CHAPTER 18: CH 18: SHELTER - PART 3

The days that followed settled into rhythm.

From dawn until dusk, Lucian pushed Berry hard at work. The house came first.

He directed Berry with minimal words, pointing, gesturing, sometimes demonstrating once before stepping aside.

Berry supplied the strength, Lucian the precision. They stacked beams, cut planks, and fastened supports until the skeleton of a house stood where there had once been only stumps.

When the work on the frame slowed, Lucian turned Berry back to the farm. He forced the man into long hours of clearing, planting, and hauling, never allowing him to idle.

The field grew orderly rows of sprouting greens, the soil turning darker and richer under Lucian’s direction.

Each night, Berry collapsed into sleep with sore arms and aching legs.

Lucian, on the other hand, sat awake longer. Watching. Calculating. Observing the way Berry never complained too loudly, how he never balked at the work—even when it nearly broke him.

By the end of several days, Lucian had his answer. Berry could be trusted—at least for now.

It was on the morning of the sixth day that Lucian finally spoke the words.

"You’re coming with me."

Berry, already halfway through chopping a plank, froze mid-swing. He blinked at Lucian, unsure he’d heard right.

"Outside?"

Lucian only gave a curt nod. His sharp eyes flicked over Berry’s hesitation, then away again.

"I need another pair of hands."

Berry felt a flicker of curiosity stir in his chest. He’d learned quickly, however, that questions rarely brought answers. Lucian disliked wasting words.

More than once, Berry’s attempts at idle conversation had been met with sharp glares or cold silence. Sometimes, Lucian didn’t even bother acknowledging him at all.

So Berry swallowed the dozens of questions buzzing in his mind and only nodded.

"Understood."

Lucian adjusted the simple cloak over his shoulders and started walking. Berry hurried to catch up, gripping his worn gloves tighter.

Their trek led them across a barren stretch of frozen ground until a strange sight came into view: a sprawling junkyard.

Mountains of twisted metal and discarded machinery stretched into the distance. Snow clung to rusted frameworks, and the air smelled faintly of oil and smoke.

Berry slowed, his eyes darting between the piles of wreckage. The place wasn’t abandoned. People in thick protective suits moved in and out, carrying crates, dragging carts.

Their masks glinted in the pale light, faceless and strange.

"What is this place?"

Berry finally asked, unable to help himself.

Lucian’s voice was low but steady.

"A treasure trove."

Berry turned toward him.

Lucian’s gaze swept the yard, calculating.

"This is where I find parts for the furnace. Scrap, gears, metals. Things that keep us alive. And things I don’t want others noticing me take."

He paused, then added flatly,

Berry’s mouth went dry.

Lucian turned to face him directly.

"Listen carefully. You stay outside. You don’t follow me. You don’t get caught. If I hand you something, you take it and keep it hidden. That’s all you need to do."

Berry hesitated only a second before nodding quickly.

"I understand."

Lucian’s sharp eyes lingered on him, searching for doubt. Finding none, he gave a short nod and moved forward, silent as a shadow.

The junkyard swallowed Lucian whole. Berry watched him vanish between piles of metal, his dark figure slipping deeper until he was gone entirely.

The suited workers trudged past, oblivious, their muffled footsteps crunching on snow.

Berry’s fingers twitched nervously at his sides. His heart pounded in his chest.

’Treasure trove, he said. Furnace parts. But why risk this?’

Minutes crawled by. Then movement—Lucian emerged, burdened. In his hands were fragments of machinery, a tangled mess of gears and plates.

He looked strained, his body taut with effort.

Berry’s eyes widened. Lucian was carrying more than he should have been able to. His muscles trembled under the weight, but his steps remained steady.

For the first time, Berry saw faint traces of something else in his movements—an unnatural strength, the kind that came not from raw muscle but from power.

Lucian stumbled once but corrected himself, setting the load down in front of Berry with a grunt.

He straightened slowly, his chest rising sharply with each breath. Sweat gleamed at his temples despite the cold.

"Carry it."

Lucian ordered, his tone clipped.

Berry bent immediately, hefting the scrap onto his back. It was heavy, almost crushing, but his own ability surged faintly, lending him the strength to bear it.

Lucian stood still for a long moment, his body trembling faintly. His gaze was sharp, but his breathing betrayed exhaustion. He had forced himself too far.

Berry glanced at him, concern flickering in his eyes.

"You okay?"

Lucian ignored the question.

"It will be useful. I couldn’t carry it myself."

His tone was flat, but the admission lingered like ash on his tongue.

Berry nodded, adjusting his grip. They began the trek back together, the silence between them broken only by the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

It happened as they crossed a shallow dip in the ground.

Lucian’s step faltered. His foot struck something solid beneath the snow. He stumbled forward, cursing under his breath.

Berry froze. He shifted the load carefully onto the ground and crouched beside the spot. His gloved hands brushed away the snow, uncovering something pale.

At first, Berry thought it was stone. Then the shape of fingers emerged. An arm. A face half-buried beneath the frost.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Lucian... this—this is a person."

Lucian’s gaze sharpened instantly. He crouched beside Berry, his hands brushing the last of the snow aside.

A figure lay there, half-frozen, barely distinguishable from the ice that encased them.

The skin was waxy, the lips cracked, but the chest—faintly, imperceptibly—moved.

A breath. Weak, but there.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

Berry’s voice cracked with shock.

"Are they’re alive...?"

The silence stretched for a beat, cold and heavy. Lucian’s mind turned rapidly, weighing possibilities, calculations clicking into place.

Another variable. Another unknown.

And in this frozen wasteland, an unknown could mean salvation—or disaster.