The countryside slid past in silence, broken only by the iron rhythm of steel wheels on patched rails and the low, steady churn of the engine ahead. Starlight quietly dropped behind like a memory, its defensive walls and jury-rigged cranes vanishing behind the rise and fall of autumn-split terrain. Ahead, the north stretched open as fields went wild under seasons of neglect, with scattered barns leaning at angles like they were tired of pretending to stand. Prairie grasses reached higher than they should, golden in the afternoon light, reclaiming ditches and roads with the slow confidence of a world getting back to work without people.

Xander sat alone near the rear loading flat, where the side panels had been welded down but still offered a view through the rail slats. He leaned against a secured crate of coiled fencing, boots planted wide for balance, one hand resting on his spear's haft while the other scratched absentmindedly behind Cabbot's ears. The cat didn't move except to flick her tail once, acknowledging the contact but withholding judgment.

Out ahead of the passenger and freight cars, the wind caught the echo of a whistle.

Xander squinted through the gaps between freight cars as the city ruins closed in around them. Champaign's train station emerged from the rubble like a fossil lodged deep in bone as the train slowed, brakes hissing steam in brief intervals.

A member of the construction crew dropped from a forward car, calling to the others as she jogged toward the flatbed. Her voice was clipped, efficient. "Unload station kits. We're not camping, we're fortifying. Let's not make this take longer than it has to."

Ford and Zoey were already moving before she finished, looping ropes around crates and prying open storage lockers. Darvos and half his team had stepped down onto the platform, spreading out with quiet purpose. There were no shouted orders, only practiced glances and subtle shifts in posture as they kept watch on the broken skyline. Their weapons stayed shouldered but ready. It wasn't a formal perimeter. Just soldiers doing what soldiers do when the quiet feels a little too clean.

Xander stood and stretched, rolling his neck once before stepping down onto the broken platform.

The wind moved quietly through the ruins, brushing over concrete and rails without interruption. There were no cars, distant traffic, or aircraft cutting the sky. Just wind through wild grass and the soft tick of cooling engine metal. The silence felt older than people, like the world had finally remembered how to breathe without all the noise of humanity.

The crew moved fast. With the urgency of people who knew how fast things could go wrong, they hauled crates to the ground, took tarps off, and put prefab barricades into place. Alongside bundles of scavenged metal sheets, they dragged braced walls and reinforced gates into position. Nothing looked fancy, but it was enough to build a perimeter. Xander counted six engineers, two adventuring teams, and a handful of locals from Starlight who hadn't yet learned how to look bored while lifting heavy things. It wasn't chaos. It was momentum with a purpose.

Cabbot padded beside him, her gaze fixed on a section of the roof above the terminal. She stared long enough that Xander followed her line of sight, expecting the shimmer of a spectre or something half-phased into the astral.

Nothing.

Which didn't track. His Cat's Sight let him see things others couldn't. Spirits, echoes, whatever you wanted to call them. It had worked back in the gnoll dungeon, when Morvinn Stoneheart appeared and lingered even after slipping back into the astral. If something spectral was there, he should be able to see it.

But he didn't.

Still, he made a mental note. It wasn't the first time he'd caught her watching something invisible to him. Either she was seeing something beyond even his reach… or the spectral cat was just screwing with him.

On the station wall nearest the entry arch, someone in white overalls had painted a rough symbol. A white circle with a blue cross through its middle. A silent message to anyone passing by that refuge waited here, a fortified place with supplies within.

Xander watched it dry.

Unlikely anyone left in the city would see it. Most had died in the opening slaughter, fled, or just given up during the early months when the Simulation first rebooted. But still. Someone had taken the time. And that mattered.

A few meters away, Councilor Weller stood on the edge of the platform with a notepad in hand, talking to one engineer. She'd ditched her formal boots for something reinforced and treaded, but still moved like she was navigating a boardroom. She didn't glance at Xander, but she didn't need to. The mission was underway, and she was gathering data the way other people gathered air.

He stepped up beside her anyway, arms folded. "Thinking about logos?"

Weller didn't look over. "Sorry?"

He nodded toward the blue cross. "If we're going to paint symbols on things, we might as well come up with a flag. Something for Starlight. Crest, banner, whatever you want to call it."

"Doesn't that feel… premature?" she asked.

"We're setting up a fortified outpost in a ruined city in a pseudo-claim as the hosting safe zone of a raid and dungeon location." He shrugged. "We passed premature ten miles ago."

Weller didn't argue, which was maybe the closest thing to agreement he was going to get from her today.

Xander turned back toward the loading area, watching the last of the supply crates get locked into the prefab bunkers they'd dropped into place. A temporary outpost, sure, but the bones were good. Real defenses. Enough to mark this place on the map as an outpost of Starlight.

JT had updated the Data Forge right after the siege was over, tagging Starlight not just as a safe zone, but as an adventuring town. Xander hadn't argued. The title felt like admitting the world had changed beyond salvaging. But then again, maybe it was just an excellent strategy. Adventurers meant skilled fighters. Fighters meant defense. Defense meant trade. Trade kept the lights on.

