the size of her thumb, teardrop-shaped, with a hard, woody shell that was a deep, earthy brown. It felt warm to the touch, and seemed to pulse with a faint, gentle energy. And lying right next to it, as if to mock her initial observation, was a familiar, crystalline stone, cut with a thousand tiny facets, a
But there was something else. Tucked into a corner of the silver lining, almost an afterthought, was a small ring. It was made of some indeterminate silver metal, matte and unadorned, and looked profoundly ordinary. It was the kind of thing you might find at the bottom of a forgotten jewelry box, a simple band with no story to tell.
Riley, with the focused patience of a bomb disposal expert, decided to table the Skill Seed for a moment. First things first. Her gaze settled on the teardrop-shaped seed, a silent command forming in her mind. Appraise.
The familiar, crisp text bloomed in her vision, and she frowned.
[Item:
Grade: ...
Description: ...]
That was it. The name was intriguing, but the rest was a void, a series of taunting, unhelpful ellipses that offered no clues. A mystery. Riley hated mysteries. She was a woman who liked spreadsheets and clear, quantifiable data. This… this was a wild card, a variable she couldn't account for. With a small, frustrated sigh that ruffled her bangs, she stored it in the cool, timeless stasis of her
Her attention shifted to the simple, silver ring. Appraise.
This time, the result made her breath catch in her throat.
[Item:
Grade: S
Description: An item for those who seek hidden value. When activated, it causes all items of value within a certain radius of the wearer to emit a faint, shimmering light.]
Riley didn't hesitate for a single, solitary second. She snatched the ring from the box. It was small, delicate even, and when she tried it on, it slipped perfectly onto her pinky finger, a cool, snug fit. She held her hand up, admiring the simple silver band. It looked like nothing, but it was an S-Grade item, a piece of equipment on par with her game-breaking
A slow grin spread across her face. This was perfect. This was more than perfect. In a world where civilization had been reset to zero, everything had the potential to be valuable. A strange-looking rock could be a rare ore. A common-looking weed could be a life-saving medicinal herb. This ring wasn't just a treasure finder; it was a survival tool of the highest order. And when she thought about her
Right. Now for the main event. She retrieved the crystalline
To her profound surprise, a flicker of blue light at the edges of her vision confirmed that it had worked. She had half-expected an error message, a system notification telling her that an artifact of such power was beyond replication. But there it was, in a slot of her store's inventory: a perfect, glittering icon of a
Then she saw the price.
Riley sucked in a sharp, cold breath, a sound that was almost a gasp. The number glowed in her mind, stark and obscene. One million Coins. A million. She didn't even have ten thousand. The number was so astronomically, laughably large it felt less like a price tag and more like a cruel joke. But… it was possible. The fact that she could, theoretically, one day buy a new superpower was a revelation. Who knew? Maybe one day she'd be a Coin millionaire. With a small pout, she dismissed the store interface. For now, she had a perfectly good seed right here in her hand. Use.
The familiar flash of white light, the warm river of energy. And then the voice.
[You have awakened your B-Grade hidden skill:
Riley tilted her head. She pulled up the description, a flicker of detached curiosity in her eyes. It did exactly what the name implied. She could, at will, permanently change the color of any object she designated. Well, permanent until she decided to change it again, or until someone else managed to override her artistic vision. She felt… nothing. No surge of power, no thrill of discovery. Not even a flicker of disappointment. She had already made peace with the fact that the universe was determined to make her the ultimate support character. An attack skill? Yeah, that ship had sailed, sunk, and was probably now a coral reef at the bottom of a very deep ocean.
She liked to think of herself as an adaptable person, someone who didn't get too hung up on things she couldn't have. This new skill? It was fine. Playing painter sounded like a nice, low-stress hobby. She could probably find some fun in it.
Wait a minute. How about now?
Her gaze dropped to the clothes she was wearing, the simple shirt and trousers she had crafted from the goat fur. They were a soft, slightly boring greyish-white. As the thought formed, a shimmering, translucent color wheel, like a digital artist's tool, materialized in her vision. She mentally dragged her finger across it, a child with a new box of crayons. The greyish-white of her clothes flickered, then settled into a deep, pure black, a shade so absolute it seemed to drink the light.
