The afternoon light spilled golden over the cabin's neglected garden, its warmth seeping into bones that had known only Antarctic cold for too long.
Evelyn sat back in one of the salvaged wicker chairs, her face tilted upward, eyes closed against the brightness. The withered flowerbeds around them, long since gone to seed, seemed less like a ruin today and more like a promise—something that could be revived.
Patrick dropped a stack of yellowed notebooks onto the round table they'd dragged outside, along with a pot of coffee brewed from the cabin's stash. The rich, earthy scent mingled with the salt breeze. "Alright," he said, pouring a cup. "Let's build a kingdom."
Yona spread a hand-drawn map across the table, weighting its corners with smooth stones. The island took shape under her fingers—the curved southern cove where their ship now anchored, the dense western forest, the mineral-rich mountain to the north. She traced three broad sections with her pencil.
