itch.io

Starting Durability: 6

3 Tools, 3 Mementos

Legacy: Electronics Repair

I’m older now. Can’t quite remember exactly how old, or how long I’ve been out here in the ice. But I do remember that even before all this started, I felt the cold in my joints, in my toes and fingers. And that was normal cold, the kind that goes away. Not like this, a cold that cuts like a knife and leaves the icy blade inside you, sucking the life from you. But I’ve got to keep going, got to find other people, people I can teach, people willing to learn.

See, I’m an electrical engineer. Not power lines or generators, wouldn’t that be nice? No, I specialize in repairing electronics. Not fancy glass slabs never meant to be re-opened after they’re made. Simpler things. A radio, a television, a calculator. Or the control board on an electric radiator. God I’d kill for a radiator, and a place to plug it in.

I figure there’s no schools left, not much of anything left. But maybe one day there will be a thaw, and there will be a need for people like me. I’m hoping to find people I can teach. There’s the math, of course, Ohm’s Law and whatnot, but there’s the physical part too, how to solder nice and tidy, how to properly set a transistor so small you can barely see it. And then there’s the art. Finding three broken things and scavenging the parts so that you have one working thing. I’d teach if I could but, what few people I’ve met, they don’t want to learn. 

Turn 1

Complication 2 (flickering, shadowed, unveiling)

Intensity 2 (two, some, haunted)

Encounter 5 (Reflection)

*a twinning, unveiling reflection…*

Bag ripped and dumped one of my older journals in the snow today. Like an idiot I picked it up, tucked it under my arm while I sorted the rest of my stuff out. Well, even now, my body still produces some heat. By the time I realized what I’d done it was too late, filthy melted slush had gotten into the pages, made the ink run, made the graphite smear. 

Thing is, I don’t remember the last time I even read that old journal. I didn’t start writing these when it all began. I started writing when I realized that this might be it, and there may not be any going back. By then I’d lost the year and the month, let alone the day. But still this one’s real old, tiny little book I found, written in shorthand. 

Here’s what I found on the first page: “I’m older now.” Then it’s all smudged, but I can make out some phrases: “in my toes and fingers”, “God I’d kill”, “people like me”, “m’s Law and”. But that’s just what I wrote in my last entry, in this book, on the page just next to the page I’m writing on now. What’s going on here? I know I repeat myself sometimes but an entire entry, word for word. How much later? Months? Years? Worried I might finally be losing it. 

Turn 2

Complication 5 (vague, lingering, hollow)

Intensity 6 (none, nothing, powerful)

Encounter 2 (Memory Recall)

3 Tools, 4 Mementos

*a powerful, lingering memory…*

When I first saw it I thought it was just the pale sun catching a bit of ice. Too bright for what passes for day, though, too pink. When I got closer I found it, a flower. I got real excited, I was ready to drop everything to protect it, keep it safe. But when I got down on my knees, then on my belly, I got a better look at it.

Plastic. A spring camellia. I know because we used to buy them in plastic for my mom’s headstone. I dug around in the snow and gravel trying to find another flower, or a headstone, but I didn’t find anything else. I guess I should feel sad but honestly it makes me feel good to remember that there was a time when we remembered the people who had gone, and spent what money we had on something it make their resting places look a little nicer. 

We do that for ourselves, of course, not the dead. It reminds us we’re still alive and we still remember.

Turn 3

Complication 5 (vague, lingering, hollow)

Intensity 2 (two, some, haunted) 

Encounter 1 (Terrain)

Terrain 1 (Refuge)

4 Tools, 4 Mementos

*a lingering, haunted refuge…*

Found an old gas station today. Good thing, too, because the wind’s been so intense I was sure I was going to finally lose my nose, even with my face covered. 

What I really wanted to find was a bit of paper, a regional map, just something with an address on it. I want to know where I am. But the place was picked bare. Anything paper’s been burned for heat or light ages ago, except for these little journals I found. I was gonna write when I found em, but I don’t remember. Early on, I know that much. Little books, like those pocket Bibles they’d give you as a kid, except mine are blank, except for where I’ve been writing.

Didn’t find anything to tell me where I am, but I did find a can of cat food wedged deep under a shelf. I managed to knock it loose with the other thing I found, a long-handled screwdriver. It’s got a non-conductive handle, too, so I know it belonged to someone like me, once upon a time.

