"Hey Tark. I've got everything set up on my end, just, need a bit longer..."

"I can't wait to tell you what's happened. What I've done. Who I've fought. Better yet, I can't wait for you to see what I've built."

"So, hold on a little longer."

Nic wouldn’t let Sofia go until she promised to make getting Tarquin the Mercenary License their first priority. In fact, he would’ve done it then and there, had Sofia not raised an important point - a new mercenary company could be snapped up by anyone. There was no guarantee Nic would be able call them to his side immediately.

If he sent the license without also sending equipment and Shards they could use, then it would be a deathtrap for the fledgling company if someone else hired them first.

Nic grudgingly agreed to this - but he was beginning to suspect Sofia was trying to delay him...

And Sofia left him with a second warning.

In five days, there’d be a Convocation. Apparently, there were rewards for the Settlements that offered the most valuable gifts to their Altar, sacrificing wealth for a chance to grow their foundations.

The village’s Altar was located within the temple, and had taken a shape Nic didn’t intend. It was a singular slab of precious stone, swirled with black, yellow, and green. It rose from a foundation of marble carved into waves and nautilus shells, and gave off an eerie aura that filled Nic’s head with visions of drifting along at the bottom of the sea.

Giving up his wealth didn’t exactly appeal to Nic, but Sofia had convinced him it would be important.

For now, he hiked down to a particular hut. Huge spars of greying bone made up the ceiling, and the door was an open set of ivory jaws. Stepping over the teeth Nic entered a space like a slaughterhouse, fragments of cut pigskin hung up dry on wooden racks.

“Mm. Finally got here, eh?” The toad-man grunted. He was huge, with a broad, flattened body and a neckless head that reached to the ceiling. His burly, powerful arms almost dragged the floor as he hunched under the shallow ceiling, but he moved with a grace that told Nic he’d be dangerously fast in a fight.

Right now, he was steeping a set of hides in a bath that smelled pungent and chemical.

Nic nodded and turned his gaze up, admiring the examples of tattoos that covered the walls of the shop. They contained both skilled sections of interlocking, nested runes, and simple decorative designs. The latter was more important when you considered you’d be wearing it for life.

“It’s good stuff.” He said eventually.

The toad grunted. "Those Dao Markings on your skin, now those are good stuff. This? This is just me keeping my hands practiced..."

Nic paused, and looked at him properly. “If you want a challenge, I have something you might like…”

“Oh?” The toad sounded skeptical, but Nic reached into his bags and took out the notes he’d inherited from the elven bowmaker, passed on by a rune-artisan who the man had clearly admired deeply. They were so confusing and intricate that he’d spent hours pouring over them only to barely scratch the surface. Getting farther was probably impossible without a deep existing knowledge of the art.

Put simply, the writer had expected the reader to already know what her short-hands and scribbles meant, because she had only ever intended for them to be read by herself.

He offered them. The toad-man turned, the spines above his eyebrow twitching as he grasped the sheets of rough bark and gave them a dismissive glance…

One that froze, and lingered.

Eventually he snorted. “Hmmph. I’ll tell you what. This’ll be a challenge.” A smile bent his slimy lips. “This is the first reason I’ve been given to think I might enjoy things here…”

“Yeah, ‘bout that. Are you, like, enslaved? Were you given a choice about coming here?” As best he could tell, the denizens of the Spatial Bubbles lived in a kind of pocket dimension until they were added to a Settlement. It didn’t seem like a life many people would choose willingly.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess you could say the System got me by my fat ones.” The toad set the papers aside, and reached up overhead, pulling a pipe from among the nets that hung from the rafters. Stuffed within were pots, pans, the various worldly possessions that didn’t have a place in the tightly packed workshop. He lit it by spitting an ember out into the bowl, and puffed contentedly. “S’pose since I’m your problem now, you’ve got a right to ask.”

He gestured towards a stool. Nic sat back, watching the big creature cautiously and curiously.

