Ashwick appeared in the early afternoon. The village was unchanged—the central square with its stone well, the handful of scattered houses, the scarcity of modern vehicles along the dirt roads. A few old mana-powered cars sat near the inn, but most of the village's infrastructure was simpler than the capital's.
The Tower of Ash dominated the eastern sky, its black spire a constant presence. Heat shimmers warped the air around its peak.
Marta saw them coming from her doorway. She set down the sack of potatoes she'd been hauling, wiped her hands on her apron, and planted them firmly on her hips. Her grey hair was pulled back in its usual practical bun. Her expression was a mix of surprise, relief, and admiration.
"Well, well. Look who's back."
Her voice was gruff, but there was unmistakable warmth beneath it.
