The crew passed through the gates and finally entered the settlement.

  Harlan squared his shoulders and let out a long breath—for the first time since the expedition began. His back suddenly ached; for a month in the Wildlands, the pain had felt like part of his body, yet five minutes ago he hadn't felt it at all.

  At least he was back. He hadn't struck it rich, but he was alive. And that meant not everything was lost.

  Onlookers near the tavern noticed their return. At first, there was a muted murmur:

  “Look at that—they’re back…”

  “Find anything?”

  “Well? How was the haul?”

  “Bring back any shiny stones, or empty again, Garret?” someone shouted. It was one of the old-timers—a dark-skinned, bearded man named Bob. “Missed the payout again? Ha-ha…”

  Garret didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard. He stopped, lifted his eyes, and smiled like a predator.

  “Listen, Bob. I’ve known you almost forever. I’ve just had a bad run. But you—you’re a loser for a living. So at least I’m on vacation. You live in this.”

  The crowd burst into snickers. Bob flushed, muttered something muffled, and turned away.

  But the jeering quickly returned to the same tune:

  “Eleventh failure, Garret! Time to quit!”

  “You’ll drag the lads into the grave with you!”

  Garret walked on without looking back.

  “Don’t mind them,” Harlan said quietly.

  “Don’t worry about me, kid,” Garret replied hoarsely. “Live in this swamp long enough, you become part of the jokes. Come on—I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

  Ignoring the gawkers, they went deeper into the settlement, toward rows of small, identical houses.

  Along the way they passed several clusters of armed men in the same unfamiliar uniforms—black cloaks, heavy leather jackets trimmed with fur, plates of black alloy sewn on the outside, strange weapons on their belts that Harlan had never seen before.

  “Who are they?” Harlan finally asked, frowning.

  “Don’t know,” Garret grunted. “City mugs, though. Not locals. Probably some kind of ‘expedition.’ Or guards for someone important.”

  He spat.

  ?

  “Well, here we are. Come in,” Garret said, ushering Harlan into his house.

  “It’s tight in here,” Harlan said, looking around. “I won’t get in your way?”

  “Plenty of room for two. You’re not planning to dance in here, are you? Since you’re a freeloader, you’ll sleep on the floor. There’s a mattress behind the cabinet.”

  “Thanks. That works. As soon as we earn anything, I’ll move out.”

  “Ha. When we earn something, I’ll throw you out myself,” Garret said with a good-natured smirk.

  Garret made coffee and threw together a simple meal.

  “Help yourself.”

  Harlan eyed the drink suspiciously, then took a sip.

  After eating, they got to work on the gear.

  “Garret, I like your discipline. I’d probably have put it all off till tomorrow and crashed.”

  “No, kid. It’s not a habit—it’s rules written in blood. In the Wildlands you always stay ready. This time we ran into one croc, and in daylight. Imagine ten of them at night, and you can’t even find your revolver.”

  He sighed and went on:

  “Speaking of revolvers. Need to teach you to shoot. And get you a gun.”

  “Thank you,” Harlan said. He smirked.

  They worked until evening—sorting, washing, retying, tightening knots. Then they washed clothes with bare hands and hung them to dry.

  Finally, Garret let Harlan rest. He unrolled the mattress and fell asleep fully dressed, instantly and deeply.

  “Would you look at that,” the commander muttered with a snort.

  ?

  Harlan slept nearly until the next evening. And would have slept longer, but:

  “Get up,” Garret shook his shoulder. No reaction.

  Garret laughed.

  “Up! Monsters everywhere!” he shouted in Harlan’s ear.

  Harlan shot upright like he’d been stung.

  “What—where—”

  Realizing he'd been played, he grumbled in annoyance. "Come on, Garret."

  “Not my fault you're impossible to wake. Remind me of my son—sometimes only gunfire in the air could wake him.” Garret waved it off. “Anyway, get dressed. We’re going for ale and food. A return needs celebrating.”

