Chapter 5: The First Supply Run

[Vines +20]

[User Serayne Veyra’s stall has been activated.]

Serayne stared at the notification for a moment, then opened the newly unlocked tab. Ten empty storage slots appeared before her, one of them already occupied by the bundle of vines she had just deposited. 

It wasn't an especially lavish storefront, but compared to the prospect of piling everything on the floor of her cramped Hearthhold, it was a convenience she had no intention of taking for granted.

Reaching for the bottle with the leftover water, she placed it carefully onto the right panel and selected deposit. 

She watched with keen interest as the plastic vanished, replaced by a small icon in the next open slot. When she tapped retrieve a moment later, the bottle returned to the tabletop so fast she instinctively reached out to touch it, making sure she wasn't just staring at a hollow projection.

Well… at least this works exactly as promised.

She tested it once more to confirm the item would materialize in the exact same spot, then set it aside and returned to her Personal Profile. She had noticed her mana drop earlier after casting Gathering, but now she examined the readout closely, wanting to know exactly how much she had left for the expedition ahead.

Sixty points looked considerably less reassuring than a full eighty, especially with the shelter upgrade requirements in mind. After a moment's thought, she closed the materials window and glanced at the empty supply crate sitting by the pallet.

Food and water first… All the timber in the world won't make breakfast, even if I stack it to the ceiling.

She retrieved the sausage she had set aside before working and activated Featherstep again, gliding toward the exit with far more caution than she had shown the night before. This time, she planned to hunt for crates in broad daylight, hoping she would at least see whatever she needed to avoid. Yet within minutes, she realized daylight didn't make everything simpler.

At night, the pale green glow had guided her straight to her prize. Under the sun, it was lost amid leaves, dappled light, and moisture-slicked foliage, forcing her to scan her surroundings much more closely. Serayne paused along bough after bough, searching the hollows between the massive roots, taking small bites of her breakfast as she went while trying not to drop the wrapper.

When she finished, her hand drifted out over the open drop on reflex, but she caught herself and stuffed the plastic into the pocket of her scrubs instead.

If I'm going to live here, I might as well not start by littering beneath my own tree.

She was still wearing the clothes she had arrived in from Asterra. The white dress remained folded by her bedding; Serayne had no intention of getting it filthy squeezing through branches before she had even managed a proper wash. Her current scrubs already bore the grime of rain, floorboards, and dragged vines - a few more scuffs against tree bark wouldn't make a difference, and at least she could move without worrying about ruining her only clean outfit.

***

Roughly half an hour later, Serayne hadn't spotted a single crate, but she had discovered something that made her forget all about the fruitless search.

Pausing beside a thick bough, she anchored herself with one hand and brought up her status panel again. For a while now, her mana pool had been behaving differently than her earlier math suggested. She had expected a steady drain, yet check after check, the gauge held firm at sixty points - even though Featherstep remained active and she was undeniably floating.

She furrowed her brow, waiting another minute, and stared at the readout as if watching it closely might force it to correct itself.

Either I'm misunderstanding something, or mana recovers just as fast as I burn it…

She recalled how a night's rest had completely refilled her pool, then compared the Talent's upkeep against what she had observed during her trek. If passive regeneration sat around one point per minute and didn't shut off while using Featherstep, maintaining weightlessness wouldn't eat into her reserves at all - provided she didn't cast anything else.

A smile crept onto her lips, one she couldn't suppress, though she quickly tempered it with caution. Half an hour of observation didn't explain the whole system.

So maybe I don't just have an hour… maybe I have far more.

Easy now. Let's test it longer before planning an expedition to the other side of the forest.

Still, the possibility brought a fresh surge of energy to her next leap off the bough. She remained mindful of her trajectory, periodically checking her mana readout. Passive regeneration did nothing for her aching hands, after all, and an endless pool of mana wouldn't make her limp legs suddenly grip a branch. She had to stay careful regardless of how promising the numbers looked.

It was during one of these stops that she noticed an unusual shape at the base of a nearby tree, where thick vines formed a wide, sloped silhouette.

From a distance, it resembled a foliage-draped tent or a collapsed roof. Serayne paused, studying the spot intently as she remembered the chat message from someone whose Hearthhold required mostly vines.

Someone's shelter?

She didn't approach right away. Instead, she observed the clearing from several angles, looking for a door, a window, or any sign of movement that might betray an occupant. Nobody appeared. Through the creeping greenery, she finally picked out splintered timber and a cave-in. Lowering herself cautiously, she paused by the trunk before parting the hanging tendrils.

The cabin hidden beneath was partially caved in.

One side of the roof had fallen inward, the wall near the entrance tilted dangerously, and wild creepers thrust through gaps in the wood, having long since claimed the structure as their own. Serayne hesitated, wondering if she should simply turn back, but the prospect of a crate tucked inside such an overlooked corner proved tempting enough to warrant a peek inside the intact section.

Squeezing carefully through a wide breach while taking care not to put weight on the rotted planks, she found an interior where nearly everything had succumbed to damp rot. An overturned table lay on its side, broken chair legs were scattered about, and moss and roots crept over the remnants of shelving, choking the dark, unrecognizable debris of long-forgotten belongings.

She began searching the areas she could safely reach, clearing loose debris and checking beneath fallen shelves. She managed to tip over one of the lighter cabinets only after bracing against a sturdier timber and gingerly increasing her body weight, but the effort yielded nothing more than a puff of damp dust and the hollow splintering of rotted wood.

