The settlent had gone quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brought peace—but the kind that crawled beneath the skin. The kind that made people stop breathing just to hear sothing other than silence.
Walls still stood, so barely. Shutters hung loose. A few broken signs rocked in the wind, useless now. Ash stepped into the open square. What was once a marketplace had turned into a graveyard.
The people gathered in a tight knot, no more than a few dozen. So leaned on each other. Others just stared at the ground. No one spoke.
Ash scanned their faces. The sparkle was gone. What was left was tired. Hollow. Burned out. They weren't looking for answers. They just wanted it to stop.
He spotted a woman off to the side. She held a small bundle to her chest, arms curled around it like a shield. Her eyes were shut. Her lips moved, whispering sothing too soft to hear. The baby squird, small and fragile, untouched by what had happened but surrounded by it all the sa.
Ash looked away.
He turned toward the edge of the group.
Mark stood there. His back was straight, but barely. He leaned against a broken pillar, his staff resting beside him. Deep lines cut across his face. His eyes didn't drift. They held sharp focus—tired, yes—but unbroken.
Max's voice broke the stillness.
"Old man."
Mark looked up. The sharpness in his gaze didn't waver, but sothing in his face shifted.
"You're back."
Max didn't slow. His shoulders stayed squared, but Ash could see it—he was running low.
"We need to talk, Mark. About what happens next."
Mark didn't answer at once. His eyes drifted to the people behind Max. He watched them for a mont. The way they stood. The way they clung to one another.
He stepped forward, boots scraping the sand and ash beneath him. The staff clicked against stone.
"Talk?"
he said, voice dry and rough.
"About what, exactly?"
Max's gaze softened, but his resolve didn't waver.
"About what we do now. How we get out of here."
Mark stood still. The wind stirred the edge of his worn cloak. He looked at the people—not with hope, but with weight behind his eyes. He took a breath.
"There's sothing I need to ask."
Max didn't answer right away. His gaze locked on the survivors again—bodies bent, arms around each other, nothing left but skin and dust. He stayed quiet.
"What is it?"
Mark's voice didn't waver.
"You said help was coming. Was that true?"
Max's hand twitched. His feet shifted like the words had struck sothing deep. His jaw tightened. The answer ca low, almost swallowed.
"Yeah... but not here."
Mark's lips pulled into the ghost of a smile. It wasn't joy. It was sothing older—resignation that ca from knowing how the world worked.
"Of course not. Nothing's ever that easy."
His eyes swept over what was left—crushed walls, burned roofs, the dead silence that followed loss.
"I've lived in Sandworm Valley for twenty-two years. I know how this place works."
Max nodded, barely.
Mark kept going, slower now.
"So tell ... do you think we can make it out?"
Max finally looked up. His eyes traced over the crowd. Cuts, bruises, burned skin, clinging to what little they had left. No gear. No rest. Just people still standing.
He took a breath and let it out through his teeth. Then a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"I won't lie. It's not going to be easy. But I know we can."
Mark didn't blink. His face didn't shift. For a long mont, the old man just watched him, like he was reading sothing buried deep.
Then his gaze moved again—to the people, the fires, the horizon. The darkness above didn't speak of peace. It felt heavier now. Like sothing else waited out there.
"You and your brothers fought that worm, Not once. Twice. That's sothing none of us could've done."
His voice dropped low, solid as stone.
"Staying here? It's a death sentence. Whether it's today or next week, this settlent will fall. Sooner or later."
He stepped forward. One slow step. The sound of his boots hitting stone echoed between the broken walls.
"So, Max. Do you have a plan?"
Max stood firm, voice steady, but it hit like a blade.
"We're getting out of here. But if we're gonna survive, we need everyone working together."
His eyes moved over the shattered buildings, the scattered tools, the quiet ruin left behind.
"Tell them to take only what matters—supplies, tools, anything we can use. If it slows them down, they leave it."
Mark's mouth tightened.
"Wait... you're saying—"
Max didn't let him finish.
"Yes. We're moving the entire settlent."
The words sank deep. Around them, fire crackled. Wind hissed through broken walls. No one spoke. Even the breath of the valley seed to hold.
Mark lowered his voice, stepping in close.
"Do you even realize what you're saying? This isn't just a small group sneaking out in the dead of night. Moving this many people through Sandworm Valley is suicide."
Max's stare didn't waver.
"Staying is worse."
A dry wind passed between them, stirring the ashes. Sowhere, sand shifted—slow, heavy, alive. The valley wasn't sleeping. It was waiting.
Max crossed his arms.
"The worm is the key. This place exists because of it. If we move it, we move everything with it."
Mark's brows drew in.
"And where exactly do you plan on taking it?"
Max didn't blink.
"To the end of Sandworm Valley."
Mark let out a sharp breath. His head shook.
"You're out of your damn mind. You want to drag a Tier 6 worm across the valley? That thing could wake up at any mont and wipe us out."
Max smirked.
"Not if we keep it under control."
Mark held the look, searching his face like he could spot the cracks.
"With what?"
Max reached into his pouch, fingers closing around a thin vial. He held it up. Inside, a black shadowy liquid.
"Maxveil," he said.
Mark stared at it.
"Never heard of it."
Max turned the vial between his fingers. The substance inside shifted, dark and slow like ink in water.
"Because I just made it. You've been feeding the worm Nightveil Drought for years. It adapted. Built resistance."
His smirk returned, sharper now.
"But Maxveil... it's stronger. It'll knock it out long enough for us to move."
Mark's eyes flicked from the vial to Max.
"How long does its effect last?"
Max's smirk dropped. His tone turned flat.
"A day. Maybe less."
Neither moved. The fire beside them hissed and cracked. Sowhere behind, a baby let out a faint cry, swallowed quick by the quiet.
Then Mark turned, shoulders set, voice low.
"I'll get them ready."
Max gave one slow nod.
"Good. We don't have much ti."
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