She stood up, turning in a slow circle, inspecting the change. She even used
With a growing sense of playful excitement, she began to experiment. A chaotic splash of neon pink and electric blue, like a wild painting, appeared on her left sleeve. Then, on her chest, a perfect, silver-white full moon materialized against the black fabric, its surface subtly textured, its edges glowing with a faint, pearlescent sheen. This explained the B-Grade rating. It wasn't just a simple color swap. She could control the exact shade, the texture, the glossiness, even the luminescence of the color she applied. She could paint with light and shadow.
With a final flicker of thought, the shirt returned to its simple, elegant black.
Yeah, playing with colors was so, so fun. She loved it.
With her body and mind finally back on speaking terms, Riley took a deep, cleansing breath and stepped out of the tent.
The morning sun was a gentle, warm hand on her face, not yet at the peak of its oppressive strength. It was probably only around nine or ten o'clock. The moment she emerged, her eyes found the others, a small, bustling hub of life in their quiet, fortified corner of the world. Andy and Michael were standing by the stone table, deep in some quiet conversation. The moment they saw her, they stopped and began walking over, their expressions a mixture of relief and concern.
But they weren't as fast as Emma. The pink-haired brawler, with a small, giggling child perched on each hip, closed the distance in a few long, energetic strides.
"Hey, girlie! Glad to see you're finally awake," Emma said with a wide grin, giving Riley a friendly, gentle nudge with her shoulder. "You scared us shitless, you know."
Riley rolled her eyes, the gesture feeling blessedly normal. "Please tell me I didn't sleep for days."
Andy, who had reached them now, still had a shadow of worry in his eyes, but he managed a small smile. "No, you were only out for one night."
A wave of profound relief washed over Riley, and she gave a satisfied nod, glad she hadn't actually slept through three days and three nights or something equally dramatic. Her gaze swept over the small group, a quick, mental headcount. "Where's Luca?"
It was Michael who answered, his voice a calm, steady rumble. "He flew off towards the city for a bit."
Riley nodded again, a flicker of concern immediately squashed by logic. Now that the boss bird had been taken care of, the sky was probably much safer. And besides, the boy had a gun now. He'd be fine.
"Hey, girlie, there's something I want to show you," Emma said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She set the two small children down on the grass, where they immediately began to chase each other in happy, dizzying circles. She gestured for Riley to follow.
Emma led the way, her destination the neat row of ruby-red fruit bushes they had planted the day before. Before Riley's eyes was a scene of impossible, vibrant life. The bushes were a lush, healthy green, their leaves glossy and full, looking even more robust than when they had first found them by the river. And on every single branch, hanging in heavy, perfect clusters, were dozens of plump, ruby-red orbs, their skin taut and gleaming in the morning sun. A sweet, pleasant fragrance drifted from them on the gentle breeze.
"We definitely picked every single fruit off these things when we brought them back," Emma said, her arms crossed as she stared at the bounty. "But now… yeah, I don't think this is normal. The bushes we left by the river don't look like this."
Riley narrowed her eyes. She stepped forward, her fingers brushing against a particularly large fruit before plucking it from the branch. She brought it to her lips and took a bite. The crisp snap of the skin was followed by a burst of intense, honeyed sweetness that was undeniably richer and more delicious than she remembered.
"This is quite strange," Riley said, her mind already turning over the possibilities. "We'll need to observe this more."
Andy, Emma, and the two children began to happily harvest the fresh crop, leaving Riley to her thoughts. She walked back to the stone table and sat down, a pensive frown on her face. Well, it seemed pretty obvious that this was related to the Safe Zone. Was the soil inside her territory simply more fertile? It was the only explanation that made any sense. She wasn't sure, but it didn't seem like a bad thing. Those bushes looked incredibly healthy, didn't they?
Michael sat down in the seat opposite her, his presence a silent, solid weight. "What kind of magic are you going to do today?" he asked, his voice a bit teasing.
