The settlement came into view a little past midday, and Vane needed a moment to understand why it felt stranger than anything they had crossed so far.
It looked ordinary.
The crooked trees still surrounded it. The same broken light fell across the roofs at angles that refused to agree. Yet the place itself was busy, practical, alive.
Stone houses stood in the same curved courses as the ruin they had sheltered in, whole now and roofed, smoke rising from several chimneys. People crossed between them carrying baskets, tools, split wood, water. Children ran through an open square, shouting over a game whose rules needed no translation. They chased, argued, reset, and started again with the shared grammar children seemed to invent everywhere.
Beyond the houses came a steady rhythm of hammering.
Strike. Pause. Turn.
Strike again.
Someone shaping metal with the same patient pace everyone here seemed to carry.
Once Vane looked past the life of the place, he noticed the markings.
