By midday, the clearing rang with the sound of tools—not scavenged sticks and chipped stone blades, but proper cutting arcs, clean hammer strikes, and the occasional muttered curse from Mira when something didn't line up.
Toren worked quietly, following the system schematic with a kind of eerie precision. He didn't even need to look at it now—it floated in the edge of his vision like a second thought. Measurements lined up exactly. Material count updated with every strike.
Reinforced frame installed. Progress: 32%.
Mira noticed. "You've never built a thing in your life," she muttered. "And now you're doing corner brackets like a journeyman?"
"I read fast."
She snorted. "You don't read."
The walls went up faster than either expected. By early evening, they had a full shell—walls sealed, frame locked, moss packed into the joints. Mira stood back, hands on hips, eyes gleaming.
"It's ugly," she said. "But it might survive the next wind."
"That's practically love in your language."
"Shut up."
They both smiled.
The problem came next morning.
Food.
Toren stood beside the new shelter, blinking at the red icon floating above his vision.
Objective incomplete. Food threshold: unmet.
It wasn't enough to build roofs. People had to eat—consistently. And with three of the hydro bins dried out, and Wess's fish traps yielding nothing thanks to the storm, their reserves were down to scavenged roots and weird purple nuts Mira insisted were edible.
He didn't have the solar grid yet. Which meant no power. Which meant no proper hydroponics.
He chewed his lip, staring at the creek behind the far hut.
He could rig something. Maybe. If he could modify one of the old drums and use the remains of the siphon line…
He turned toward the junk pile.
An hour later, Mira found him elbow-deep in rust and mud, yelling at a broken filter pump.
"Are you starting a war with the plumbing?"
"I'm negotiating."
"With what?"
"Stubbornness and sheer will."
She crouched beside him, saw what he was trying to do, and without a word, started tightening the bolts on the frame. They didn't talk. Just worked.
By nightfall, the drum was trickling—barely, but enough. Enough to keep moss wet. Enough to let seedlings grow. Not food yet, but the start of it.
Food output rising. Estimated time to threshold: 48 hours.
Toren leaned back, fingers aching, sweat streaking down his face. Mira tossed him a flask of root tea. He caught it, raised it in mock salute.
"Kingdoms," he said, "are built from the mud."
"Yours is going to smell like swamp piss."
They drank anyway.
On the third morning, the icon turned green.
Objective Complete: STABILIZE THE FOUNDATIONS
Reward: Blueprint – Solar Grid Tier I
Kingdom Status: Level 1 Stable Settlement
A new window opened in the corner of Toren's vision.
The blueprint unfolded, clearer and larger than before. Not just the solar grid—but also installation notes, energy distribution options, weather adaptation protocols. It was beautiful. It was power.
Mira glanced at him mid-sentence and saw the look in his eyes.
"You just leveled up, didn't you?" she asked flatly.
Toren grinned. "You could say that."
She didn't press. Not yet.
But her eyes narrowed. Her expression turned calculating.
He could see it: she knew he was something new.
And for now, she was choosing not to say anything.
That was fine.
The system was online. The kingdom had begun.
And there was no going back.