The starship glided into Cedar Hollow as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the village—rows of cedar trees lined the roads, their woody scent mixing with the faint aroma of dried apples and wheat. But the calm air held a quiet urgency: outside a large wooden barn, a group of villagers knelt around stacks of cedar barrels, their faces grim. Many barrels had deep cracks snaking down their sides, and dried corn spilled from the splits onto the dirt.
Lin Che landed the starship in a grassy lot beside the barn, and a woman with a linen apron and hands dusted with flour hurried over. She held a cracked barrel stave in her hand, her fingers brushing the split wood. "You're the travelers from Pine Ridge," she said, her voice tight with worry. "I'm Clara—Cedar Hollow's grain keeper. These barrels hold our winter food: dried corn, apples, beans. They started splitting two weeks ago—first one, then a dozen more. We patch 'em with cloth, but the cracks just get bigger. If we can't store the food, it'll rot in the rain… and we'll have nothing to eat when the snow comes."
Xiao Ya walked to the nearest stack of barrels, running her hand over the cedar wood. Her palms glowed soft green, and she closed her eyes for a moment—listening, as if the wood itself were speaking. When she opened them, she nodded slowly. "The cedar's too dry," she said, turning to Clara. "The winter was colder than usual, and the barn's walls are drafty—they sucked all the moisture from the wood. Cedar needs a little dampness to stay strong; without it, it shrinks and splits. The cedar trees on the edge of the village say the wood was cut too late last year, too—before it had time to adjust to the barn's air."
Clara's shoulders sagged, relieved to have an answer. "I thought we'd ruined the barrels for good. My husband cut the wood last winter—we were in a hurry to store the harvest, and we didn't wait like his pa used to."
Mo Ying slung her toolbox over her shoulder, already inspecting a cracked barrel. She tapped the wood gently, listening to the hollow sound. "We'll rehydrate the cedar first—soften it so the cracks close a little. Then we'll seal the splits with pine resin from Pine Ridge—Gareth's resin'll hold 'em tight. Lin Che, you can help move the unbroken barrels to a damper part of the barn. Su Qing, can you use runes to keep the wood from drying out again? Make the cedar stay strong even in the draft?"
Su Qing flipped open her Arcane Manual, pointing to a page of preservation runes. "Runes for moisture balance—they'll keep the cedar from getting too dry or too damp. Clara, do you have a bucket of water and rags? We'll wipe down the barrels to rehydrate them."
Clara nodded, calling over her 12-year-old son, Finn. "Finn, get the big bucket from the kitchen and grab some old rags! Hurry—we've got barrels to fix!"
Finn appeared moments later, struggling with a bucket twice his size, and the work began. Xiao Ya and Finn wiped down each barrel with damp rags, their hands moving in slow circles to let the water soak into the cedar. The wood darkened slightly as it absorbed the moisture, and the cracks visibly shrank. Mo Ying melted chunks of pine resin over a small fire, stirring it until it was smooth and golden, then brushed it into the remaining splits—pressing the wood together until the resin cooled and sealed the gaps.
Lin Che and Clara moved the unbroken barrels to the back of the barn, where a small stream trickled under the floorboards, keeping the air damp. Su Qing carved runes into small cedar chips, tucking them into the barn's corners—each rune glowed green, casting a soft light that seemed to settle over the wood like a protective veil.
By late afternoon, the last barrel was fixed. Mo Ying lifted it, tapping the sealed crack with her knuckle. "Good as new," she said. "This'll hold your corn till spring, easy."
Clara opened a barrel of dried apples, pulling out a handful and passing them around. "Taste—these are from last fall's harvest. Sweetest we've had in years. If you hadn't fixed the barrels, they'd be moldy by now."
That evening, the villagers hosted a feast in the barn—they spread blankets on the floor, and Clara baked bread with dried corn from the saved barrels. Finn played a wooden flute he'd carved himself, and the villagers talked about the harvests of years past—how Clara's father-in-law had stored food in cedar barrels that lasted decades.
Before they left the next morning, Clara handed Lin Che a small cedar box, its lid carved with a pattern of corn stalks. Inside was a pouch of dried apple slices, still sweet and crisp. "These are for your journey," she said. "Eat 'em when you're hungry, and remember Cedar Hollow. Remember that even when things split apart—wood, plans, hope—you can fix 'em. You just need a little help."
Lin Che took the box, running his finger over the carved corn stalks. The wood was smooth, warm from the barn's sun.
They climbed aboard the starship, waving goodbye. Clara and Finn stood by the barn, holding the cedar box, while the other villagers waved from the road. The fixed barrels glinted in the morning sun, safe and full.
Inside the cabin, Xiao Ya placed the cedar box on the dashboard—next to the pine resin box from Pine Ridge, the daisy petal bag from Daisy Dell, and all their other treasures. Su Qing flipped open Li Wei's map, pointing to a village in the south. "Mallow Marsh," she said. "Li Wei's notes say their reed boats are sinking—they use the boats to fish in the marsh and trade with nearby villages. Without them, they can't catch fish or sell their reeds."
Mo Ying grinned, adjusting the starship's controls. "Reed boats? We fixed cedar barrels, pine resin, well water—boats are next. Xiao Ya can talk to the reeds, find out why they're rotting. I'll help weave new ones if we need to."
Lin Che looked out the window, at the cedar trees below. The Star Marrow on his wrist glowed softly, matching the warm brown of the cedar box. This was their journey: not grand battles, but mending the small, vital things that kept villages fed and connected—barrels for food, boats for trade, resin for roofs. It was quiet, it was purposeful… but it kept communities alive.
"Mallow Marsh," he said. "Let's go fix those boats."
The starship turned south, toward the misty marshlands. The cedar trees below faded from view, and the air grew thick with the promise of water and reeds. Ahead, a new village waited. A new problem. A new chance to bring hope.
And as always—they were ready.