Wanted to sleep in there, in the closet, protected from the wind. But it wasn’t safe. As soon as I shut myself in I heard the voices start. Could have told myself it was just the wind, and my lonely mind trying to find people where there aren’t any. Or that some other people had come by to scavenge.

But I know better. Those voices don’t speak in any language that people do. I opened the door and ran like hell, didn’t look anywhere but straight down.

Turn 4 

Complication 4 (ashen, broken, bitter)

Intensity 1 (one, low, dissonant)

Encounter 1 (terrain)

Terrain 2 (Vantage)

*an ashen, dissonant vantage…*

Cruise ship today. I know I’m not anywhere near the ocean because I can see rock and rubble emerging from the ice. 

It was on its side, the top decks facing towards me. They must have burned hot, because it’s all girders and hull now, hollowed out. How long ago did it burn? There’s still ash blowing off of it. But there’s no heat, it’s cold as… well, you know.

Took most of the day hiking over to it, see what I could find. But the fires made all the metal oxidize real bad. If I had a cutting torch and a belt sander maybe I could salvage some metal but I don’t. So it’s just a big skeleton of a wreck, and it doesn’t belong here. Best to keep moving.

Turn 5

Complication 4 (ashen, broken, bitter)

Intensity 3 (a small amount, several, large)

Encounter 5 (Reflection)

Reflection Clue

Durability 5 (first durability check)

Mementos: 3 (spending one to clarify my reflection)

*a bitter, but significant reflection…*

Looked through some old journals again. The sun’s been kind, recently, because it keeps coming back up when it should. It doesn’t always do that.

I don’t know what to make of this. I’ll copy it down so that I don’t forget, even if I lose the old journals. Here’s what I wrote:

”Even if all the geothermal vents are dead, there’s still got to be caves somewhere. Go deep underground and the temperature becomes constant. I just have to find them. I think if I keep heading southwest, I’ll be on the right track. All I need is to find the highway and keep going, eventually I’ll find a billboard, or even a piece of a billboard. They used to advertise those caves three states over.”

I don’t remember writing that. I don’t even remember what caves I was writing about. For a minute I started thinking I found someone else’s journal and grabbed it up with my own but that’s my handwriting. I don’t remember any caves. But I feel like I can almost remember a time when I remembered them. Whatever that means.

Turn 6

Complication 5 (vague, lingering, hollow)

Intensity 5 (many, intense, delicate)

Encounter 6 (Contact)

Contact 2 (Uncanny form)

Contact Bonus (6)

Parlay: 5+5+6+5=21

4 Mementos, 5 Tools

*lingering and delicate, uncanny forms*

At first I thought they were dead, tied to posts. I’ve seen that before. People do that to scare away other people, and worse things than people. So I laid down right below the ridge line and just watched for a while. And then I realized they were moving. Not just the wind.

Always a risk to come up alone on a big group like that, but if a group has survived this long, it means they have resources and skills, and they don’t just turn on one another when things get bad. It’s the loners and small groups you have to watch out for.

The sun was unusually intense that day. I was snowblind, squinting through dirty goggles and splayed fingers. I thought they were people.

Maybe they were, once.

I didn’t understand how they could be in tattered rags and not freeze to death. It wasn’t until I got real close that I could see they were too skinny to be people. It was like someone had put long flowing robes on poles. But they were walking, shuffling in unison, like they were keeping the beat to a drum I couldn’t hear.

I was close to them, real close, when I realized. I’d come down the hill where they could see me, so they would know I wasn’t trying to ambush them. So when I caught the first glimpse of those long bony hands with too many fingers, I was too close to run away.

But they didn’t attack, they just kept watching. I think a few of those hooded heads turned to look at me, but they were all just billowing, gossamer tatters, so I don’t know for sure.

I decided to push my luck. What did I have to lose? I started asking about caves, if they knew of any caves. I was desperate, scared. I was clutching my old journal, going on about billboards and caves and leaking capacitors. 

One of them raised an arm. An arm so long it must have dragged on the ground when it walked, and it was tall, taller than me. It pointed - not the way I was going but about sixty degrees off from what I thought might be south. 

And so I went where they pointed. What else could I do?

When I looked back they were gone - just rags on the wind. I caught one as it wafted by. Just so I know this was real.

