Genetic Awakening: My Genes Evolve Infinitely!

Chapter 187: Crash

Rohan studied the map.

East of Veyrhold.

Merchant flats.

Restricted resource sites.

Danger. Profit. Passage.

The Great System stirred before Maerin even finished speaking.

[Quest Received: Expedition of Ash and Silver]

[Objective: Join Veyrhold’s eastern resource expedition.]

[Potential Rewards: Death Essence, External Trade Value, Passage Information]

[Risk: High]

Rohan stared at the word.

Potential Rewards.

Not guaranteed.

Risk: High.

At least the Great System was honest about that part.

Maerin watched his face.

"It appeared."

"Yes."

"What does it say?"

"That I should go east and probably regret it."

"Accurate."

Rohan looked back at the map.

Four months in Veyrhold had taught him the difference between reckless hope and useful risk.

Reckless hope was staring at a crashed ship settlement and imagining a hidden vessel waiting beneath the floor. Useful risk was counting the months until the merchant ship arrived, learning the trade system, gaining strength through hunts, earning enough trust to be allowed near valuable resources, and taking the chance that might move him from pathetic savings to something that could matter.

He still did not belong here.

Not fully.

Maybe never.

But Veyrhold had given him shelter, food, knowledge, training, and a reason to hate the Gilded

Heron with educated precision. Its people had gone from staring at him like a threat to calling him when drains cracked and beasts needed tracking.

That was not acceptance.

But it was a beginning.

Rohan exhaled.

"Who else is going?"

Maerin’s expression did not change, but something in her shoulders eased by a fraction.

"Jorren. Liora. Sen. Veska. Two harvesters. Three shield hands. Bren will manage tallies from here."

"Liora’s leg?"

"Healed enough."

"That means no."

"It means she threatened to follow if refused."

"That sounds right."

"You will leave in six days if the storm readings hold."

"Six days."

"Yes."

Rohan accepted the quest.

[Quest Accepted: Expedition of Ash and Silver]

For a moment, the panel’s pale light reflected in his eyes.

Then it vanished.

Maerin folded her arms.

"You should know one more thing."

Rohan looked at her.

"That phrase has never led to anything pleasant."

"The eastern route passes near the old wreck field."

He went still.

"The crashed ship?"

"What remains of it."

Rohan’s attention sharpened instantly.

Maerin saw it and frowned.

"Do not get ideas."

"I already have several."

"Bury them."

"No."

"Rohan."

He stepped closer to the map, eyes fixed on the old ship symbols.

The wreck.

The origin of Veyrhold.

A centuries-old crashed spaceship would not simply contain answers about the settlement. It might contain records. Navigation data. Old technology. Proof of where the humans had come from before Cael Athis. Maybe even something the merchants had never wanted repaired or understood.

Most of it was probably stripped.

Probably dead.

Probably buried under ash and time.

But probably was not certainly.

And Rohan had built his last four months around chasing gaps between impossible and not impossible.

Maerin’s voice hardened.

"The wreck field is unstable. People die there."

"People die everywhere here."

"More there."

"Why mention it if you don’t want me thinking about it?"

"Because if I don’t, you will learn it from Liora and think I hid it."

"You did hide Hestia’s warning-songs."

"That is different."

"How?"

"It is older."

"That is not better."

For once, Maerin looked tired rather than severe.

"You are not ready for all the old things beneath Veyrhold."

Rohan met her gaze.

"Maybe not. But I need to be ready before the Gilded Heron arrives."

Silence settled between them.

Outside the ash-house, the evening bells rang. One. Two. Three. Not alarm. Shift change. The ordinary rhythm of a settlement surviving another day.

Maerin looked back at the map.

"The wreck field is not the goal of the expedition," she said.

"But we pass near it."

"Yes."

"And if there’s useful salvage?"

"We mark it."

"Mark it."

"We do not chase it blindly."

"I can work with that."

"You will follow orders."

"I’ll argue first."

"I know."

"Then follow them if they make sense."

Maerin gave him a long look.

"That is the most I expected."

Rohan smiled faintly.

The expression faded when he looked again at the eastern marks.

Four months ago, he had entered Veyrhold wounded, ignorant, and furious at the discovery that this world held no easy road away from itself. Since then, he had learned the shape of the cage in more detail. Its walls were not only ash and distance, but trade, debt, fear, and time.

Now, for the first time, he could see several paths converging.

The Great System’s quests.

The growth from death essence.

The eastern expedition.

The merchant flats.

The old wreck field.

The Gilded Heron, three months away.

Rohan did not know which path would lead him off Cael Athis.

He did not know whether Hestia had intended all of this or merely thrown him into a place where desperation would sharpen him faster than comfort ever could.

He did not even know whether leaving this planet would bring him closer to returning home or only deeper into the Greater Universe.

But he knew one thing with the certainty of someone who had spent four months earning each breath under an ash-dark sky.

He was stronger than when he arrived.

And six days from now, he would go east.

The six days before the expedition did not pass quietly.

Rohan had expected them to drag. He thought he would spend them sharpening

Hestia’s spear, checking his supplies too many times, arguing with Maerin overroutes he barely understood, and staring at the map until the old wreck fieldsomehow gave up its secrets through sheer pressure.

Instead, Veyrhold swallowed him whole.

The settlement had a way of doing that. It did not allow anyone to stand idle neardanger. The moment word spread that the eastern resource expedition had beenapproved, the entire rhythm of the hold shifted around it. Storehouses opened.

Harvesters inspected reinforced packs. Shield hands took their gear apart andreassembled it in silence. Ash-house workers prepared wound salves, lung filters,fever draughts, burn wraps, and packets of powdered salts that Rohan had learnednot to smell directly unless he wanted to regret having a nose.