Several months had passed since the first pick struck the mountainside. What began as a scatter of tents and wagons had grown into something resembling a town, a forward mining settlement built from timber, stone, and long hours of work. The settlers knew their trades well enough; foundations were laid with care, and buildings rose in neat rows along the main path, their frames sturdy against the biting mountain winds. The clang of hammers and the murmur of shifting crowds had replaced the wilderness silence that once blanketed the valley.
Convoys from the Empire still arrived, though now fewer brought soldiers. Most carried miners, craftsmen, and families seeking a place in this new world, some chasing opportunity, others sent away to ease the burden of the heartlands. The tents that lined the edges of the settlement spoke to that steady tide of arrivals, people waiting for homes, work, or purpose.
The mining operations had begun in earnest. The slopes of the ridge were carved with narrow tunnels where men and women worked by torchlight, chipping veins of ore from the earth. Below, forges hissed and sparked through the night, melting the first of the gathered metals into bars. Nearby, the builders' quarter took shape, a collection of sturdy stonework and timber where tools and supplies were traded freely. The settlement was no longer temporary, it was an outpost becoming permanent.
Life in the frontier, though, offered no place for idleness. Every new arrival was expected to earn their share. Labor meant meals, and skill meant safety. The miners, smiths, and laborers found their places easily enough, while others, those drawn to open skies and restless winds, looked elsewhere for purpose.
From the hills beyond the mines came the first reports of wild chocobos. Patrols claimed they'd seen the great birds in the distance, feathers glinting gold beneath the sun before vanishing into the plains. The news sparked quiet excitement among the settlers. Chocobo riders had grown rare within the Empire, replaced long ago by magitek transport and machinery, but beyond the Veil, where magitek failed to function, their use suddenly made sense again. Out here, a mounted scout could cross terrain faster than any wagon, and the birds could thrive where engines would not.
The idea took root quickly. A handful of settlers with backgrounds in animal care offered to learn from the few remaining chocobo knights, Moss among them. Together, they began sketching the first plans for a small ranch beyond the outer fences, one that could train riders and breed the birds for scouting and supply runs. What began as a practical thought soon became a point of pride: a sign that the settlement could build something of its own rather than rely solely on the Empire's handouts.
The new arrivals brought more than hands to work, they brought questions of belonging. Many had never lived outside the reach of the Empire's walls and struggled to find their place among soldiers and tradesmen. Word spread that those unwilling to adapt might not receive their full rations. That quiet pressure pushed most to apprentice under miners, masons, or riders. Everyone had to prove their worth.
By dusk, smoke from the forges and cookfires drifted low across the camp. The mountain peaks turned red in the fading light, and laughter mingled with the steady rhythm of hammers. The air smelled of iron and pine.
At the edge of the settlement, where fence posts met open plain, Moss stood beside Bran, brushing the bird's neck feathers as it gave a low kweh. Beyond him, Lyra was tending to a young rider who had fallen from his mount, murmuring calm words as she checked the boy's shoulder. Nearby, Dole and Cid argued in half, joking tones over the best way to brace the forge walls before winter's cold set in.
Moss watched the scene quietly, the movement, the noise, the life of it all. The settlement was still rough, still finding its rhythm, but it was alive. He could feel that pulse in the air, faint but steady, like something deep in the earth was breathing with them.
He didn't know if that thought comforted him or not.
Lanterns began to glow across the camp as the sun slipped behind the mountains, and the clang of hammers gave way to the hum of voices at rest. Somewhere, a forge door shut with a heavy thud, and Bran shifted beside him, feathers rustling.
Moss gave the chocobo's neck one last brush, his gaze lingering on the settlement before turning toward the dark horizon. The land was changing, and so were they.