Days run faster here. The sun rises and sets in what feels like half the time I'm used to, and before I know it, weeks blur into months. As a man who can easily adapt anywhere, I easily adapt to the change in my life. There's no clock here to mark the hours, no calendar to track the days—so I count by the phases of the two moons that hang in the night sky, by the cycles of the fish in the stream, by how many times I've had to mend the nets on my fishery.
Counting on my fingers, it's been 160 days since I woke up here. Honestly, I've tasted all kinds of fish in the stream—silver-scaled runners that leap high out of the water, fat brown-bottom feeders that taste like butter when grilled, even small striped ones that are perfect for drying and storing. I also scout the surrounding lands every few days: the forest yields more than just wood and fruit—there are medicinal herbs that heal cuts and fevers, wild game that moves cautiously through the undergrowth, and clearings where the soil is rich enough to plant crops.
I can say in the past 160 days I'm safe and healthier than ever. Maybe because the change of pace helped me forget the stressful life in my real world—endless meetings, bills piling up, the constant noise of traffic and crowds that never seemed to stop. Here, the only sounds are the stream's gurgle, the wind in the trees, and the crackle of my fire at night. The glowing stone on my wrist has become a comfort now, pulsing gently when I'm working, growing bright when I'm near something important or dangerous.
But looking ahead, my settlement is still weak. I only have one fishery and one home—which is just a sturdy wooden cabin I built after the fishery was done, with a thatched roof and a small garden plot out back where I grow root vegetables and herbs. If I want to grow this place into something that can truly last, I need more settlers to help me. When I first arrived, I thought I might be the only human here—for the first three moons, I didn't see another soul, only the wild creatures that called these lands home.
Thankfully, after a few more days of scouting the roads I'd seen in the stone's light, I spotted them: 8 adults and 4 kids, all mixed with travellers—ordinary people, merchants, even a blacksmith and a healer who'd been on their way to trade when the fighting broke out. They say they are refugees seeking settlement after fleeing away from growing wars in two major empires—the Iron Dominion to the north and the Golden Confederacy to the east. Their caravans had been attacked, their supplies stolen, and they'd been wandering for weeks with no place to go.
I've always been a lonely and kind person, so I opened my arms and received them to my settlement without hesitation. I showed them the best spots to build—near the stream but high enough to avoid floods, close to the forest for wood but far enough to stay safe from whatever lived in its deeper parts. I shared my food, taught them how to fish in the stream, and helped them find materials for their homes.
So in a few more days' time, my settlement has now 9 houses in total including my own. That makes my total settlers 12 plus me—13 people in all, with 9 available adults that could work. We gathered in the open space between our homes one evening, as the larger moon rose full and bright, and we named our place "New Haven." The blacksmith, a burly man named Torvin, offered to build us tools and weapons if we could find iron ore in the hills. The healer, a quiet woman called Marina, started tending to our small gardens and gathering more medicinal plants from the forest. The merchants began planning how to clear a proper road to the next valley, hoping to trade with any other settlements they might find.
But as we celebrated our new community with roasted fish and wild berries, I noticed the stone on my wrist glowing brighter than ever before. I stepped away from the fire and looked toward the mountains in the distance—and there, against the darkening sky, I saw columns of smoke rising from the hills to the north. The wars the refugees had fled were moving closer. We had a home now, we had people to protect, and I knew that building New Haven would require more than just farming and fishing. It would require us to be ready to fight for the life we'd built together.
Torvin came up beside me, following my gaze. "We saw that too," he said, handing me a rough-hewn axe he'd made that afternoon. "Won't be long before someone comes looking for new land to take, or new people to conscript. You gave us a home, stranger. Now it's time we helped you defend it."
I gripped the axe in my hand, feeling its weight and balance. The days of working alone were over. Looking ahead, our quest to build a home had evolved into something bigger—something that would test every skill I had, and every ounce of courage my new community could muster.