The next morning, Adrian woke to the sound of children's laughter and splashing water. He rubbed his eyes, blinking at the crude wooden ceiling above him. A villager had offered him a place to sleep—a drafty hut with a straw mat—but it was better than nothing.
When he stepped outside, the entire village was gathered around the well he had rebuilt. Children drew bucket after bucket of water, cheering every time the pulley worked smoothly. Women carried jars with smiles on their faces instead of curses.
For a moment, Adrian just stood there, arms folded. Watching.
It wasn't skyscrapers, bridges, or city skylines. But seeing these people so happy over a simple improvement stirred something in him.
Maybe… this is worth more than all the contracts and investors I bled for back on Earth.
The old chief hobbled over, leaning heavily on his cane. His sharp eyes studied Adrian with a mix of respect and suspicion.
"You said your name is Adrian."
"That's right," Adrian replied.
The chief stroked his beard. "In a single night, you did what none of us could do in years. This well is stronger than before. No ordinary wanderer carries such knowledge. Who are you, really?"
Adrian hesitated. If he told the truth, they'd call him insane. But before he could answer, a young boy darted forward.
"It doesn't matter who he is!" the boy shouted. "He fixed the well! He's a hero!"