Kesh crouched low behind a frost-touched boulder, eyes tracking the elk as it grazed near the ridgeline. Riona lay prone beside him, the rifle's barrel resting on a flat stone.

  The weapon still amazed him. Carl called it a “magebolt rifle,” and it handled strangely—light trigger, sharp burst, nothing like the weight or rhythm of a bow or crossbolt.

  Riona adjusted her grip, shifting her shoulder against the stock. Her breath came steady—controlled.

  Kesh nodded once. "When ready."

  She fired.

  The bolt cracked through the air—blue light streaking toward the elk.

  And missed.

  The creature's head snapped up. Steam billowed from its nostrils as it turned, eyes locking onto Riona's position. Muscles coiled. Antlers lowered.

  Kesh already had his bow drawn.

  The elk charged.

  Kesh released. His arrow struck clean—through the neck, severing the major artery. The creature stumbled mid-stride, momentum carrying it forward before it collapsed into the snow.

  Silence settled.

  Riona exhaled slowly, lowering the rifle. "Well. That could've gone better."

  Kesh allowed himself a quiet smile. "Could've gone worse."

  She snorted, pushing herself up. "At least I hit the snow."

  Kesh rose, slinging his bow across his back. "What happened?"

  Riona checked the rifle's charge indicator, frowning. "When Carl and I tested this, we were shooting close range. Ten, maybe fifteen meters. Stationary targets."

  She gestured toward the elk. "That was sixty meters. Moving."

  Kesh nodded. "Different fight."

  "Yeah." Riona's jaw tightened. "I'm not as accurate as I need to be. Need more training."

  Kesh studied her—the way she held frustration without letting it take root. Good instinct. Hunters who blamed the tool instead of their skill didn't last.

  "You'll learn," he said simply.

  They approached the downed elk together. Kesh knelt, pulling his knife free. "Watch," he said.

  Riona crouched beside him as he began the first cut. Steady and precise

  "Start at the chest," Kesh explained. "Shallow. Don't pierce the organs."

  Riona mimicked the motion with her own blade, following his lead on the opposite side. Her hands were careful—uncertain, but controlled.

  "Good," Kesh murmured. "Now follow the ribline."

  They worked in rhythm. Kesh corrected her grip once, showed her how to separate hide from muscle without tearing either. She asked questions. He answered.

  The work settled into familiar patterns—the kind that required focus but not thought.

  Riona paused, wiping her blade. "You make this look easy."

  "Years," Kesh said. "You'll get there."

  She studied the clean cuts he'd made, then her own—rougher, but improving. "Thanks."

  Kesh didn't answer. Just continued working.

  A sharp chirp cut through the quiet.

  Kesh paused, hands still. The sound came from his wrist—the bronze device Carl had called a "tool brace."

  Riona glanced at him. "That's your radio."

  He knew that. Riona had shown him how to use the thing yesterday. Toggles. Buttons. Words traveling through air.

  Still felt unnatural.

  Kesh wiped his hands on the snow, then pressed the side switch like Riona had taught him.

  Static hissed.

  "Kesh here."

  Edda's voice came through—clear, composed. "Doc and the others are approaching the settlement. Just wanted to let you know."

  Kesh pressed the transmit button. "We're done training for today. Heading back soon. Got an elk. Doc and the others will eat well tonight."

  "Good," Edda replied. "The wagon's full of mana stones. Carl and Dulric are practically vibrating."

  Kesh allowed himself a faint smile at the mental image.

  "Zim and Fenn are helping Tor and Brenn with construction today," Edda continued.

  Kesh paused.

  Zim.

  Kesh smiled to himself.

  He still recalled seeing Zim at the settlement first time

  Kesh has just returned from the ridges, bow slung across his back, a small rodent like creature carcass tied to his belt.

  The settlement came into view—longhouse frame rising against the pale sky, workers moving between posts.

  Then he saw it.

  Tall. Bronze. Motionless.

  A construct standing near the cave entrance to the dwarven colony below.

  Kesh slowed.

  His hand drifted toward his bow.

  Then voices reached him—sharp, familiar.