“Most of us are refugees. Caught in a bad situation, no way out but begging the gods for sanctuary. Which comes at a price…” Its voice was a low stony growl that filled the shadowy workshop with the sound of scraping flint. “Me? My clan tried to contract me into servitude to settle a debt. I figured if I was going to be bought and sold, I’d fuck them out of getting paid for me…”

The flame in the pipe flared as it drew a long draw, and spewed out a curling plume of smoke. The pipe itself was a beautiful creation, with a bowl made of jade stone carved into three scowling faces and a stem of smooth, polished ivory.

Nic had decided he liked this strange creature. He had something unmistakably aristocratic about him; there were expensive runes layered into his knobbly skin and bits of gold on the belt that held up his loose kilt of patterned green fabric. At the same time, he was clearly not a pretentious man, and with the quality of his work, he could’ve easily afforded to be arrogant.

He held out a small pink hand. “Yeah, I came from, we’ll say, a similar mess. I chose to say fuck them, and here I am. Four foot tall and slimy. Nicolas Winterhome.”

“Huh. Here I assumed they’d put me with someone from my homeworld…” The toad grabbed his hand and squeezed. Nic grinned and tightened his own grip, until the pressure between their fingers was making the natural energy in the air flex and strain, forming a miniature storm around the deathgrip. His smile steadily turned to a grimace…

Sweat begin to drip from his skin…

And finally, with a grunt, the toad released him and pulled his hand back, shaking out the thick fingers. “Damn, boy. That’s a grip. I’m Talnu’Mo, although I don’t suppose the clan-name applies anymore. Just Talnu will serve.”

Nic chuckled, rubbing his own fingers gingerly. He’d been inches from activating the Internal Cauldron and burning his blood to stay ahead.

“I’ll have a look at those designs and see what materials you’ll be needin’. But keep in mind, my contract says I charge, and charge steep. That’s the only way I buy myself free in the end.”

Nic nodded. So it wasn’t an indefinite servitude. Eventually he’d have to say goodbye to anyone the Spatial Bubbles brought him, unless they chose to stay. It was a condition he’d accept any day over filling his city with slaves.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” With a cheery wave he made his way out.

---

His next stop was the Rookery. It took him a while to hike into the jungle and follow the colorful tower in the distance, but by the time he arrived, he’d had time to think. His original plan was to send the birds out to investigate the islands he knew hid in the clouds above.

But with a little more thought, he realized those were the last places he should send his valuables spies. They were likely to be filled with flying, dangerous monsters, and those monsters almost certainly fed on- you guessed it- birds of any sort brave enough to get close.

The tower had been transformed to fit the swamp around its foundations. Now, while it retained its bright colors, it was a lighthouse. He jogged up the spiral steps to reach the top, and came to a halt on the final step as he saw…

His domain.

The swaying green treetops, parting where the rivers flowed between roots and formed deep, azure-green pools covered by thick layers of floating algae and little pink stars of waterlilies. The distant temple, and the humble buildings in its shadow. The moss-covered skull in which he made his home.

But beyond all that was the territory the city overlooked, and the huge head of the beast who carried Winterhome on its back. It had leathery, angular features, like a mountainside of rough black hide come to life and bristling with thorns. Its eyes were dull pebbles, small compared to its enormous beaked mouth that tore up trees and snapped them down.

Sofia had said the city would move as he directed.

But the thought of controlling such a sheer force of nature was exhilarating.

Birds perched on the many wooden spokes extending out from the lighthouse’s landing. They chirped curiously, staring at him with dozens of bright-eyed gazes, and one leapt up to perch atop the massive mirror-backed burner that would provide the tower’s light come night-time. There were blue streaks in the crows’ black feathers that marked it as separate from its flock.

“He-ello.” It croaked out. “Bi-ig bo-oss.”

“So you talk, huh? I wish I’d figured that out myself.” Nic offered an outstretched hand and the little crow leapt into his palm. “But you can understand me?”

Talnu hadn’t had any trouble, so he assumed all of the System’s appointed servants would be the same.

“Ye-ess. Ca-an hear. Ca-an speak. Ca-an serve.” It bobbed its head up and down, eagerly confirming its abilities. “I a-am Spri-igget.”