Turn 7

Complication 6 (looming, imminent, lean)

Intensity 1 (one, low, dissonant)

Encounter 1 (terrain)

Terrain 4 (Manifestations)

Durability 4 (-1 from Manifestations)

3 Mementos (-1 from the terrain)

*a looming, dissonant manifestation…*

Maybe they were pointing me to my death. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone this way.

The sun set - no, that’ s not right. The sun went away, like it does, now. It was up there and then it was not. When my eyes got used to the dark, there were lights up in the sky. Not stars. Too close, too low.

I didn’t like that so I started to turn around. But they were behind me, too. I was surrounded. But I was too exposed to just hide. So I kept moving forward.

I think once when I was younger I took a walk in a city when it was snowing real hard. I don’t remember which city. Did I live there? Go to school there? I don’t know. 

It was like I was walking by lit windows in heavy snow. Buildings maybe three or four blocks away.

 But it was ash, not snow. And I could see the light of windows, but there were no buildings. I could see the low, empty terrain spreading out in directions. 

If a person can be a ghost, can a building?

It was when I started seeing figures in the windows that I started running.

When it finally stopped, I pulled that rag out of my pocket and threw it to the wind. Let it find its way back to the rest.

Turn 8

Complication 5 (vague, lingering, hollow)

Intensity 4 (large, significant, sprawling)

Encounter 3 (Resources)

*hollow resources, significant and sprawling*

Found a field of propane tanks. Rusted but not too bad. Thing is, they were all empty. I wasted the day checking each one. I got a propane lantern and a stove, not that I have anything to cook. All canned goods for me, until I get lucky and find an animal that just recently froze to death.  

So I’m tapping on tanks, lifting them up, cracking them open for a quick sniff. Nothing. All empty. I wonder how they got here. I guess someone was hauling them and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, or they had to ditch them so they could get away quickly.

No tracks that I can see. But tracks don’t linger out here. Nothing does.

Turn 9

Complication 4 (ashen, broken, bitter)

Intensity 3 (a small amount, several, large)

Encounter 6 (Contact)

Contact 1 (Furtive glimpse)

Contact bonus: 2

Flight: 4+3+2+6=15 Victory

Durability 4 (minus 1 from failing the check, plus 1 from the victory)

*A furtive glimpse of something large, broken and bitter*

I’m in what’s left of a forest now. The cold has made the trees crack and split a long time ago. No leaves or pine needles left. I can’t even tell what kind of trees they were, they’re so sun-bleached and stripped by the wind and the ice, covered in ash. 

I wanted to see if I could gather any wood to burn, when I heard it. It’s so rare to hear anything out here other than the wind, the creaking of dead branches. My thoughts get so loud that when I actually hear something real I miss it, think I might just have imagined it. And I do imagine things.

Not this time. Sound of cracking trunks and rock and ice being torn up something heavy dragging along the ground. I thought it might have been a bear, but how could a bear live, here?

Whatever it was, out there in the dark, it was massive, and its legs didn’t all work. It was dragging itself along, pushing with one limb and pulling with the other. A big head was swinging back and forth. I could hear it snorting, wheezing. Wet and thick. It was looking and sniffing for something. For me.

And the smell. Sickly sweet. I’d heard that phrase in books as a kid and I never really understood it until I smelled it. You know it when you smell it. When something’s been dead or dying, it’s sickly sweet.

I ran.

Turn 10

Complication 6 (looming, imminent, lean)

Intensity 2 (two, some, haunted)

Encounter 3 (Resource)

*imminent resources, looming, and a choice…*

Saw a dead person, slumped up against the foundation of a burned house. At first I thought they had collapsed against the foundation, leaning against it for whatever meager shelter it could provide, only to finally die from the cold. It’s been getting even colder, somehow.

But when I got closer, I saw the way their head hung to the side, the way their right knee was bent wrong. The rusty stain against the old concrete. Something had hurled them against that wall.

Their pack was right there. I didn’t see or hear a thing. But who’s to say that they heard or saw what killed them? A person would have taken their stuff, the backpack alone was invaluable. An animal would have torn it apart looking for food. And it would have eaten them, besides.

I was thinking about all of this when I decided to slink away. I didn’t run because I didn’t want to mak noise, and I wanted to save my energy for if and when it found me. Maybe I missed out. Maybe I’m a coward. But I’m alive and writing this.