Riley shrugged, a small smile touching her lips.
"Maybe I'll make some clothes for everyone."
Michael's eyebrow arched in a silent question. "Should I bring back a few more goats?"
"This time, I'm going to try rabbit fur." Riley shook her head.
And having said it, she immediately got to work. Thankfully, her
She focused on the fur. It was even lighter and softer than the goat fur, a perfect material for sleepwear… and underwear.
Yes… underwear. It was the third day, and she figured it was high time to address the delicate but pressing issue of undergarments. Even as she privately acknowledged her own lazy tendencies in her former life, Riley was deeply, unshakably committed to personal hygiene. The thought of having only one set of underwear to wear, a single, sad piece of fabric that had to be washed and re-worn every single day… it was a grim, uncomfortable prospect. Plus, for a woman, there were those days that were quite inconvenient.
Well, she had stored all of her own clothes in her Gamer's Bag, but that was just her. The others weren't so lucky. Aside from Michael, who had packed a backpack that probably contained a few changes of clothes, like that white shirt… ehem, the others had arrived with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Riley could only imagine how inconvenient that must be.
So, she began.
A few items appeared in her hands with a soft shimmer of light. Well, she was making her own first, since she knew her own size perfectly. They were two sets of simple, comfortable women's sleepwear, consisting of a thin camisole and a pair of shorts. Next came a few pairs of panties and a simple, comfortable bra.
Riley looked at the default greyish color and wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction. A moment later, they all shifted to a clean, simple white. She could always change the color later, but for now, white was fine. She glanced over at Michael, who had pointedly turned his gaze to the distant horizon, clearly aware of what she was holding.
Is it really that bad? Riley sighed internally. "Relax," she said out loud, her voice laced with a faint note of exasperation. "It's just sleepwear and underwear."
Michael turned to look at her, a single, unreadable eyebrow arched on his forehead.
Riley just shook her head. A moment later, another set of neatly folded clothes appeared in her hands. This time they were larger, the cut clearly masculine. "What color do you want?" she asked.
Michael looked at her, then at the clothes, his expression unreadable. "Black is fine."
Riley nodded, and the pile of white fabric in her hands instantly shifted to a deep, absolute black. She held them out to him. "Try them on. If they're too tight or too loose, I can make you another set."
Michael took them, his large, calloused hands a contrast to the impossibly soft fabric. He picked up a pair of black boxer briefs, then a pair of shorts, a complex, unreadable expression on his face. "I think they will fit," he said, his voice a low rumble.
As Michael retreated to his tent with the new clothes, Riley assumed he was simply putting them away. The thought was fleeting, immediately replaced by the next item on her mental to-do list. She turned, cupping a hand to her mouth, and called out to the others who were still happily harvesting the ever-bountiful Sweetwater Orbs.
The process that followed was a chaotic symphony of guesstimates and artistic license. Asking for sizes was a comedy of errors, Emma's idea of "medium" was clearly different from a sane person's, and Andy just mumbled something about "whatever fits." Riley found herself squinting, her head tilting as she tried to translate their vague descriptions into actual, functional garments. It was a tedious, frustrating puzzle, but seeing the bright, astonished smiles on their faces as she handed them the first finished pieces was a reward that far outweighed the trouble. A warm, unfamiliar feeling bloomed in her chest, a quiet pride in her craft that had nothing to do with dungeons or monsters.
Each of them received the same generous allotment: two full sets of the impossibly soft rabbit-fur sleepwear, and enough underwear to last a full week without needing to do laundry every single day. Luca's size was close to Andy's, just a bit taller and leaner, so Riley crafted his share as well, handing the neatly folded pile to Andy to hold onto for his return.
Emma looked like she had just won the lottery. She held up a simple white camisole, her expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Her satisfaction only deepened when Riley produced two miniature sets for Mia and Leo. The pink-haired woman let out a whoop of pure joy, scooping up the two small children in a single, fluid motion. "Right, you two grubby little monsters!" she boomed, her voice echoing with cheerful authority. "Time for a bath and a change into your fancy new pajamas!" The announcement earned a chorus of happy shrieks from the children, and the three of them disappeared into the outhouse, their laughter a bright, happy sound in the quiet afternoon.
