The rhythm of life at Vector Hold had settled into something resembling order. Stone walls stood higher now, scaffolding wrapping them like ribs of a creature still growing. The smell of worked iron mixed with sawdust, smoke, and faint traces of chocobo feathers that clung to the stableyard breeze.
Moss walked Bran along the main road, the chocobo's talons clicking against the cobbles. The bird's gait was smooth but measured; even Bran seemed to understand that this was a place for restraint, not speed. Nearby, the trainee riders were tending to their own mounts, voices low and tired. Since their arrival time has been filled with rest and quiet labor.
Cid walked on the other side of the yard, leading his chocobo carefully by the reins. The creature's leg was still bound, healing slower than expected. Cid gave it a sympathetic pat. "You're in no hurry, huh? Guess we'll both be stuck watching others run for a bit." He caught Moss's glance and shrugged. "Can't forge a new leg, much as I'd like to."
Moss smiled faintly. "Let it heal right. Rushing things just breaks them again."
Cid grunted in agreement and led the bird toward the shade. He'd already offered to help the craftsmen with their forges in the meantime, anything to keep his hands busy.
Lyra stood nearby with the recovering trainees. The faint green glow of her Cure spells shimmered over scraped arms and bruised shoulders. The young riders watched her hands with awe, some murmuring thanks, others too tired to speak.
One of them, a girl barely past twenty, adjusted the bandage on her arm and looked at Moss. "Sir, how long until we're back out there?"
Moss studied her face, pale from exhaustion but burning with resolve. "We'll be setting out tomorrow at first light. Relax until than, you'll need to be calm when you sit in the saddle. A chocobo feels what its rider feels. If you're afraid or uncertain, it'll hesitate."
The trainee nodded, determination overtaking fatigue. "Understood."
Bran gave a quiet kweh, almost approvingly, and lowered his head for Moss to brush stray feathers from his neck.
A short distance away, Dole leaned against a post, arms folded, watching the recovery efforts with a half, smirk. "You lot look like you went twelve rounds with a family of tonberries," he said to no one in particular. "Maybe next time you'll remember that showing off mid, run gets you knocked into the dirt."
The trainees exchanged embarrassed looks but couldn't argue. Dole caught Moss's eye and grinned. "Don't give me that look. Someone has to be the bad guy here."
"You don't have to try," Moss replied dryly.
That earned a small ripple of laughter, enough to loosen the tension hanging over the yard.
As the others tended to their gear, Moss noticed Kain crossing the courtyard, his stride precise and deliberate. His armor bore faint scratches, dulled from long use rather than neglect. He came to a stop beside Moss, surveying the stables.
"They're shaping up," Kain said, voice low but firm. "Rough around the edges still."
"They'll improve," Moss said. "They just need time in the saddle."
Kain nodded slowly. His eyes flicked toward the convoy yard, where new wagons were being unloaded, crates marked with the Empire's sigil. Not food this time. Moss caught sight of the markings too: bundles of metal tubing, sealed jars of reagents, and aetherstone fragments packed in straw.
"More for the alchemists," Kain murmured. "Less for the kitchens. The last shipment didn't even carry a full load of grain."
"People have noticed," Moss said. "They're not angry yet, but it's coming."
Kain's jaw tightened. "Rosa saw this coming. The Empire's feeding the minds, not the bodies. They want Serra's work completed, no matter what it costs the rest of us."
"Then we'll need to start thinking like them," Moss said. "If food becomes scarce, people will get desperate and do what they have to."
Kain crossed his arms, considering. "Some already are. A few families from the east quarter spoke with me this morning. They're planning to leave, form a smaller camp along the riverside, beyond the Hold's shadow. They'd rather attempt to trade with the warden for food even though we haven't interacted with them."
Moss glanced toward the gates. "Will you stop them?"
Kain shook his head. "They're not deserters. Everyone here is free to do as they see fit. If they survive, they might find something we've lost."
There was a brief silence as both men watched the laborers carry crates toward the alchemist's quarter. Serra's influence hung heavily there now, her theories on extracting aether beyond the veil had drawn more attention than anyone wanted. Imperial observers had begun moving through the streets in quiet patterns, dressed not as soldiers but as assistants and record keepers.
Lyra joined them, wiping her hands on a cloth. "I saw another of those observers by the outer gate this morning," she said softly. "They've been watching the alchemist quarter more closely than before. Serra barely leaves the lab."
Kain's gaze hardened. "The Empire won't risk losing her. Not after she started proving her theories might hold weight."
Dole pushed off from the post and stretched. "All the more reason for some folks to want out. Me? I'd rather take my chances with the beasts than with Imperial accountants."
"Beasts don't take notes," Moss said, voice faintly amused.
Dole smirked. "Exactly. You always know where you stand with them."
The conversation faded as a group of trainees led their chocobos toward the paddock. The animals chirped and shuffled, feathers gleaming in the fading light. The camp's rhythm returned: stablehands shouting for feed, craftsmen hammering in the distance, faint singing from a small gathering near the firepits. Vector Hold was alive, but the cracks beneath that liveliness were spreading, visible only to those who knew what to look for.
Kain turned back to Moss, his expression composed again. "Tomorrow, I'll want the trainees on short patrols. Nothing far, just the perimeter routes around the western southern roads. You'll take point."
Moss nodded. "Understood."
"They'll need more than skill," Kain said. "They'll need purpose. If these settlements start to split apart, the patrols are what will keep them connected. You can give them that."
Moss didn't answer right away. He glanced toward the stableyard again, at the young riders, some laughing, some staring into the firelight with blank eyes. "Maybe," he said finally.
Kain's eyes lingered on him for a moment before he turned away. "Either way," he said, "make sure they live long enough to find it."
As the commander left, Dole clapped Moss on the shoulder. "Inspirational as always. You ever think about writing speeches?"
"No," Kain replied.
"Good," Dole said with a grin. "You're terrible at it."
Lyra rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, brushing her mantle straight. "I'll check on the supply ledgers. Maybe there's still a chance we can even out the rations before people start fighting over what's left."
Cid returned then, dust streaking his sleeves, his usual grin a little more tired than before. "Forge's running smooth again," he said. "Got a few flare bomb casings cooling as we speak. Should help next time something decides to lunge out of the trees." He glanced at Moss. "I'll catch up when your next patrol heads out. My bird's still limping, but give it a few days."
Moss nodded. "We'll keep your place open in the line."
Cid smiled at that and went to tend the forge fires.
Night fell slowly, stretching long shadows across the yard. The murmurs of conversation faded into the steady rhythm of labor, the sound of hammers, the flicker of torches, the faint hum of voices in a place that refused to die.
Moss remained beside Bran until the last of the riders retired. His hand rested on the chocobo's neck, feeling the steady warmth beneath the feathers. The settlement might change, alliances might fray, but the core of it, people trying to build something from ruin, remained.
He thought briefly of the vision of Shiva, the cold grace of it, the reminder of something vast and unknowable beyond the veil. Aether still flowed through the wilds, unseen but constant, waiting.
For now, though, his focus stayed grounded, in the riders, the roads, and the fragile calm of a world learning how to rebuild itself.