It wasn't about pride. It was about leverage. And maybe surviving another winter.

Cabbot made a low noise beside him, something between an exhale and a growl. It wasn't irritation or warning, just her usual brand of pointed commentary.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Not exactly how I saw my life going."

He didn't say the rest aloud. That this wasn't the plan. Once upon a time, he'd just wanted to go camping for the week. One last trip before a large project consumed the next six months of his attention along with whatever else adulthood was supposed to look like. Instead, someone handed him a spear while the world was on fire.

Now he was laying down forward bases and escorting councilors like a glorified bodyguard.

Somewhere behind them, the engine whistled once, short and sharp.

That was the signal.

Jo was already moving, boots crunching over broken gravel as she jogged toward the railcar. "Back on board," she called to whoever was still within earshot, not bothering to raise her voice much. She didn't have to. The ones who mattered were already moving.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Xander followed her up the ladder, Cabbot trotting a few paces behind, tail flicking like she was mentally scoring the crew's efficiency on a scale that only made sense to her. The freight cars clanked with renewed motion as the engine chugged forward, wheels grinding through the rough northern track. Loose bolts rattled underfoot. One engineer swore under his breath as a loading latch jammed.

Fifteen minutes on-site. That was all the time they had burned in Champaign.

The station disappeared behind them in a slow fade as the train picked up speed, carving its way north through overgrown cuts of track that hadn't seen use since before the reboot. According to Darvos, the road ahead was mostly clear. But he'd also admitted they'd stuck to the interstate, not the rails. Which left a lot of room for surprises.

The three of them found space on a flatbed car near the middle of the train. Steel floor warm from the midday sun, crates stacked to waist height behind them, coils of fencing secured with chain at the far end. Xander sat first, letting his boots dangle over the edge, heels bouncing lightly with the rhythm of the track. Jo sat beside him without a word, their shoulders brushing. No need to fill the quiet. The wind did enough of that.

Fields stretched out in every direction, wild and endless. Miles of dry crops, fence posts leaning like drunks, and the occasional tree left standing by neglect rather than mercy.

Xander broke the silence. "I got a quest."

Jo glanced at him sideways. "Ok? I'm going to need a bit more than that. People get quests every day?"

"No, it's sort of tied to my class. One of those capital-Q kind of quests."

That earned a slight shift in posture as she waited for him to continue.

"It popped after the Citadel. I was focusing on the Cult, and how they need to be stopped, when I received it. The goal's vague, but the direction is clear. Break the Cult. Disrupt their infrastructure and, if possible, kill Victor."

Jo blinked once, slowly. "That last a tall order."

"Yeah. But it didn't feel like a suggestion."

He leaned back, palms on the deck behind him, letting the wind hit his face full-on. "Feels like a mandate. Like the Simulation gave me a mission and expects me to follow through."

Jo didn't reply right away. The train kept rolling. A hawk coasted overhead, circling wide above the fields like it had never known cities were a thing.

"Or," she said finally, "it just handed you something that matched what you already wanted. Strong intent, strong trigger. That's what a lot of quest behavior is."

He considered that. "You think if I'd wanted to burn the world instead, I'd have gotten a quest for that too?"

Jo shrugged. "Maybe. 'Conquer Starlight, rule the ashes, build a throne of bones.' You know. Classic villain arc."

Xander smirked. "Yeah. Glad we didn't roll those dice."

"That's why I love you." Her voice stayed dry, but her hand bumped against his. "You have your flaws. But deep down, you do the right thing."

He exhaled slowly. It was as if the weight of the world and the cataclysm suddenly came to rest on his shoulders.

"It's not easy," he said. "This whole thing. Crusader class or not, the quest makes me feel like I'm supposed to be some kind of chosen zealot. Victor believes in something twisted. But what if I'm not as different from him as I think?"

Jo turned to look at him. "You are. Victor built his faith on control. You built yours on compassion."

"I built mine on trying to find you."

"Same thing."

Xander didn't argue. Not because he fully believed her, but because she did. And that counted for something.

She leaned forward now, hands on her knees, gaze tracking the horizon. "I'm with you, Xander. All the way. Ride or die. I don't follow you because of some Simulation AI-generated morality test. I follow you because I know you'll fight like hell to do the right thing, even when it hurts. And I'll be there to kick you in the ass if you forget who you are."

He nodded. "Fair deal. As a point of clarification though, you don't follow me. You stand beside me."

They sat like that for a few seconds longer, with the quiet humming around them.

Xander said nothing else, but the weight she lifted just by being there settled into his chest in a way that made the rest bearable. He didn't always trust his own instincts, not with the things he'd had to do lately. But Jo believed in him. And if someone like her, sharp and steady and brutal when needed, could still look at him and see something worth backing, then maybe he wasn't too far off course.

She was his better half, no question. If she believed he hadn't lost his way, then he didn't get to stop believing either.

