Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Azalea wasn’t prepared to experience the unrelenting terror that was the desert sun. Before she left Highwind, she’d been warned of its ruthless nature and the way it suffocated and tortured. She promised she’d be careful, acknowledging her parents’ advice, all while poking fun at her best friend’s fussing. Only now did she realize how valid their concerns were.

The heat engulfed her like the waves of an angry sea. Her lungs constricted, and the exposed skin on her face, arms, and legs screamed from the assault. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe her flesh was melting off her bones.

Even so, she pressed on.

Sweat dripped into her eyes and plastered strands of hair against her forehead. Her burgundy ponytail hung limp at her neck as she scavenged through scrap piles, the sand biting into her knees while she tried to ignore how her t-shirt stuck to her back.

The resources were readily available — just outside the fenced yard of her new home. All she had to do was endure the sun’s beating long enough to make her pickhammer. Then, she’d report to the Commissioner.

She grimaced when she recalled the skinny, mustached man. Yan, who wore his tailored suit and shining loafers with exaggerated self-importance. To her, it seemed like he had never worked a day in his life, seeing how he swaggered to the Commerce Guild building after dismissing her.

At least Azalea didn’t have to deal with him alone. Mi-an, the young woman who cheerfully greeted her at the train station with a welcome sign, patiently listened to Yan prattle on in his nasally voice.

Mi-an was a new Builder too. After their introductions with the Commissioner and the retiring Builder they were replacing (who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with them), Mi-an led her across the train tracks. When they stopped in front of the run-down workshop the retiring builder left in Azalea’s name, she nervously addressed her.

“I kinda wanted to say something to you privately…” Mi-an said, fiddling with the goggles on her head. “You see, the reason I came to Sandrock is because it's not doing so well for itself. Everybody in the Free Cities knows that. But I didn't hesitate signing that contract. I thought it'd be the best way for me to make a difference in the world.”

The resolve burning in Mi-an’s dark eyes was just as moving as her confession, and Azalea nodded along in agreement.

“That’s incredible,” she said easily. “I really want to help Sandrock, too.”
“You do?” Mi-an’s earnest smile mirrored her own. “Then let's make a promise, Builder to Builder. Let's take Sandrock back to its glory days during our time here. Let's give it our all, okay?”

Azalea shook herself free from the reverie. The fluttery sensation in her chest refused to fade even an hour after the interaction. She could almost forget how the summer heat seared into her skin like a brand...

Sitting back to inspect her findings, she realized she had everything she needed now. Stashing the salvaged materials in her bag, Azalea brushed off the grit clinging to her legs before jumping the fence to her yard. She approached the old worktable sitting beside the house and organized the stone and wood she found on top. She inspected the diagram for her pickhammer.

The raw materials had to be shaped before she could craft them into something useful. She followed the specifications of the diagram before attaching a sturdy wooden handle to the stone head. She tested the pickhammer’s weight in her hands before giving it a couple of experimental swings. It held together well, and the balance was perfect. Overall, a tool of outstanding quality.

“I got this,” she said to herself. Azalea firmly gripped the pickhammer’s handle, as if holding it would give her strength.

Standing under the blazing midday sun, alone in her yard, she made a promise. For the next three years, no matter what happened during her stay in Sandrock, she’ll put every bit of effort into improving the lives of those who called this place home. That was what she wanted most — to help shape the future into a happy one.

And to all those who said she was foolish, naïve, and frankly stupid for having this dream… she will prove them wrong. There was no shame in having faith in people, or to help them during their time of need. Was it so wrong to believe that?

A hot gust suddenly blew into her face, stinging her flushed cheeks with sand. Sputtering, Azalea rubbed off the sticking grains with a sweaty glove.

“I shouldn’t be standing around like this,” she said, adjusting her grip on the pickhammer. “I’m supposed to find Yan now.”

Wiping off the sweat trickling down her temple; she left the yard. Azalea didn’t want to give her friend the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so,’ if she fainted from heat stroke. Besides, she already planned to make a good first impression.

The only way to go was forward.

Chapter Text

The Commerce Guild was a sanctuary.

Cool air swirled around the room with the help of rotating fans, and modest lighting kept the temperature in check. A few tasteful paintings hung on the walls, and the green wallpaper paired well with the dark wood of the floorboards and stairs. Add the scattering of comfortable couches, the commission board that every Commerce Guild should have, and voilà! It was the perfect place to escape the blistering summer heat. And, for the first time since she arrived in Sandrock, Azalea felt human again.

However, Yan didn’t let her stay long. As soon as she walked through the door, the commissioner complimented her “nice lookin' pickhammer” before announcing her next project: build a Recycler.

“It's another indispensable tool for a desert Builder,” he explained, sliding the diagram across his desk. “Once it's made, you can put in the scrap you collect to get all kinds of useful items.”

She nodded as she took the paper.

“Come back to the Commerce Guild when you finish.” The man gestured to the exit as if he were shooing off a fly. “Bye now!”