  Edda.

  Carl.

  Kesh adjusted his path, angling toward them.

  "—didn't mean to activate it," Carl was saying, hands raised defensively. "It just… happened."

  Edda stood with her arms crossed, expression measured but stern. “Carl, you were examining a dormant golem without telling anyone.”

  “I know, I know—”

  “Why do you keep dragging trouble to my doorstep?”

  Carl offered a small, guilty smile. “Talent?”

  Kesh stopped a few paces back, watching.

  The construct stood behind them, silent. One glowing blue eye. Bronze plating. Basalt core visible beneath layered joints.

  Dulric stepped forward, voice calm. "It's not a threat, Edda."

  Her gaze shifted to him. "You're certain?"

  "Aye." Dulric gestured toward the construct. "I made sure of that. It won't harm anyone unless attacked."

  Edda studied the golem, then glanced at Carl. "And you thought bringing it topside without warning was appropriate?"

  Carl adjusted his glasses. "In my defense, it's actually really useful. Strong. Precise. Could help with construction."

  Edda didn't answer immediately.

  Kesh moved closer, eyes on the construct.

  The golem's head turned—tracking Kesh’s movement.

  No aggression.

  Just… awareness.

  Kesh relaxed slightly.

  Then he noticed Fenn.

  The boy stood near the construct's left side, watching it with the same quiet focus he gave broken tools or uneven joints.

  No fear.

  The golem shifted—subtle—lowering its head toward Fenn.

  The boy didn't flinch.

  Kesh's brow furrowed.

  He'd seen hunters freeze when predators approached. Seen warriors tense before battle.

  But Fenn…

  Fenn just watched.

  And somehow, the golem seemed to understand.

  Edda’s voice cut through the hush. “What exactly are we dealing with?”

  Dulric hesitated—rare for him. “Old craft,” he said at last. “Older than anything we've touched down here.”

  Edda stepped a little closer, gaze tracing the runes, the plating, the careful tilt of the construct’s head toward the boy beside it. “And it’s aware?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Aye,” Dulric said quietly. ““Not just a tool,” he said. “There’s something within it. Something aware"

  The words fell heavy across the group.

  Edda stilled.

  Kesh felt the shift ripple through the gathered crowd—not fear, but the weight of understanding something alive stood in front of them.

  She looked toward Fenn. “Do you trust it?”

  Fenn blinked, surprised she asked him. His hand rested lightly against the bronze plating. “She’s not… mean,” he said. “Just watching. Like Tavi does.”

  Edda absorbed that quietly, studying the two of them — the boy relaxed, the construct mirroring his stillness.

  After a moment, she asked, “Does she have a name?”

  Fenn hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then pick one,” Edda said. “You’re the one she seems to answer to.”

  Fenn swallowed, wiped his palms on his trousers, and looked up at the towering frame.

  “Zim,” he said softly.

  The golem’s eye pulsed once — slow, deliberate.

  Edda nodded. “Zim it is.”

  Kesh blinked, pulling himself back from the memory.

  Zim.

  The settlement had accepted her quickly—faster than he'd expected. Within days, she was hauling timber alongside Tor, bracing walls with Brenn, her bronze hands steady and precise. The younglings lost their wariness first. Fenn worked beside her without hesitation, and soon Tavi followed, then the others.

  Even Edda had stopped questioning her presence.

  Kesh turned his attention back to the elk, finishing the final cuts. Riona worked opposite him, her movements improving with each stroke.

  "Done," she said, wiping her blade clean.

  Kesh nodded. "Good work."

  They wrapped the carcass in treated hide, securing it with rope. Kesh lifted the front while Riona took the rear, and together they started down the slope toward the settlement.

  Snow crunched beneath their boots. The weight settled into rhythm—steady, manageable.

  Kesh wondered what Doc would think of Zim.

  Doc had been gone when they activated her. He didn't know about Zim yet—didn't know Carl and Dulric had brought an ancient guardian back online.

