The sun rose blood-orange over Nouvo Kay, cutting through the mist like a blade. The air smelled of morning fires, damp earth, and wild fruit. Yet, Zion wasn't standing in the longhouse or the training yard.
He stood at the riverbank, sleeves rolled up, barefoot in the mud.
"Here," he said, pointing to a spot just below the bend. "This is where we'll dig."
Kael frowned. "A hole in the ground?"
Zion smiled. "A basin. Deep and wide. We'll dig a channel from the river and let the water flow in. Then block it. Create a pool. Trap the razorfins, raise them in safety."
"A fish farm," Mikah said, eyes lighting up. "Sustainable food. Controlled harvest."
"Yes. We're still hunters now. But we won't always be."
Behind them, a dozen workers waited, tools in hand—stone shovels, woven baskets, and bone picks.
Zion raised his voice.
"If we tame water, we tame hunger. If we tame land, we tame fate. Dig."
The first blow struck earth.
Elsewhere, deep into the salt-cracked lands where the trees thinned and the rocks tasted of dust, Thalia moved like a shadow between stone and root.
Three young scouts accompanied her—Jair, lithe and sharp-eyed; Noma, a herbalist's daughter who could smell minerals from wind alone; and Toren, silent and steady with an iron will.
They followed old streambeds, testing rock against teeth, tasting powder, licking stone.
"Too bitter," Thalia said, spitting white grit.
Jair kicked a stone and cursed.
They moved further uphill, where the forest gave way to dry ridges and sun-bleached boulders. Noma paused near a chalk-colored slope. "This smells like bones," she whispered.
"No. Salt," Thalia said.
They cracked it open. Inside: glistening veins of pale crystal.
They had found it.
Back in Nouvo Kay, Zion wiped sweat from his brow as the basin began to take shape. Muddy water slowly crept in as they dug the feeder channel from the river.
Soon, the first razorfins were guided into the pool with spears and nets, their silver bodies flashing beneath the surface.
A fence of sharpened wood stakes was raised around the basin.
"We feed them scraps," Zion said. "Let them grow. Reproduce. Harvest the old, protect the young."
Kael chuckled. "You're turning wild beasts into livestock."
"First fish," Zion said. "Then goats. Maybe one day, beasts bigger than both."
He turned to the returning foragers.
"What did you find?"
A woven basket was placed at his feet—filled with bloodberries, ghost tubers, and jawfruit—all tested for safety over the past weeks.
He nodded. "Separate the seeds. Dry them. We'll start rows beyond the north fence."
He knelt beside the basket, lifting a fat, thorn-covered fruit.
"We'll farm this world. Not just fight it."
That night, Thalia returned.
She dropped a stone sack at Zion's feet.
He opened it.
Salt.
Fine, white, pure. The first grains of something bigger than taste.
"Your legacy just got flavor," she said with a smirk.
Zion grinned. "Now we eat like gods."
But he knew it wasn't just about food.
It was about power. Trade. Control. Culture.
Tomorrow, they would season meat.
Next season, they would trade it.
And someday… kings would beg for what Nouvo Kay had just discovered