Kael stepped carefully over the twisted roots and broken stones, following Nysa as she led the way into the ruined house. The walls were low, half-buried by earth and overgrown with creeping vines, and the roof had long since collapsed in jagged splinters. Sunlight filtered through gaps, painting the floor in patches of gold and shadow.

  Ash padded silently beside them, sniffing at the cracks in the stone, alert to every sound.

  Nysa crouched near a partially intact wall, brushing away debris with a practiced hand. “Careful,” she warned. “The floor shifts, and loose stones hide gaps.”

  Kael nodded, eyes scanning the remains. Broken furniture, a crushed hearth, and small stone shelves hinted at the life that once existed here. His gaze fell on a narrow depression in the ground, lined with stone.

  “The cellar,” Nysa said softly, noticing him looking. “Not much, but still intact. Could hold something.”

  Kael leaned closer. The depression was dry and surprisingly sturdy, though empty. He ran a hand along the stone, imagining what it could become storage for tools, maybe something more permanent someday.

  As he turned to look at a pile of stones, something caught his eye: a small, sharpened flint chisel, worn but still usable, wedged between two rocks. He picked it up, testing the weight.

  “Look at this,” he said, holding it out. “It’s simple… but it’s good. I could...”

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  “Careful with it,” Nysa interrupted gently. “It’s sharp, and it’s fragile. Treat it right, it will last.”

  Kael grinned. He could already picture the possibilities: a proper bed, shelves, maybe even small furniture for the tower. All of it would take effort, but he liked the challenge.

  Near the chisel, partially hidden in a small recess, he found a mortar and pestle stone, rough but usable. Nysa picked it up, turning it in her hands.

  “Practical,” she said. “Grind herbs, roots, small grains… nothing fancy, but useful.”

  Kael’s mind raced. “We could actually start improving things back home. Better meals… maybe experiment with some of the seeds too.”

  Nysa’s eyes flicked toward a small, tattered pouch tucked in the corner. She handed it to him carefully. Inside were a few dried seeds, cracked but viable. “Not much, but enough to try.”

  Kael’s excitement grew. It wasn’t treasure, it wasn’t magical, but it was real progress. Every small step mattered.

  The floor groaned beneath their weight as they moved deeper. A pile of stones shifted, scattering dust into the sunlight. Kael jumped back instinctively, glancing at Nysa. She smiled, not teasing, just approving. “See? A little caution goes a long way.”

  They spent the next hour examining what remained. Marks on the walls suggested someone had counted or measured something, though its purpose was long forgotten. Burnt patches near the hearth hinted at hurried meals or hurried departures.

  “Someone left quickly,” Nysa said quietly. “They meant to come back, but they never did.”

  Kael nodded, looking around the ruined space. The tools, seeds, and cellar were small, but they meant something. A spark of possibility. A hint that even forgotten places could still give life.

  As they prepared to leave, Kael glanced back at the chisel and mortar in his pack. He imagined the work ahead: shaping stone, making furniture, preparing food. Nothing would be easy, but each step would bring the tower closer to home.

  And for the first time in a long while, the ruins didn’t feel empty. They felt like potential.