Tonight we have returned to the Red Expanse.
Far from villages.
Far from inns.
Far from anything that could reasonably be called civilization.
And strangely enough—
I quite enjoy it.
The caravan is heading west toward Vaultreach once more.
Unlike our journey to Dunskar, where it was only myself, Ryn, Spathian, and Old Shard walking across half the desert, this time we travel together with the caravan.
Three wagons.
Several crew members.
A proper camp.
At the moment I am writing this beside a lantern while the desert wind moves across the dunes beyond our camp.
It is peaceful.
Earlier this afternoon, Caravan Master returned from somewhere together with Master Stonefist.
Neither explained where they had been.
Which is normal.
People around Caravan Master rarely explain anything voluntarily.
The important part is that they returned carrying something.
Or rather—
dragging something.
A large animal.
At first I thought it was a boar.
Then I realized it was much larger than any boar I had ever seen.
Its hide was deep red.
Almost the same color as the sands around us.
The two of them carried it directly toward Old Shard.
Then dropped it in front of him.
I immediately prepared myself for another argument.
After all, most interactions involving Old Shard eventually become arguments.
Instead, he simply sighed.
Stood up.
Drew a knife from his belt.
And began cleaning the animal.
The transformation was immediate.
The cheerful old collector vanished.
The eccentric shopkeeper vanished.
The grumbling old man vanished.
What remained was someone who had clearly done this hundreds of times before.
Perhaps thousands.
I walked over and asked whether he needed help.
Old Shard laughed.
"Mama, just sit and wait for me to finish cooking."
I still dislike that nickname.
Though I am increasingly concerned that I have started responding to it automatically.
That seems unhealthy.
So I sat nearby and watched.
His knife moved quickly.
Efficiently.
Confidently.
Before long, the animal had been cleaned completely.
Then he finally reached for the enormous cauldron he always carries.
The same cauldron Ryn has spent weeks demanding he leave behind.
I expected him to ask someone to gather firewood.
Or perhaps prepare a cooking pit.
Instead, he simply placed the cauldron on the sand.
Then removed a small waterskin.
And the first strange thing happened.
Water began pouring into the cauldron.
And continued pouring.
And continued pouring.
And continued pouring.
The waterskin never seemed to empty.
Not even slightly.
Naturally, I asked about it.
Old Shard looked mildly surprised that I needed an explanation.
Then he showed me the waterskin.
Bottomless Waterskin.
An old artifact from his younger days.
A worn leather waterskin capable of producing clean water endlessly.
Or at least endlessly enough for practical purposes.
I nodded.
That seemed reasonable.
By Old Shard standards.
Then the second strange thing happened.
The water began boiling.
Immediately.
Without fire.
Without coal.
Without anything.
The cauldron simply decided it was time to boil.
Again, I asked.
Again, Old Shard seemed surprised I required clarification.
Apparently the cauldron itself was another artifact.
The Everboil Cauldron.
A relic capable of heating whatever was placed inside.
No fire required.
At this point, I had stopped questioning why Old Shard carries a giant cauldron everywhere.
The answer was obvious.
Because he is Old Shard.
That explains many things.
Not all things.
But enough.
The cooking continued.
Eventually he began adding seasoning.
Or what I assumed was seasoning.
A small pinch.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
Then several more.
After a while I became concerned.
"Won't that be too salty?"
Old Shard laughed.
Then showed me a small wooden container.
The Spice Eternity.
Another artifact.
Capable of producing whatever spice or seasoning the owner desired.
Salt.
Pepper.
Mustard.
Dried herbs.
Anything.
I stared at the little box.
Then at the waterskin.
Then at the cauldron.
Then back at Old Shard.
Honestly, all of this felt completely appropriate.
If anyone in the world possessed three artifacts specifically designed to make cooking easier—
it would be Old Shard.
Eventually the stew finished.
The smell spread across camp.
And something remarkable happened.
Core Crew members began appearing.
Not quickly.
Not obviously.
Just gradually.
As though they had all independently decided to wander near the cauldron at exactly the same time.
A suspicious coincidence.
Master Grim arrived.
Master Ironbeard arrived.
Master Blackthorn arrived.
Master Stonefist had never truly left.
Bowls appeared.
Spoons appeared.
Conversations appeared.
And before long everyone was eating.
The stew was excellent.
Not luxurious.
Not complicated.
Not something that would impress nobles.
But it reminded people of home.
I could see it.
The way conversations slowed.
The way people stared into their bowls for a little too long.
The way smiles appeared without anyone noticing.
For a little while, the desert felt less empty.
After dinner I asked Old Shard whether there were more stories he wanted me to record.
He became quiet.
Not immediately.
First he thought.
Then he looked toward the fire.
Then toward the dunes.
And finally he nodded.
Something changed.
Very slightly.
His shoulders seemed lower.
His eyes looked older.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As though he had suddenly become aware of every year he had lived.
For the first time since meeting him—
he looked tired.
Truly tired.
Old Shard asked for a little time first.
He said he wanted to clean the cooking equipment.
I believed him.
Mostly.
Though I suspect he wanted time for something else.
Perhaps courage.
Perhaps memory.
Perhaps both.
The atmosphere changed slowly after that.
No one commented on it.
No one needed to.
The warmth remained.
The jokes remained.
But something quieter had arrived.
Something waiting.
Eventually we gathered together.
Myself.
Ryn.
Spathian.
Master Grim.
Master Ironbeard.
Master Stonefist.
Master Blackthorn.
And Old Shard.
Caravan Master was still busy somewhere among the wagons.
The fire crackled.
The desert wind moved across the camp.
And Old Shard began speaking.
The story he told deserves its own page.
Because by the time he finished—
I realized I was looking at one member of the older generation differently than before.
I need time to process it.
So I will write that story tomorrow.
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