  He remembered the story—Doc had punched her. Damaged her core with his prosthetic arm in a desperate gamble. Now that same construct worked peacefully alongside the settlement's children, responding to Fenn's quiet directions like she'd been built for carpentry instead of killing.

  Would Doc be relieved? Concerned?

  Probably both.

  Kesh allowed himself a faint smile.

  "You're quiet," Riona said, adjusting her grip on the elk.

  "Thinking," Kesh replied.

  "About?"

  "Doc."

  Riona snorted softly. "Wondering what kind of trouble he's gotten into?"

  Kesh's smile widened fractionally. "Wondering what kind of trouble's waiting for him when he gets back."

  The settlement came into view—longhouse frame rising against pale sky, partial walls extending outward, smoke curling from the central chimney. Figures moved between posts. Tor's voice carried across the clearing, barking good-natured instructions.

  And there—near the eastern wall—Zim's bronze form stood steady, holding a massive beam in place while Brenn secured the joints.

  Fenn stood beside her, guiding her positioning with quiet words and gentle gestures.

  Kesh studied the scene.

  Six months ago, they'd been prisoners. Starving. Desperate.

  Now they built homes in the mountains, traded with distant settlements, and worked alongside ancient constructs that should have been impossible.

  All because one man crashed a flying machine into their forest and decided to help instead of hide.

  "Come on," Kesh said, shifting his grip. "Let's get this meat to June before Doc and the rest arrives. They'll want a proper meal after two days on the road."

  Riona adjusted her stance. "Think they'll be surprised?"

  Kesh thought of Zim.

  "Probably."

  They continued down the slope, the settlement growing larger with each step.

  Behind them, their tracks marked the snow—a clean trail leading home.

  Doc heard the radio crackle as Marron set it down on the wagon bench.

  "Edda?" he asked.

  Marron nodded, guiding Snow Tusk around a snow-covered outcropping. "Kesh just brought down an elk. June's preparing it now—says we'll have something hot waiting when we arrive."

  Tanna exhaled softly from her position at the wagon's side. "Thank the Mother. I'm tired of dried meat and flatbread."

  Doc glanced back at her. She walked steady enough, but the weariness showed in the set of her shoulders. They'd pushed hard since leaving Threeburrow—minimal rest, constant movement. No time for proper campfires or slow-cooked meals.

  Just trail rations and cold camps.

  "Should reach the settlement before sunset," Marron added. "Two hours, maybe less."

  Doc scanned the horizon. The mountains rose pale and stark against the winter sky, their peaks cutting clean lines through scattered clouds. The terrain felt familiar now—snowfields broken by sparse evergreens, wind-carved ridges marking the path home.

  Movement flickered at the edge of his vision.

  Fish appeared beside him, her midnight coat rippling with faint violet traces as she phase-shifted back into visibility.

  Doc crouched slightly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Anything?"

  Fish huffed once and shook her head—a clear, deliberate gesture.

  Doc smiled faintly.

  No matter how many times she responded like that, it still caught him off guard. The intelligence behind those amber eyes wasn't instinct anymore. It was awareness. Understanding.

  She knew what he'd asked. She'd answered.

  He scratched behind her ears, feeling the warmth beneath her fur despite the cold air. "Good girl."

  Fish leaned into the contact briefly, then pulled away and trotted ahead, scanning the treeline with the same vigilance she always carried.

  Doc straightened and walked up beside the wagon, falling into step with Snow Tusk's steady rhythm. The Colossagoat moved without complaint, massive hooves crunching through the snow as he pulled the loaded wagon.

  Doc glanced at the cargo. "What are we hauling back?"

  “Frost Stone,” Marron said. “High-grade frost-aspected mana stone from Threeburrow’s mine. Kraggir said his skill practically screamed at him when he saw what we brought — hearthgrain, preserves, the potions Ironha brewed. All of it high-quality.” He paused. “But the froststones he gave us? Those were worth far more.”

  Doc frowned. “Then why give us so much in return?”

  “Goodwill,” Marron said simply. “Threeburrow hasn’t forgotten what you and Mazoga did. I don’t think you realized just how close they were to being overrun. Without you two, they wouldn’t have a settlement left to trade from. The froststones were Kraggir’s way of paying that debt forward.”