Turn 11

Complication 6 (looming, imminent, lean)

Intensity 4 (a large amount, significant, sprawling)

Encounter 6 (Contact)

Contact 5 (Lingering Trace)

*A lingering trace, looming and significant*

Found the remains of a battle today. Looks like one group attacked the other, they fought it out. There’s bits of a broken wooden sled around.

Way I figure it is, the sled broke. Lashings finally gave out. First group’s trying to deal with that, trying to fix it, or redistribute the gear that was on it. Maybe tempers were short and they were arguing.

Second group hears them, gets the drop on them while they’re distracted. 

Some people must have survived, because they stripped the dead of their clothes and gear.

Then they butchered them for their meat. It is what it is.

There was the smoldering remains of a fire. They’d burned some of the sled for fuel. I guess they ate what they could while it was fresh.

There wasn’t much gear left for me to take. I did find a little book, though, clutched in a hand. Not much meat in hands, so they’d left it.  about the size of one of those pocket bibles they’d give to you as a kid. I opened it to the first page. “I’m older now. Can’t quite remember exactly how old”, that’s how it started. It sounded familiar. Maybe it’s a quote from a book I read, back before all this. I put it in my bag with the others.

Back into the ice fields, now.

Turn 12 (Final Expedition)

The Journey (5)

+2 (Reflection clue and Contact clue)

Final Durability Check: 5 (+2 for clues)

Found a billboard, tipped and hanging low. I had to climb under it to read it. “Meramec Caverns 5 miles” it said. I realized, that’s not a bad idea. Even if all the geothermal vents are dead, there’s still got to be caves somewhere. Go deep underground and the temperature becomes constant. I just have to find them.

Found what’s left of the highway. Now I just need to follow it for five more miles. I think I might have gone there, once, when I was young. I think they started advertising that damn cave two or three states away. 

Been a long time since I wrote that paragraph above. I don’t know how long. One of my goals now is to get a find a digital clock and fix it. If we can know how much time is passing, maybe that will help a lot. Of course, we’ll need to find batteries. Batteries that fit would be best, but any batteries I can make do. 

Maybe we can make our own. Copper and aluminum, some salt or some vinegar. That’s not ideal but you have to start somewhere.

But yes, I found the caves. First thing I saw was smoke coming out of the cave entrance. I decided that would be the first thing that I had to teach them. Doesn’t matter if the smoke is from a generator or a fire. Either way, all it takes is the wind to change and suddenly you’re passing out from the carbon monoxide, and that’s it. 

The touristy building on top of the cave was more or less intact. Not livable, but intact. 

They were living deeper inside. 

I guess they saw me coming so they retreated deeper into the caves. The caves were cold and wet and pitch black, sure, but compared to outside, it was paradise. 

I spoke calmly and politely. I told them I was an electrician and I could help them repair any old electronics they might have around, maybe even a generator, although power isn’t my specialty.

When they came out, lit by oil lanterns, I was terrified. Real terrified. 

Then they showed me my reflection in an old camping mirror, and I cried for a long time.

They’re young, mostly, but there’s some older ones, maybe even as old as me.  The older ones avoid me, but the younger ones are curious, and eager to learn. They’re kind, in their own way. They just do what they have to, to survive. Same as people. I can’t judge them for it. 

I showed them how to fix the wiring for the old theater lights that used to bathe the cave in a rainbow of colors. Maybe one day we’ll even be able to turn them on.

Luz

Legacy: Pottery 

Core Memento: ceramic swallow

Initial Durability: 3

Initial Tools: 3 

Initial Mementos: 3

Entry 1 Dice Roll: E5 C2 I3

As I was leaving my town for the city I was compelled to visit the community workshop. The kiln in the center of the room sat colder than the grave with a half-glazed abstract form sitting inside but as soon as I touched it, it fell to dust in an icy sigh. The scarce fitful light from the glassless windows offered no warmth except from the memories of times when this room was filled with people creating, learning, coming together. In a small cabinet I found a stack of old magazines slowly succumbing to erasure and among them I found instructions for a glazing technique, something beautiful and strong. I carefully tuck it away in my pack, it's unlikely that I will be able to use it on my way but it's a tangible reminder of my purpose.