Well, good that she likes kids so much, Riley thought with a mental shrug. She felt a certain detached fondness for the two little ones, but the deep, instinctual well of maternal affection Emma seemed to possess was a foreign country to her. She couldn't care that much. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Now, with the pressing matters of sleepwear and underwear sorted, her attention shifted to the more practical problem of everyday clothes. The only remaining material she was curious about was the rabbit hide. It was thin, supple, and a far cry from the tough, durable goat hide. She experimented, crafting a simple, long-sleeved shirt. The finished product wasn't bad. It was thicker than the fur, offering more protection, but wasn't so heavy that it felt stifling. Still, as she ran her fingers over the slightly coarse texture, a frown of dissatisfaction creased her brow. It felt… weird, not how a shirt should be.
With a small sigh, she decided against it. A familiar frustration began to bubble up, a low-grade annoyance at the limitations of her new world. She had fur and hide in abundance, but what she really needed, what she craved for proper everyday and combat gear, was something else. A plant-based fiber, maybe, something like cotton. And metal. She needed metal. Any kind would do, but iron, or something even stronger, would be a dream come true.
Well, sitting inside the Safe Zone and wishing for it wasn't going to make it magically appear.
Riley stood up, a new resolve hardening her features. It was time to go exploring. She stepped out of the heavy wooden gate, the warm sun a welcome hand on her face. She touched the simple silver ring on her right pinky finger, activating its power. Nothing happened. The grass was just grass, the dirt was just dirt, and the small, scattered pebbles were just pebbles. A flicker of disappointment was quickly squashed. Of course it wasn't that easy.
She began to walk towards the river, a familiar path now. She knew the ring was working, because the clusters of Sweetwater Orb bushes along the riverbank began to pulse with a soft, shimmering light, a beacon of value she had already identified. It was helpful, but it wasn't what she was looking for.
She followed the gentle curve of the river, her eyes scanning the ground. A few things began to glow. A single, unassuming blade of grass shimmered with a pale green light. She plucked it, and a quick check with
Then she saw them. Beneath the crystal-clear surface of the water, a school of the sleek, silver-bodied fish Andy had caught yesterday were glowing with a soft, pearlescent light. She remembered the boy's disappointed sigh earlier, complaining that the fish had spoiled in the heat because they didn't have a refrigerator.
Then, she saw it. Tucked amongst the smooth, multi-colored pebbles at the water's edge, a single, solitary rock was glowing with a steady, insistent white light.
Her eyebrow arched in a slow, curious motion. She crouched, her fingers closing around the stone. It was heavy, far heavier than its size suggested. She held it in her palm. Appraise. The text that bloomed in her vision made her breath catch in her throat. It was
She immediately used
Riley's mouth fell open. She didn't know what to say. Could you really just… find metal ore lying on a riverbank?
With a frantic, giddy excitement, she pulled up the store interface and scanned the small piece of white metal. It appeared in an empty slot instantly, a new, purchasable commodity. And the price? Two Coins for a single piece.
Well, that's cheap, she thought, the system's wacky, nonsensical pricing scale once again making a mockery of all known economic principles. But she didn't care. She didn't have to think about it.
Now, with metal, she could finally do something. With a new, fierce sense of purpose, she turned and hurried back to the Safe Zone.
Back inside the Safe Zone, Riley didn't waste a single moment. She strode to the stone table with the air of a scientist about to make a breakthrough, her mind already buzzing with a thousand new possibilities. With a series of swift, decisive mental commands, she purchased a hefty pile of the milky-white copper chunks from her store, the small mountain of metal appearing on the table with a soft, satisfying thud. Now, the real work could begin.
She knew exactly what she needed to make. The endless parade of battles and near-death experiences had made one thing brutally, painfully clear: their current attire, a hodgepodge of salvaged civilian clothes and soft fur shirts, was woefully inadequate. They needed armor. Or, at the very least, something tougher than a t-shirt.