  Doc blinked. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  Marron huffed a soft breath. “Of course you didn’t. You helped because they needed help. But people remember when their lives are saved. They repay it however they can.”

  Tanna spoke from behind them, voice tired but warm. “You really do sound like Edda.”

  Marron smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Fish circled back, passing close enough to brush Doc's leg before trotting ahead again. Her gaze swept the ridgeline, methodical and patient.

  Doc watched her move—fluid, confident, protective.

  She's grown, Lux observed quietly. Neural pathways continue expanding. Cognitive complexity now exceeds baseline parameters by significant margins.

  I know.

  Do you?

  Doc didn't answer.

  The settlement appeared ahead.

  Home.

  Doc felt the word settle somewhere unexpected.

  When did he start calling it home.

  Doc's breath caught as the settlement came into full view.

  The longhouse stood tall against the pale sky, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Workers moved between posts, voices carrying faintly across the snow. But it wasn't the familiar sight that made him pause—it was what Lux whispered through their neural link.

  "Unknown construct signature detected. Origin: dwarven. Active. Alert level: moderate."

  Doc's stomach dropped.

  Marron pulled Snow Tusk to a gentle halt as they reached the southern gate. "Everything alright?"

  "Lux is picking up something," Doc said quietly, scanning the construction area. "Something big. Dwarven. Active."

  Tanna shifted, her hand instinctively moving toward the knife at her belt. "is it safe?"

  "Don't know." Doc's prosthetic arm hummed faintly, energy flickering beneath the surface. "Stay close."

  They passed through the gate, and Doc's gaze swept the settlement. Workers hauled timber. Children played near the animal pens. Nothing seemed wrong, yet the construct signature grew stronger with every step.

  Then he saw it.

  A massive bronze figure stood near the western wall, holding a timber beam like it weighed nothing. Two meters tall, stone and metal fused in impossible angles, runes flickering across its surface in steady pulses. A single crystalline eye glowed faint blue.

  The Watcher Unit.

  Doc froze mid-step.

  The construct's head rotated toward him with smooth, inhuman precision. Its eye flared brighter.

  "Threat assessment: uncertain," Lux reported. "Prior hostile encounter logged. Recommend caution."

  "Lux," Doc breathed, "not helping."

  The Watcher remained motionless, beam still gripped in bronze hands. But its attention locked onto Doc with unwavering focus—the same focus it had held right before trying to crush his skull the first time they met.

  Doc's prosthetic arm pulsed. To the construct, that arm meant one thing: the entity that damaged its core.

  Workers moved around the Watcher, oblivious to the tension crackling between man and machine. Tor adjusted a crossbeam nearby, calling out measurements to Brenn.

  "Zim?" Tor glanced at the construct. "You good?"

  The Watcher—Zim?—didn't respond. Its eye remained fixed on Doc.

  Doc's hand drifted toward his belt. "Lux, prepare to activate H.O.T. Protocol."

  "Standing by. Recommend de-escalation if possible."

  "Working on it."

  The Watcher shifted. One foot forward. Deliberate. Measured. Not aggressive—but unmistakably a challenge.

  To anyone else, it might look like curiosity.

  To Doc—who'd fought this thing, who'd shattered its eye and barely escaped with his ribs intact—it looked like round two.

  His weight shifted instinctively, prosthetic arm humming louder.

  The construct's eye brightened.

  "Doc!" A young voice cut through the tension. "Zim! He's not an intruder!"

  Fenn sprinted across the snow, skidding to a halt between them. The boy barely reached Doc's chest, but he planted himself firmly, hands raised toward both combatants.

  "Zim," Fenn said firmly, "he's not a threat. He's Doc. Remember? The one Carl talks about? The one who helped make all the tools?"

  The Watcher froze completely. Its eye dimmed, then brightened, pulsing in what might have been... recalibration?

  Slowly—impossibly slowly—the construct tilted its head. The motion was almost dog-like, questioning.

  Doc exhaled, forcing his posture to relax. "Friendly?"