"There's a catch," he said after several minutes.

"Of course there is."

"The quest warned me not to tell everyone. Said there were risks. Didn't specify, but made it clear some parts of it have to stay quiet."

"Now that is odd. I don't see personal messages like that in my quests. They are more detached and mechanical." Jo frowned. "So who knows?"

"Just you so far, and I suspect Cabbot somehow knows."

"Well, we tell Zoey."

"That's what I was thinking too."

Xander glanced forward, scanning along the line of connected railcars. A few cars up, Zoey leaned against a stack of supplies, polishing a dented piece of armor with a rag and way too much sarcasm.

"I'm getting ready for our important diplomatic mission," she called over once she noticed him watching. "Do you think Rex likes gold accents?"

Jo snorted.

Cabbot sat beside Jo, perched atop a crate like it was a throne, tail flicking slowly through the air as wind tore across the flatcars. Her ears rotated, then stilled. She was watching something behind him.

Xander turned to follow her gaze.

"Cabbot's watching something again," he muttered. "She did that at the train station too."

"Good. I was worried she was starting to relax." Jo replied with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

The train rattled through a long curve. Jo's eyes tracked something off to the left, and she nudged him with her elbow.

"Look."

Xander followed her gesture.

An old barn stood off near the edge of a tree line, its roof collapsed inward and its walls bleached gray from exposure. Across one leaning side, painted in thick strokes of black pitch, were four words:

SIMULATION IS GOD

Chalky white handprints surrounded the text, smeared and uneven, as if pressed by a crowd.

Jo stared. "They're spreading faster than fungus."

Xander didn't answer. His gaze stayed locked on the barn until it vanished behind a screen of brush and the slow bend of the land, the words still burned into his mind. Simulation is God.

He remembered an old movie quote, something his brother used to say when their team was getting stomped in a late-night match. It's the bottom of the ninth, and we're two skulls behind.

That was what this felt like.

They were trying to catch up. And the cult was already deep into its next play.

The engine suddenly screamed, causing Xander to lose track of what he was about to say.

Not a whistle. A full, teeth-rattling shriek as the brakes locked and metal wailed in protest.

Xander was already on his feet before the sound finished carrying down the cars. His balance shifted automatically as the flatbed lurched beneath him, bolts grinding against steel, the train fighting inertia harder than it should have.

From the front, someone shouted. "Ogres! Both sides! And the overpass!"

Jo was upright beside him in the next breath, sword already half-drawn.

The train plunged into a shallow cut through the plains, the track dipping into a man-made underpass flanked by rocky slopes and dry trees stripped bare by wind. The geography hit him all at once. No space to maneuver. No clean escape. High ground on both sides.

Perfect ambush terrain.

A sharp thwunk split the air ahead. The ballista on the engine fired, and a half-second later, a guttural roar echoed through the cut. Too deep for humans. Too loud for anything small.

Movement flared at the ridge.

Xander saw them.

One on the overpass. Larger than the others. Not just in height, but in the way it carried itself. Thick leather armor. Painted face. In one hand, it dragged a harpoon the length of a street sign, the chain looped around its arm like a leash waiting to be snapped.

Three more ogres moved along the left ridge. Another three mirrored them on the right, weapons ready. Clubs wrapped in wire. Chipped axes. A slab of rebar carried like a war pick.

The train gave one last groan as it finished grinding to a halt.

Ford and Kane burst from a passenger car two cars back, boots slamming the metal as they sprinted toward the flatbed.

"Six on the cliffs!" Kane shouted. "Plus one center!"

"Seven in total," Jo called out.

"Maybe more," Xander said. "Zoey! Roof! I need eyes!"

"Already on it!" her voice snapped back from somewhere ahead.

He saw her scrambling up the side of a loaded car, hair catching wind as she reached the top and flattened low. A moment later, her voice carried, sharp and clear.

"More incoming! Smaller ones, but still big. Eight feet easy!"

Xander's gut locked.

So much for the route being clear.

He planted his feet, spear loose in his hand, and cast a glance toward the ridges. The ogres weren't charging yet. They were watching, lining up their movements as if someone had drilled them.

That meant they had a leader. Probably the one on the overpass.

Xander focused on that one.

It hadn't moved yet. Just stood there, back straight, face painted with vertical streaks of black and rust. Its harpoon dragged at its side, the chain coiled loose around one arm.

Then Xander spotted the one behind it.

Smaller than the rest. Gaunt and almost underfed by ogre standards. It carried no weapon and wore no armor, just bare gray skin marked in rust-colored swirls. Its lips moved constantly, whispering something Xander couldn't hear.

Chanting.

"Oh, shit."

The air snapped.

A bolt of something dark and fast tore through the space where his head had been a second earlier. He dropped low, momentum slamming his shoulder into a crate behind him as the spell shrieked past and exploded against the flatbed's railing with a burst of oily violet light.

Not just ogres.

Spellcasters.

This just got worse.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.