  Reluctantly, Harlan got ready and followed him. The prospect of spending his already limited money didn't thrill him, but he didn't want to break from the group. In the mines, loners never lasted long.

  “Will the others come?” he asked.

  “Not today. Thorren and Mark are busy. I didn’t even ask Kel—he’s wounded. Let him recover. Good thing his wife didn’t shoot us when we carried him home. She already hates life here.”

  “Well, the weather doesn’t help,” Harlan said.

  Talking like that, they reached the tavern. The Last Resort was packed, but Garret still found a small table for two.

  Noise, laughter, the smell of roasted meat and cheap ale—it was all the same as the first time Harlan had been here. Except the people weren’t quite the same.

  Harlan noticed several new faces right away. They stood out. Even their walk was different—confident, unhurried. And the obvious part: expensive clothes, hands without calluses.

  “Look at them,” Garret nodded toward the outsiders. “Now you see what the fuss is about. Some kind of scientific expedition from an academy. Same story as always—officially studying flora and fauna. Ha. When people in pricey clothes come to stare at bushes, they’re after something else. Maybe a big crystal vein. Or maybe a way to make the Field obey their commands.”

  He sighed.

  “But as long as they don’t get in our way—I don’t care.”

  Among them, Harlan noticed a young woman. About twenty. Long blond hair braided neatly, blue eyes, and a figure he tried not to stare at, smooth lines not even hidden by the practical, plain clothes typical of scholars. She looked around with open curiosity, people included.

  When she caught Harlan’s gaze, she simply walked straight over to him.

  Harlan tensed and straightened, already preparing for the inevitable *What are you staring at?* But the conversation went a different way.

  “Hi,” she said warmly. “You’re new, right?”

  “Not exactly,” Harlan replied. “Just got back from my first expedition.”

  “Oh. And how was it?”

  “Uh…” Harlan hesitated. “Best summary would be: cold and scary. But I’m alive.”

  She smiled. For a moment she glanced at her companions, then turned back to him.

  “I’m Elis,” she said. “A student at the Academy of the Field. We’re on field practice—studying how crystals affect local biota and the Field itself.”

  “Harlan,” he nodded. “Prospector now.”

  “So you’re hunting crystals?”

  “Like everyone here. Except you, I guess.”

  “And magic? Can you use it?”

  “No,” Harlan admitted. “Never studied.”

  “I see,” Elis nodded. “It’s not easy. I only have the basics myself—some telekinesis, water control, and scientific detection methods.”

  “Wow,” Harlan said. “In the last few weeks I’ve met more mages than in my whole life. And you use several kinds of magic.”

  She smiled modestly. “It’s still nothing. You should see what the professors can do at the Academy. That’s another level.”

  She rolled her eyes dreamily.

  “So what are you studying?” Harlan asked.

  “Lots of things. On this expedition—mostly unstudied northern plants and animals. The goal is to capture a couple of new specimens.” She leaned closer, eyes bright. “By the way—have you seen the bush by the west gate? It moves. The leaves reach toward people, like it’s sniffing.”

  “Seriously?” Harlan frowned. “Thorren said plants bite out here… Guess I wasn’t wrong to keep my distance.”

  “You really thought a plant would bite you?” Elis laughed.

  “Well… Thorren said—” Harlan reddened.

  “That’s an old prospector prank on newcomers. Though some plants really do bite. Just not around here.”

  “Damn it. I’ll get him for that,” Harlan said, throwing up his hands.

  “Don’t worry. Everyone messes with newcomers,” she smiled. “When I first came here, someone told me the snow in the Wildlands was poisonous and had to be boiled and distilled. And I—an educated Academy student—boiled my water twice for two weeks, until my supervisor explained.”

  Harlan burst out laughing. Elis joined him.