“Alright. Sprigget, I’ve got you a job. I need you to fly out and tell people where we are, and that if they come, they’ll have sanctuary here.” He paused, and then clicked his tongue as he realized. “And by people, I mean everyone. Monsters. Natives. If they can understand you, then they can understand you.”

“Ha-ard to tru-ust so-o ma-any people.” The crow noted, sounding concerned.

“Mm, guess you can keep an eye on them too. Have a few of your flock watch them and make sure they don’t cause trouble, maybe?”

“Go-od pla-an. Cro-ows see e-everything. E-eyes of the wo-orld. Ea-ars of the ni-ight." Nic suspected the proud little fellow would have approved of any plan that involved his people getting to spy on everyone else, but it was good that he was agreeable.

“Mhm. Is there anything I can do for you? As payment?”

"O-one thi-ing. We-e se-ek a thief. Sto-ole a go-od from us. We-e fo-ollow the tra-ail. We-e hunt the re-ed eyes se-erpent. He-e is clo-ose. O-on thi-is wo-orld." The crow's croaking grew brittle and cold with the kind of bitter fury that took years if not generations to grow.

Nic nodded, although he wasn't sure how someone could steal a god. "We'll keep an eye out for each other then."

"Thi-is ple-eases us." The crow agreed.

"Alright then. Here's my message…" He cleared his throat. The earlier speech must have knocked something loose in his brain, because it came out easier this time. Nic remembered the city and the way he’d carried himself, the false confidence and easy smiles he wore to keep himself from looking small, weak, like prey - he brought that same bravado into his voice again, but this time it wasn't an act. He finally had the power to mean every word.

---

"If you're hearing this, I'm offering you shelter and a chance to grow. I'm not here to pick who lives and who dies. If you can hear this, find Winterhome. I can teach you how to fight, and I can teach you to survive."

These were the words with which the world learned of Winterhome. A legion of crows sung them to the beasts of the forest, to the humans in their pitiful camps, even to the invaders marching across the planet’s face.

---

Before Nic left Winterhome, he took out Sunfire and Redjaw. The little lizard posed curiously on its hindlegs, staring up at him, while Redjaw coiled its massive, sluggish body around him with clear affection. Nic wasn’t sure whether knowing centipedes were fond of hugging was cute or scary…

“Alright, you two. I have to go out for a while so… Sunfire, you keep an eye out for trouble. Redjaw, you eat the trouble…” He scratched both in turn, petting their heads. “Understood?”

One more matter. It was time to check his haul.

The scroll that contained the Cloak of Elements Technique was made of thin plates of white bark tied together. When he opened it up, he expected the material to immediately dissolve while the Technique imprinted itself on his mind. No such thing happened. Nic frowned. This was an actual Technique scroll, but...

You actually had to read and comprehend it before the Technique was passed on. On the one hand, that was a massive waste of time...

On the other, it meant the scroll could be used multiple times and the Technique given to multiple people. Useful, if you happened to have just established a city.

Nic took out the three bags he’d taken from Baby Boots’ body. Two were small pouches, while the third was a larger satchel meant to be slung over the shoulder, with some engravings for protecting the contents.

The first bag smelled of medicine and was put aside for his cultivation. The second contained something that lit up Nic’s eyes - a bronze plate carved with hieroglyphs. The fifth Plate of the Sun God’s Dictate. Not only would it make the shield the bronze tablets provided stronger, but if he could find one more, then the complete set was promised to contain a true cultivation technique.

As for the third bag… Nic was disappointed to realize it was mostly junk…

Specifically, Baby Boots had understood that runes meant value, but he hadn’t been able to tell when those runes were broken or part of a set that needed to be complete before it would function. Accordingly, he’d just scooped up everything.

The one interesting piece Nic could pick out a glance was a small bead of bone. Nic ran his fingers over the delicate runes and quickly discovered why Baby Boots had thrown it into the junk bag.

It was E-Rank. Too high for him to master.

Nic grinned. There was one benefit to having filthy rich enemies.

They left behind good inheritances.