Chapter 171 — The Drought Begins
S.C. 1512 — Early March
Gray Terminal — Outskirts of Goa Kingdom
The air felt wrong.
Ren stood at the boundary between forest and scrap land, Zemo beside him, staring out over the endless sea of broken wood, rusted metal, and makeshift huts that formed the Gray Terminal.
The ground was cracked. The breeze was dry.
Too dry.
Ren crouched and pressed his fingers into the soil.
It crumbled like powder.
"…No moisture at all."
Zemo sniffed the air, ears flattening. Even he sensed it.
For three weeks the rain had avoided Dawn Island entirely. The river level near Foosha had fallen, and the smaller streams around the Gray Terminal had already dried up.
Foosha village still had deep wells.
The Gray Terminal did not.
And he could see the consequences immediately.
A little girl—barefoot, skin gray with dust—walked past dragging a broken tin cup. She glanced at Ren and Zemo with a startled expression before hurrying away.
Ren's jaw tightened.
His telepathic senses spread outward slowly… carefully… mapping heartbeats, breathing, faint vibrations of movement.
What he felt wasn't danger.
It was weakness.
Faint heartbeats.
Shallow breathing.
Entire clusters of people lying inside piles of junk to shield themselves from the sun.
"…Already this bad," Ren whispered.
Zemo whined in concern.
Foosha Is Calm — Too Calm
Ren returned to Foosha Village by noon.
The difference was striking.
Villagers were drawing water from the deep well without worry. Children ran around with wooden toys. Makino stood outside the bar talking to two local mothers.
Ren approached quietly.
"Makino."
She turned and smiled. "Ren! You're early today—something wrong?"
Ren hesitated.
Makino noticed immediately. "Your face… you've seen something."
Ren exhaled. "The Gray Terminal… it's bad. Really bad. No water. Hardly any food left."
Makino's smile vanished. Her brows knitted.
"But—Goa nobles haven't said anything… and no one from the Terminal came here asking for help."
"They can't," Ren said quietly. "They're too weak to walk this far."
Makino's expression darkened.
She had always cared for strangers—too much sometimes.
"Do you… plan to help them?" she asked softly.
Ren didn't answer with words.
He simply nodded once.
Makino let out a quiet breath. "Tell me what you need."
Ren's Silent Decision
That evening, Ren sat on the cliff overlooking the sea.
Zemo lay next to him, tail curled around Ren's leg.
Ren spoke quietly.
"We can't bring them into Foosha. The nobles would react immediately."
Zemo huffed softly.
"But our island…" Ren continued. "We have space. Food production. Shelter. Fog cover. No one will find them there."
Ren closed his eyes and sorted the variables in his mind:
Current food stores: enough.
Security: stable.
Housing: limited, but expandable.
Refugee count prediction: unknown, but likely large.
Time window: very short.
Zemo nudged Ren's arm.
Ren rested a hand on Zemo's head.
"We start small. Rescue the weakest first. Quietly."
A breeze passed over the cliff—dry, brittle, and sharp.
Ren stood.
"Tonight, we begin."
Nightfall — First Step
Midnight.
Ren moved through the forest with Zemo, silent and unseen. His telepathic sense reached ahead, sweeping the junk hills of the Gray Terminal.
Dozens of faint life-signatures flickered at the edge of his awareness.
Weak.
Cold.
Hungry.
Ren gripped the small lantern in his left hand.
"…I have to move fast."
He tightened his breathing, steadied his pulse, and zipped through the shadows toward his first rescue point.
The drought had only just begun.
But Ren knew:
If he didn't act now, many of these people wouldn't survive another week.
With Zemo leading the way, Ren disappeared into the labyrinth of broken metal and collapsing huts.
The Island Building Arc had quietly begun.
End of Chapter 171