  “And why do you need so many hired guns?” Harlan asked, remembering what he’d seen earlier.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “That’s…” She hesitated, choosing her words. “Part of the expedition. Security. Details aren’t disclosed. Academy secrets.”

  “Fair enough,” Harlan said. Still, he noted to himself: she was clearly holding something back. “When do you leave?”

  “The day after tomorrow, once we gather the stragglers. We’re heading farther north. It’ll be colder than here.”

  “We leave the day after tomorrow too. Same general direction. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”

  “Maybe,” she smiled.

  Someone waved to Elis. She waved back and stood.

  “Sorry—I should go. I’ve left them too long. Good luck, Harlan. You’re funny. I’d like to see you again.”

  “So would I. Take care.”

  Elis returned to her group. Harlan watched her go.

  “Like her?” Garret returned with mugs of ale.

  Harlan hadn’t even noticed him leave.

  “She’s interesting,” Harlan admitted.

  “Oh, kid,” Garret grinned. “Different worlds. Better forget it. In the Wildlands, romance lasts until the first monster—or the first profit.”

  “I’d like to believe it won’t come to that.”

  Garret took a drink, then shifted topics abruptly.

  “If Kel’s back on his feet—and it looks like the injury’s minor—we head out the day after tomorrow. Otherwise we’ll need a replacement next expedition.”

  “Couldn’t we manage with four?” Harlan asked.

  “If four was enough, I wouldn’t have taken you,” Garret replied. “Five to seven is practical. Easier with night watches, rotating the sleds. And more guns.”

  “Got it. Hope Kel recovers.”

  That evening, the usually quiet Garret again spent a long time instructing Harlan on one thing or another. Harlan listened carefully, occasionally glancing at the city folk.

  When Elis and her group left the tavern, she waved to Harlan in a friendly way. He waved back.

  *Still interesting,* he thought.

  “You listening?” the prospector’s voice snapped him out of it.

  “Sorry. Say that again.”

  ?

  The next day, Harlan and Elis crossed paths again—this time at the well. Almost by accident.

  In truth, Elis had gone there even though she had enough water. She just…wanted to see him again. It felt oddly childish.

  *Get a grip, Elis. You’re an Academy mage, not a girl,* she scolded herself.

  Then she saw Harlan—right by the well. Her heart jumped, and she walked over.

  Harlan had just drawn water and turned sharply. They nearly bumped foreheads.

  “Oh—sorry,” she said. “I should’ve called out.”

  “No, that’s on me,” he replied. “Bad habit—ambushing on the turn.”

  “So you usually hunt in plain sight?” Elis shot back, laughing.

  Her laughter was light and clean. Harlan smiled.

  “Garret sent me. We’re making coffee. Ever tried it?”

  “Of course. I prefer herbal teas, though. That Garret—is he the one with all the failed expeditions?”

  “That’s him. Though it’s not quite true. We did find something—just not much. Surprised you’ve heard.”

  "We spend so much time on expeditions we're almost locals. I know plenty of people here."

  “Makes sense. So—what are you doing today? Coming to the tavern?” Harlan asked.

  “Oh no,” she said, flustered, cheeks faintly pink. “We leave early tomorrow.”

  “Right. My mistake. Maybe we could walk a bit this evening? You could help me plan revenge on Thorren,” Harlan smiled.

  “That I can do. Half an hour.”

  They agreed on a time and place and went their separate ways.

  Elis looked away, cheeks warming. *Is this a date?*

  ?

  That evening, when the sun dipped behind the mountains, they met again.

  “Hi,” Harlan said softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She turned, saw him, and smiled.

  “You know,” she said, gazing up at the sky, “back home they look different. Duller.”

  “Maybe the sky’s cleaner here,” he said. “Or maybe you just look longer.”

  Elis laughed quietly.

  “Maybe.”

  They stood in silence, listening to the wind.

  “Let’s take a loop.”

  She hopped forward playfully. Harlan followed. They walked slow circles through Snownorth.