Her mind dove into her
She held it up, inspecting it with a critical eye. It was better than she had expected. The goat hide had been transformed into a supple but sturdy leather, the cut modern and practical. But it was the details that truly made it shine. A series of small, perfectly formed white copper buckles ran down the front, and a smooth, functional zipper, also crafted from the milky-white metal, was set into the collar. It was a piece of high-quality, modern outerwear, conjured from a dead goat and a handful of magic rocks. The only problem was the color. The natural greyish-white of the hide was… fine, but it lacked a certain something. She tilted her head, a familiar color wheel blooming in her vision. With a mental flick of her wrist, the jacket transformed, its body becoming a deep, absolute black, while the trim along the collar and cuffs shifted to a stark, clean white. Now that was stylish.
She stood up, shrugging the jacket on. The fit was perfect, the leather surprisingly light and breathable, not the stiff, cumbersome armor she had imagined. It was comfortable, but it felt solid, a tangible layer of protection between her and the world.
"Hey, nice jacket!"
Emma's voice, bright and cheerful, cut through her silent admiration. The pink-haired woman had stuck her head out of their shared tent, a wide, appreciative grin on her face.
Riley arched an eyebrow, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She gave Emma a little wave. The brawler didn't need any further encouragement. She emerged from the tent, stretching like a contented cat, and ambled over. By the time she reached the table, Riley had already crafted a second jacket, identical in style and color, but scaled up to Emma's more formidable proportions.
"Whoa," Emma breathed, taking the garment from Riley's outstretched hands. She slipped it on, the black leather hugging her broad shoulders. She did a little spin, her pink hair fanning out around her. "This is so cool! Is this really made from goat hide?"
Riley just nodded, her attention already back on the task at hand. Another jacket materialized, this one smaller, sized for Andy. Emma, still admiring her reflection in an imaginary mirror, let out a low whistle. "Girlie," she said, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "don't tell me you're not just the Goddess of the Bidet, but the Goddess of Tailoring, too?"
Riley rolled her eyes, a gesture that was quickly becoming her signature move. She didn't say a word, simply continuing her work, a silent, efficient factory of post-apocalyptic fashion. In truth, the goat hide she'd had on hand wasn't nearly enough to outfit the entire group. But that was the beauty of her store. She had scanned the raw hide earlier, and now she had an endless, if slightly expensive, supply. She could have sent Michael and Emma out to hunt more goats, but honestly? The price wasn't that bad, and this was just faster.
One by one, the jackets appeared. A size for Michael, one for Luca, and two miniature versions for Mia and Leo, their tiny black-and-white jackets making them look like a pair of adorable, pint-sized bikers.
Next, she moved on to footwear. The process was the same, a blur of thought and shimmering light. A pair of sturdy, ankle-high boots materialized on the table. They were crafted from the same tough goat leather, with thick rubber-like soles and a series of white copper eyelets for the laces. Riley inspected them, then, with a flicker of thought, changed their color to a matching black, while the metal eyelets and buckles shifted to a brilliant, shining gold. Since she only knew her own size and Emma was standing right there, a convenient, real-time mannequin, she crafted two pairs first. The others would have to wait their turn.
Emma let out another whoop of delight, snatching the boots from the table. She sat down, kicked off her worn-out running shoes, and pulled them on. She stood up, stomping her feet a few times, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. "These are amazing!" she declared, taking a few experimental steps. "Super comfortable. I feel like I could kick a hole through a mountain in these."
Riley was just about to move on to the next project, her mind already buzzing with ideas for belts and gloves, when Emma suddenly stopped, her head tilted back, her eyes fixed on the sky.
"Hey," she said, her voice losing its boisterous energy. She pointed a finger upwards. "Look."
Riley's head snapped up. Far in the distance, a single white speck was growing larger, a familiar silhouette against the vast, impossibly blue canvas. It was Luca. And he was flying like his wings were on fire.