  "Yes," Fenn said quickly. "Unless you threaten her. So... don't threaten her."

  Doc stared at the construct. At the beam it still held. At the faint glow of runes across its bronze plating.

  "Friendly," he repeated flatly. Then, quieter: "What have I missed?"

  Edda’s voice carried from behind him.

  “Oh good. You met Zim. Try not to break her this time.”

  Doc turned. Edda stood near the longhouse steps, arms crossed, expression already halfway to exhausted.

  “She’s ours now,” Edda continued. “Carl activated her. Dulric swears she’s safe. Fenn adopted her. So here we are.”

  Zim’s eye pulsed once, as if agreeing.

  Doc blinked. “You… have a golem now?”

  Edda sighed. “Apparently.”

  Doc stared at the bronze construct. At Edda. At Fenn, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.

  The situation refused to make sense.

  Marron laughed—a full, genuine sound that echoed across the settlement. "A golem. Of course we have a golem now." He shook his head, still grinning. "I'm putting this one at the back of my mind. Right next to every other weird things I've seen." He guided Snow Tusk forward, apparently unbothered by the massive construct that could crush them all without effort.

  Doc turned back toward Zim, processing.

  The Watcher's eye pulsed once. Not hostile. Just… watching.

  "Anomaly persists," Lux noted. "Behavioral pattern inconsistent with prior encounter. Recommend observation before engagement."

  Not helping, Doc thought.

  Movement at the longhouse caught his attention. Ironha descended the steps and walked towards him.

  She stopped a few paces away, studied his expression, and laughed.

  The sound startled him more than the golem had.

  "What's so funny?" Doc asked.

  Ironha's smile stayed warm, her tone gentle but edged with satisfaction. "You. Standing there looking utterly lost." She gestured toward Zim. "Now you know how you make us feel sometimes."

  Doc blinked.

  "I'm glad to know we can surprise you the same way you surprise us," Ironha continued. "Turns out the settlement doesn't stop evolving just because you're gone for a few days."

  Doc exhaled slowly. She had a point.

  He'd returned expecting the familiar—longhouse, workshops, maybe some new construction. Instead, they'd adopted a centuries-old killing machine and named it Zim.

  "Fair," he admitted.

  Ironha's expression softened. "Carl will want to explain everything. Probably Dulric too. But the short version?" She nodded toward Zim. "She's safe. Fenn bonded with her. She helps with heavy lifting now."

  Doc glanced at the construct again. Zim remained motionless, beam still gripped in bronze hands, but the hostile edge from before had faded completely.

  "Noted," he said quietly.

  Ironha smiled and turned back toward the longhouse. "I'll let them know you're back."

  Doc watched her go, then shifted his attention to Tanna, who'd already moved toward the animal pens. She spoke softly to Snow Tusk, guiding the Colossagoat with practiced ease. Moss-ear hopped along beside them, phasing in and out of visibility.

  Tor emerged from the construction area, wiping his hands clean of sawdust. He walked past Zim without breaking stride, adjusting a tool belt as if the towering bronze construct beside him were just another pair of hands on the job.

  Zim shifted a massive timber into place with unhurried precision.

  Doc watched her—watched all of them—and felt his brain trying to catch up.

  Six days.

  He’d been gone six days.

  Lux helpfully supplied: “It seems settlement efficiency has increased. Primary variable: Zim"

  Doc wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting.

  He stepped aside as Zim carried an entire support beam past him. The construct just gave him a brief flicker of that crystalline eye before returning to work.

  Everyone else barely glanced her way.

  Tor measured out a section of wall. Brenn hammered in braces. A pair of workers moved around carrying nails, completely unfazed by the two-meter-tall guardian construct moving among them.

  Doc let out a slow breath.

  He’d left for less than a week.

  The place had a new worker.

  A very large, very bronze, very previously-tried-to-kill-him worker.

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or double-check his sanity.

  He did neither. He just walked to the wagon, grabbed a crate, and fell into step beside the others.

  He had so many questions he wanted to ask.

  Thanks for reading!!

  Chapter 68 drops friday!