  “You know,” Elis said suddenly, “I remembered Thorren.”

  “Huh?” Harlan turned.

  “You wanted revenge for the biting plants. Or did you change your mind?” She smiled slyly, making a mock curtsy.

  “No, I still do. Just a prank, of course,” Harlan said.

  “Then I have an idea.”

  Elis leaned closer, lowering her voice as if someone might overhear.

  “Ever heard of Mountain Vine Root?”

  “No,” Harlan frowned.

  “It’s a Wildlands plant. Rare. We studied it in second year.” She dropped to a whisper. “There’s a theory that if a mage eats it on an empty stomach, it boosts concentration when connecting to the Field. Briefly, but noticeably.”

  “And does it?”

  “No,” Elis snorted. “Complete nonsense. Debunked twenty years ago. But old-timers still believe it. Especially those who studied long ago—or never studied at all.”

  Harlan began to see it.

  “And Thorren—”

  “Thorren has definitely heard of it,” Elis nodded. “Self-taught mage types love omens and folk methods.”

  “Alright. But where’s the revenge?”

  Elis smiled wider.

  “Bite into Mountain Vine Root, and it reeks like rotten eggs. Tastes like…imagine chewing an old boot soaked in swamp water. And it doesn’t smell until you bite it.”

  Harlan burst out laughing.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely,” Elis nodded. “I tested it myself. Nearly threw up. But the professor said: ‘Well done, Elis. You’ve empirically proven the theory doesn’t work. No one can eat enough.’”

  “And you want Thorren to eat it?” Harlan asked.

  “Not me,” Elis said innocently. “You. Tell him you talked to an Academy student who recommended a special concentration method.”

  “And if he doesn’t believe me?”

  “He will,” Elis said confidently. “Be serious. Say the student studied under Professor Karren—he’s a Wildlands flora specialist. The name’s known. Thorren will swallow it.”

  Harlan shook his head.

  “You’re cruel.”

  “Oh no, this was your revenge idea,” she squinted at him.

  Harlan thought, then grinned.

  “Where do I get the root?”

  Elis reached into her pocket and produced a small dried root—gray-brown, twisted like old rope.

  “Here. I kept a sample from practice. You soak it in hot water and eat it on an empty stomach. Tell Thorren the more he eats, the stronger the effect.”

  Harlan took it. Dry, it smelled like any ordinary root—just earth.

  “It’s safe, right?”

  “Completely,” Elis assured him. “Just disgusting. He’ll spit and rinse his mouth for two hours. That’s all.”

  “Alright,” Harlan said. “But if he kills me, you’ll have to visit my grave for the rest of your life.”

  Elis laughed.

  “Deal. I’ll bring flowers and tell everyone you died heroically—killed by Mountain Vine Root.”

  “Hey!” Harlan protested. “That’s not heroic.”

  “Exactly why it’s funny,” she smiled. Then, quieter: “Still…don’t die, okay? I’d actually be sad.”

  Harlan looked at her. The smile lingered, but her eyes were serious.

  “I’ll try,” he nodded.

  They laughed.

  Harlan pocketed the root. Something told him Elis was a dangerous girl. That was probably why he liked her.

  The scientific expedition was leaving the next morning. They both knew it. Elis had to go at dawn. Harlan walked her to her temporary lodging—the only thing he could do.

  “Bye. See you,” Elis said. “Take care.”

  “You too,” Harlan smiled. “Thanks for the root. Next time I’ll tell you how it went.”

  She smiled, turned to leave, then stopped.

  “Harlan,” she said seriously. “If something happens…don’t do anything stupid, okay? Money isn’t worth a life.”

  He wanted to say something clever. Instead, he just nodded.

  Before leaving, Elis stepped closer, rose on her toes, and lightly kissed his cheek—then slipped playfully into the dark.

  Harlan stood there, palm pressed to his cheek. His heart beat faster than usual.

  “Damn,” he breathed.