Dawn found me moving from Sentinel Tower into the low, ragged streets of Moonbrook. Captain Alpert met me where the road thins and the town’s unrest smells of smoke and anger. He sent me to look closer, and so I did — into alleys where pamphlets flutter like small, red flags and into the mouths of questions the town wouldn’t answer for itself. I handed what I’d found to Alpert and felt the weight of another piece sliding into place; the captain’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Moonbrook felt smaller, more graspable.
Between questioning and watching, I picked up a steady, useful trade: Mining. There’s a kind of honesty to it — the clang of pick on stone, the feel of ore under my fingers — and I marked it today as something that might keep me fed when arrows are scarce. Best of all, a cheer rose in me when I felt that familiar rush: I reached level 15. I’m level 15 now, and it tasted like the clean wind off the coast and the promise of better shots to come.
The rally at the town center is due soon; I’ve accepted to attend and listen, and I’m still gathering bandanas as evidence for Alpert. The threads here are knotted tight, and I’m willing to sit in the crowd and wait for the moment the knot loosens so I can follow where it goes.