The expression on Luca's face as he landed was a crumpled, desperate thing, a mask of exhaustion and panic that spoke volumes before a single word had left his lips. He stumbled, his magnificent white wings dissolving into a cascade of fading light a half-second before his knees buckled. Riley, who had been calmly inspecting her handiwork on Emma's new boots, knew with a cold, sinking certainty that this wasn't a social call. This was the arrival of bad news.
Which, of course, turned out to be true.
"So," Emma asked, her voice a low, serious rumble that was a universe away from her usual cheerful booming. They were all gathered around the stone table, a grim committee under the bright, uncaring sun. Luca had just finished his frantic, breathless report, the words tumbling out of him like rocks in a landslide. "The girl's father is still alive. And he's in the city?"
Luca nodded, a long, weary sigh escaping his chest. His gaze drifted towards the tent where Mia and Leo's happy, oblivious shrieks could be heard as they played some imaginary game. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, the weight of what he knew pressing down on him, making him look older than his seventeen years.
Riley said nothing. She stood a little ways off, one hip cocked, her arms crossed over her chest. She listened to every word, her expression a careful, neutral mask, her sea-blue eyes holding a cool, detached light that seemed to lack a crucial component of human emotion.
Apparently, the boy with wings, in a fit of noble, selfless heroism, had flown back to the city. To scout. To see if he could help. God bless his bleeding heart. He was such a gentle, caring, and kind boy, the sort of person Riley had absolutely no desire to be. Kindness, in her experience, was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. But, whatever. It wasn't as if she expected them to maintain a permanent population of just five people forever. Growth was inevitable.
According to Luca, the situation in the city was a chaotic, multi-layered disaster. Some people had indeed managed to escape. With the big, bad bird no longer acting as an airborne gatekeeper, punching through the remaining hordes of ground-level monsters was, for a determined few, manageable.
The ones who remained were either the weak, who had no hope of breaking through the siege, or the strong, who had enough supplies and firepower to carve out their own small kingdoms amidst the ruins. As they'd heard before, several powerful gangs and organizations, comprised almost entirely of players, had seized control of the largest, most defensible buildings. And because they were players, they were stronger, faster, and more ruthless than the average survivor. They had managed to push back the tide of zombies and monsters, not completely, but enough to create heavily fortified safe zones. Their strength also meant they could loot the surrounding ruins with a brutal efficiency that the common person could only dream of. Riley wasn't sure how long their stockpiles would last, but she had to admit, there was a certain grim admiration to be felt. Humanity, even when backed into a corner, would always find a way to organize, to dominate, to build walls and hoard resources.
But for those who weren't players? What happened to them?
The answer was as predictable as it was grim. They hid. They cowered in the shattered husks of smaller buildings, praying for a rescue that would likely never come.
According to Luca, however, a large group of them had gotten lucky. They had stumbled into the protection of a few players who actually possessed a conscience, players who seemed to believe that playing superhero in the new world was a perfectly reasonable career path. God bless them, too. These saints, these paragons of post-apocalyptic virtue, had managed to fortify a smaller office building, using the rubble and wrecked cars to create a makeshift wall that was just good enough to keep the zombies out. The occasional monkey still managed to climb over, but that, Luca said, wasn't the real problem.
The real problem was that a handful of good-hearted players was no match for the organized, ruthless gangs that now controlled the city's resources. Every scavenging run was a desperate, dangerous gamble where they were hopelessly outmatched. The other player groups, naturally, had no interest in sharing their hard-won supplies or taking on the burden of hundreds of hungry mouths. Common sense, after all.
So, with their food supplies dwindling to nothing, their situation was rapidly becoming critical.
Oh, and the leader of this noble, starving band of heroes? That was Mia's father. A player with a good heart. Riley tuned out the finer, more sentimental details of Luca's story. Something about getting separated in the chaos, thinking he had lost his daughter forever, the crushing grief, the tearful reunion that had yet to happen, yada yada yada. It was the kind of human-interest story that would have made for good television in the old world, but here, it was just another data point, another variable in a complex and annoying equation.
"We need to help them," Luca said, his voice cracking with a desperate, pleading urgency. Beside him, Andy nodded so vigorously his head looked like it was about to fly off his shoulders.
The three adults said nothing.