Durability: 3 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 3

Entry 2 Dice Roll: E2 C5 I5

As I trudge through this bitter cold my mind casts back to the same memories of warmth that were rekindled during my last visit to the workshop. The feel of wet clay in my hands, the soft glow of the kiln on my face, the ringing laughter of beloved friends in my ears, these things I cling to tightly. I feel the weight of memory in the very pack that I carry, filled with scavenged tools from absent friends. The cost of these treasured respites from the Frost is that I seem to feel the cold on an even deeper level, a cold beyond my bones.

Durability: 3 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 4

Entry 3 Dice Roll: E1 C5 I4

I find myself in a massive cavern, surrounded on all sides by mirror-like ice and the ever-present cold, but there is something else here, something alive. As I move my reflection casts out around me at crazy angles, distracting me from my path. I stop and watch the shimmer floating behind me in the ice, trying to let its features come into focus. As I stare my ears begin to fill with soft whispers of sanctuary and I feel my resolve begin to weaken. Suddenly the ice beneath me cracks and gives way and I tumble down several feet into a rocky indent in the cavern. Broken and bruised, I slowly collect myself and my belongings and slowly limp my way out of the cavern, haunted by the thought that the Frost itself was trying to stop me.

Durability: 1 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 4

Entry 4 Dice Roll: E6 C6 I6

After walking in the ever deepening dark for days the sun suddenly bursts across the sky, a massive swollen cataract dominating the entire landscape. The wind is a bitter gnaw at my back carrying no sound but my own breathing, a small, fragile noise in a world that has forgotten how to speak. I stood on the outskirts of a factory, a crazy-quilt patchwork of concrete, steel, and ice scratching its way upwards from the asphalt. Somewhere deep within a grind of metal on metal is more felt than heard and I make my way inside. I had barely begun to search for tools, supplies, food when I heard a sharp scrape of metal and turned to see a figure with the rough shape of a human but made of metal and ice. I barely had time to react before it lunged at me. There was no running from a thing like this, a creature made of the world's sickness and anger. Instead I moved with a speed I didn't know I still possessed and tackled the creature's legs, rushing it forward as fast as I could. It roared in frustration before I slammed it into a wall at my full speed, its body sent into every direction at once as it shattered into rust and shards of ice. It takes a few minutes for me to calm my nerves, and I'm still in a daze as I collect some tools and head down the road. As I walk down the road I find myself staring towards a copse of trees off to the side. It's remnants of an old graveyard, the headstones mouldering into dust even before the coming of the Frost. As I stare it suddenly dawns on me that new graves have been dug here recently and my heart felt that it might break with this mix of elation and anguish.

Durability: 2 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5

Entry 5 Dice Roll: E2 C3 I2

I've been traveling along the edge of the old graveyard for a while, and the air here is different. Heavier, maybe. It's an ashen, desolate feeling, but I can't look away from these mounds. The sight of them fills me with a strange and quiet sadness, but also a fragile flicker of hope. I find myself stopping at one of the newer graves, brushing a bit of the snow away. There's a small inscription, a name I don't know, and a date I can�t read, but below it is a small drawing etched into the stone. A bird, a swallow. The fragile clay swallow in my pocket feels warm against my skin and I know then that I'm not the last person here. Not by a long shot.

Durability: 2 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5

Entry 6 Dice Roll: E4 C4 I4

The wind is a relentless, gnawing thing, and I've been walking for what feels like a week. It's all the same frozen fields and silent, dead forests. Then, just beyond a copse of brittle trees, I see it. A single, still-standing radio tower, impossibly intact. Its rusted frame reaches toward the sky, a monument to a world that once communicated with itself. My mind, so used to the lonely silence, struggles to process the image, to understand its meaning. I climb the first few rungs of the ladder, the metal cold against my gloved hands. I find a small, still-powered receiver in a rusted box at the base, and I hear it. A single, short burst of static, a whisper on the wind, a profound secret from the breaking world. The radio clicks off and is silent once more, but the message has been sent. It�s for me, and I know what I must do. I find a small pouch of radio wire in the rusted box, and I continue on my way.

Durability: 2 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5

Entry 7 Dice Roll: E1 C1 I1

The ice storm that began a few hours ago has only intensified. I find myself huddled against the side of a half-buried bus, its windows shattered and frosted over. It offers meager protection, but it�s a quiet place to catch my breath. I close my eyes and let my mind drift back. I'm in my workshop. The kiln is glowing hot, the clay is soft under my fingers, and I'm humming. The memory is so vivid, so real, that I can almost smell the earth and feel the warmth on my face. It's a source of strength. I reach into my bag, pulling out a handful of radio wires I found at the factory. They feel like a gift, a connection to a world that I thought was long gone. As the storm rages outside, I find a small box of matches, still dry in an old first-aid kit. I'll use them to light a small fire and rest for a little while in this fragile refuge.