She found no crate, but beneath the remnants of a shelf, she caught sight of a small brown object that didn't look like another strip of bark.

Pulling it free, she brushed off the cover and stared at the embossed lettering:

Alchemical Notes of Avelra Myr.

It was a palm-sized notebook bound in cracked, leather-like material she couldn't quite identify.

Opening the cover gingerly, she braced for crumbly parchment or smeared ink, but found legible, crisp script - in far better condition than anything else in the ruin.

She hovered a finger above the page without touching the ink and felt a subtle, peculiar tingle, remarkably similar to the hum of mana near the console.

Magic protected this? That’s why it didn’t rot with the rest?

Strangest of all was the writing itself. The characters bore no resemblance to Asterra's script, yet she understood the words almost instinctively, as though their meaning was conveyed directly into her mind before she could even parse the glyphs. She lingered over a sentence, then glanced back at the title, but the effect remained identical. She closed the notebook with a mix of intrigue and suspicion.

She had no desire to study the text beneath a ceiling looking for any excuse to collapse, so she tucked the notebook safely into an empty pocket and swept her gaze around the room once more. Satisfied that there was nothing else to scavenge without taking foolish risks, she slipped back outside and resumed her supply run.

***

By late morning, she had managed to locate two more crates, both roughly the same size as the one she had brought back the night before.

The first held a half-liter bottle of tea, a five-hundred-gram loaf of packaged coconut bread, an apple, and a towel. The second contained a can of beer, a multipack of instant noodles, and a wooden bowl that drew a genuine flash of interest from Serayne. The bowl was about twenty centimeters wide and deep enough that she could finally prepare or store meals without relying on disposable containers.

Beer…

Apparently someone figured that after tossing us into a monster-infested forest, a cold brew was just the thing to lift our spirits…

She set it alongside the rest regardless; she wasn't about to throw away provisions just because she would have preferred plain water. After examining three different crates, she began to notice a pattern: each seemed to contain a drink, one or two food items, and an everyday utility good, even if the dress, towel, and bowl showed just how varied those goods could be.

It wasn't enough to form an absolute rule, but it proved that tracking down more containers was well worth the trouble, even when she needed gear more than she needed extra rations.

Finding two pliable vines, she lashed the crates together and tested whether she could carry both without losing her balance before leaving the area. While her Talent didn't eliminate the weight of her cargo, the load proved light enough to manage, and binding the handles freed up one hand to navigate the branches.

That didn't make the journey comfortable.

On the trek back, she stopped far more often against the massive trunk, adjusting the bindings and resting when her arms began to ache. But she refused to leave the empty crates behind. In a shelter where she had to start from scratch, two extra storage boxes were well worth the sweat.

***

“Did you see that? Something darted through the branches,” a woman gathering wood said, jerking her head up so sharply her fox ears brushed against a hanging vine.

Her companion, a bespectacled futa, paused mid-swing with a longsword against a slender trunk and shot her an irritated glare. The red crest on her right cheek darkened as she stepped into the canopy's shade. Short goat horns peeked from her light hair, while a wolf tail swished restlessly behind her, betraying fatigue mixed with mounting frustration over her weapon choice.

“Stop making excuses and keep hauling, or we’ll come up short on materials again.”

“I'm serious! There was a shadow up there.”

The woman in glasses finally looked up, scanning the boughs. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, her irritation gave way to caution.

“Big?”

“I couldn't tell, just a flicker through the leaves.”

They fell silent for a heartbeat, listening. Then the sword wielder bent down to scoop up her bundle of wood and gestured in the opposite direction.

“We’re moving. I'm not risking a fight with some flying beast right now.”

She led the way, balancing her weapon and firewood, though after a few paces she scowled down at the blade she had been misusing as a logging tool.

“Should've taken the axe… Less glamorous, but at least it would actually cut through this damn wood.”

The other woman clutched her bundle to her chest and hurried after, casting one last nervous glance upward, where nothing remained between the leaves except shafts of sunlight.

Serayne had spotted them earlier, but had no intention of descending to explain that the suspicious shadow was just a frail, disabled girl hauling two crates and trying not to snag her scrubs on the twigs. Throughout the morning, she had observed several other arrivals gathering supplies - some utilizing magic, others toiling with tools.

For now, staying unseen was the wiser choice. She didn't know who she could trust, and her past five years had provided more than enough reasons never to mistake a polite smile for genuine goodwill. She needed to learn to survive without relying on anyone's charity before deciding who, if anyone, was worth letting close.

Reaching the Hearthhold, Serayne lowered the crates onto the floor and slumped against the wall, simply resting until the trembling in her arms subsided. The haul lifted her spirits, but it hadn't spared her body. Before touching anything else, she drank some water and checked that the notebook was still secure in her pocket.

Only then did she organize her findings. She moved the food and drinks into the stasis crate and set the other items aside, saving herself from rummaging through everything whenever she needed a single tool. Pulling out the coconut bread, she settled comfortably by the console, nibbling small bites while scrolling through the messages that had arrived in her absence.

World Chat remained a raging torrent, where frantic pleas for missing loved ones mingled with curses, arrogant boasts, and advice delivered with far more confidence than competence. Even pausing the feed did little good; there were simply too many voices to sift out anything of real value. Serayne soon switched over to her own sector.

Here too, messages moved quickly, but they spoke of locations, beasts, and events unfolding right in her backyard. A few lines in, her mindless snacking slowed, her fingers resting on the edge of the wrapper.

At last, she was finding information that could tell her what kind of forest she had really landed in.