A heavy, complicated silence fell over them, a silence that was more telling than any words could be. Even Emma, the boisterous, open-hearted brawler who seemed to have a boundless well of compassion, was strangely quiet. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't making a joke. A thoughtful frown creased her brow, her gaze distant as she weighed the impossible calculus of the situation.
"It's..."
Before Emma could even finish the sentence, Riley cut in. "Andy, Luca, I think this is the time I tell you both something."
She stood up straight, her arms folding across her chest. Her expression was calm, her chin tilted just a fraction higher as she looked at the two boys. Why was Riley taking the initiative? Well, because this safe zone, this impossible island of peace, was hers. By any metric, she was the one who should have the highest authority, the one who could, and should, make the final decision. After everything that had happened in the last few days, Riley felt with a bone-deep certainty that the only thing she could truly count on was this goddamn safe zone of hers. And she would, very much, like to remind the others that she was the one with the ultimate authority, at least within the boundaries of this territory.
Want to bring other people back to this place? Obviously, she was the only one who could make that call.
"I do want to get people to come to this place," she said, her voice even and flat. "And by people, I mean people who are useful."
"This might sound heartless," she continued, her sea-blue eyes holding a cool, detached light, "but this zone is mine. And I absolutely will not play hero or play god. I will not arbitrarily shelter anyone and then act like it's my duty... because it's not."
Riley's gaze swept over the small group, her voice soft but carrying the undeniable weight of a ruler, a quality that surprised even herself. "This zone doesn't run on fresh air."
She looked back at the two boys. "I need people who can contribute, not dead weight that I have to serve."
"Let's just say, the two of you bring those people back. What happens then? You'll take care of them? Worry about them? Hunt to feed them every single day and protect them when danger comes? Right, you can do that, but for how long?"
"This is a new world," she said, her voice a little sharper now, a blade of pure pragmatism. "With monsters that can kill people, and countless things we still don't know about. I don't think any of us have the luxury of becoming saviors."
Her gaze settled on Andy. "Andy, think back to how we first met."
"You're standing here today because you chose to step up and contribute something. You should expect others to do the same."
Andy bit his lip, unable to find the words, because, God knew, she was right.
Emma and Michael stood in silence, watching her. They said nothing, but their eyes held a clear, unwavering agreement with every word she had spoken.
And Riley? Well, playing coldhearted was something she never thought she'd do, but here she was. And frankly, she didn't fucking feel like she was wrong.
She looked at Luca, who was sniffling, and felt a small flicker of relief that the boy seemed to understand.
She softened her tone, just a fraction. "Of course," she said, "if they are willing to help in return, I will gladly welcome them to this place."
"I'll prepare some food, Luca. You'll go back and bring it to them. And then you'll tell them exactly what I just said. Also, tell that person that his daughter is here. I believe he won't hesitate to come."
"Tell the others that we can help them leave the city, but everything after that is entirely their choice. That is the only thing we can do."
Luca nodded, sniffling again. "I understand," he said, his voice thick but firm. "I'll do it."
Emma let out a long sigh and stepped forward, slinging an arm around the boy's shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. "This world has changed a lot, kiddo," she said, her voice soft. "We can only do what's within our power."
Riley tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear and turned, heading for the kitchen. She would prepare some of the rabbit meat for Luca to take with him.
Michael followed her, leaning against the wooden wall of the kitchen as she began to work. "I didn't expect you to be so firm," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Riley let out a sigh, her voice losing a little of its sharp edge, sounding almost weary. "I wasn't lying," she said. "This place doesn't run on faith and good vibes."
Michael nodded. "And I believe you."
Riley turned, arching an eyebrow at him. "Even when I'm acting like a cranky overlord?"
A corner of Michael's mouth quirked upwards in a slow smirk. "As long as this place works and benefits me," he said, "I don't mind."
A small, genuine smile touched Riley's lips. She shook her head, and the last of the tangled mess in her heart, the guilt from having to act so cold, finally unraveled and blew away.
That was right. This was a new world. And she would not use her kindness indiscriminately.
Hopefully, those people would make the right choice.