Durability: 1 | Tools: 6 | Mementos: 5

Entry 8 Dice Roll: E6 C2 I3

I�ve been tracking the small, metallic echo for hours now, a faint grinding noise in the distance that seems to follow me. It�s a rhythmic, almost mechanical sound, a delicate, spindly thing in the silent world. The sound grows louder and louder until it�s all I can hear. I look down and the ground beneath me begins to shift and crack. I lose my footing as the world gives way to a chasm of broken concrete and rebar. I tumble, losing my bag.  I scramble back up to the surface, but the bag is gone. I lost the matches I found earlier. Ashy regret fills my mouth, but I know I have to keep going. I lost a tool, but I�m still alive.

Durability: 1 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5

Entry 9 Dice Roll: E3 C6 I1

I�m walking through a place that was once a market, its stalls and stands now a tangle of rust and ice. I can see the faded signs of what was sold here. Bread. Vegetables. Pots and pans. I can almost smell the aroma of freshly baked goods and hear the voices of the people who once worked here. I stop at a collapsed stall that once sold ceramics and begin to sift through the broken shards of pottery. My little swallow feels so heavy, a lump of cold clay in my hand. I am so close to my goal, but it feels so far away. The wind whispers to me, a voice not my own. "Why are you here? What's the point? They're all gone." My mind, so focused on the past, feels fragmented, detached from my own purpose. I feel like I�m watching myself from a distance, just a small, lonely figure in a desolate landscape. I keep walking, one foot in front of the other, but I am empty.

Durability: 1 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5

Entry 10 Dice Roll: E6 C4 I5

I�ve been walking for days now, the city is a cold, indifferent presence on the horizon. My thoughts are a jumble of memories and fears. A harsh, intense feeling of dread has settled over me, a foreboding that grows with every step. I find myself on a small overpass, an old, rusted bridge over a frozen river. As I cross, the ice begins to crack. A massive, horrifying shape begins to rise from beneath the ice. It�s a creature made of metal and rust, a twisted amalgam of scrap and broken parts. It roars, a deep, mechanical groan, and I know I have to fight. I don't have many tools left, but I still have my wits. I run forward, a speed I don't know I have, and I use the radio wire I found to wrap around its legs, pulling it off balance. It topples over with a shriek of grinding metal, but not before a sharp piece of rebar tears through my sleeve. I feel a sharp, cold pain, but I am alive. I�m almost there.

Durability: 0 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5

Entry 11 Dice Roll: E3 C3 I3

I�ve reached the outskirts of the city. The buildings are so close I can almost touch them, but they feel like a world away. I find myself in a desolate, abandoned warehouse, its roof open to the sky. The snow is falling, a quiet, mournful presence. I find a stack of old journals, all filled with faded handwriting. I open one, and I see a familiar drawing. It's a swallow, drawn in the same style as the one on the grave. I flip to the next page, and I find a small, handwritten note. "The Frost is not just ice. It's a vast, watchful presence, pressing in from every direction." I am not just a lone traveler in a dead world. I am part of a larger story.

Durability: 0 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5

Entry 12 Dice Roll: E2 C2 I2

I've reached the city, and the silence is a deafening thing. My heart feels so heavy, but there's a flicker of a profound hope inside me that I can't shake. I find a narrow alleyway between two towering, silent structures, and a flicker of light catches my eye. I follow it, my heart pounding, and I find a small, hidden entrance. I enter a cavernous space, a massive hall that was once a subway station, now a makeshift home. There are people here. Not many, but they are here. The air is warm, the scent of woodsmoke and a faint hum of conversation filling the air. As I stand, stunned and silent, an older woman with kind eyes walks toward me. She sees the small, fragile ceramic swallow clutched in my hand, and a gentle smile spreads across her face. "A potter," she says, her voice soft but strong. "You've brought a piece of the world with you." I nod, my voice failing me, and I hand her the swallow. "It is for those who might one day build anew," I whisper, and with that, I know that I am home.