Pursing her lips, Azalea left the building only to continue digging through scrap piles. The sun’s slow descent turned the sky orange, but she remained diligent in her task, eventually using the materials she found to build a recycler atop a rusted assembly station.

Her satisfaction didn’t last long. As she made her way back to the guild, her thoughts buzzed inside her head like a swarm of angry bees. Along with the sneaking suspicion Yan was already taking advantage of her, there was the sting of familiar insecurities. But she pushed those deep, deep down, refusing to acknowledge them for now.

She approached the door to the guild, pausing long enough to school her expression into a pleasant mask before pushing it open. There, Azalea found Yan exactly where she left him. He sat at his desk, his feet kicked up to rest atop its polished surface, all while leaning back in a luxury swivel chair.

“Hey, there you are! No need to show me the Recycler. I'm sure it's fine.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“Anyway!” Yan continued in his grating voice. “The main thing to take away here is that from now on, whenever you have questions, you can just consult your Workshop Handbook and definitely not ask me anything related to building whatsoever.”

She jerked back in surprise. “Really? None at all?

“That's right, I'll be far, far too busy to handle your questions.”

His smug expression left her bewildered. How did he even become the commissioner? Wasn’t it part of his job to guide new Builders? Well, if she needed help, she’d rather go to Mi-an, anyway.

“So, now that you have the basic knowledge of a desert Builder, why don't you mosey on over to city hall and register your workshop? Normally the mayor handles registrations, but Minister Matilda is taking over the administrative type stuff for her at the moment.”

Her confusion twisted into worry. “Wait, so where's the mayor now?” She asked.

“Oh, you hadn't heard? She's off trying to plant things in the Eufaula Desert.” Yan scoffed at the notion, rolling his eyes. “Didn't no one ever tell her plants need dirt to grow? Anyway, hurry over to city hall and register your workshop. And take these diagrams with you.”

He presented three more diagrams, and she took them without looking at their contents. He either didn’t notice her darkening mood, or it didn’t faze him.

"No need to thank me! Consider it a new employee bonus... thingy!” He nodded, obviously pleased with himself. “And while you're out, I'll be preparing a job for ya. Hurry back when you're done!”

Azalea had already turned on her heel to leave. She crossed the threshold and shut the door too hard behind her. She pressed her hands together and rested her forehead against them. If there were any onlookers, they’d probably think she was praying.

And they wouldn’t be wrong.

Please let me find a way to tolerate this man. I need to last for the next three years.

Azalea breathed out a defeated sigh, watching as the shadows stretched away from the surrounding buildings. Stepping off the Commerce Guild porch, a savory aroma filled the air and made her stomach growl in protest, stopping her in her tracks.

For the whole day, she only snacked on what she brought from home. Now, her belly had to remind her just how desperately she needed to eat a proper meal. Searching for the source of the tantalizing smell, Azalea peered at the doors of the Blue Moon Saloon. It was directly across from her, as tempting as a siren song, but she forced her feet to take her somewhere else. The sooner she registered her workshop, the sooner she could rest.

Azalea passed a couple of storefronts on her way to the city hall, but she paid little attention to them. By the time she drew close to an official-looking building with pillars supporting a second-floor balcony, the fatigue had caught up to her. If she had to fill out a lot of paperwork, then it’d be too late to return to Yan to get her first job. She’d find him tomorrow morning and ask for the details then.

She was about to climb the first step to reach the hall, but a loud voice startled her.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

She looked up, barely having time to gasp and jump back before an enormous man landed in front of her. The impact sent up a dust cloud that made her cough.

Did he literally jump off the roof?

The man stood, his white cape swishing dramatically when he turned to face her. He wore a tracksuit in an obnoxious display of yellow, white, and blue. He even wore a customized chest plate which bore too many scuff marks.

Is he… trying to look like one of those old-world superheroes? The question she asked herself went unanswered.

“Oh. It's you. The new Builder. I thought you were one of Logan's gang. Hah, silly me! You look nothing like an outlaw!” He let out a booming laugh, as if he found the observation funny. Then he looked her up-and-down, frowning. “But your arms... are so skinny. Do you even know how to defend yourself? You know, the desert isn't kind to the fragile.”

She self-consciously glanced at one of her arms. Compared to his freakishly huge biceps, they looked noodly. “I’m not a fighter,” she admitted.

“Hmm…” The man’s brow furrowed in thought before he smirked. “It is decided! I, the magnificent Pen, the protector of Sandrock, as of five seconds ago, have taken it upon myself to offer you... a combat lesson!”

Azalea blinked. “... Right now?”

“Of course! You can never be too careful with all these bandits about! And... did I mention, I'm the strongest man in the world?”

Azalea cringed. She saw the wanted posters for an outlaw named Logan, and his partner-in-crime, Haru. Considering that she’d be living alone, and how her workshop bordered the wilderness, it made sense to learn how to protect herself. Even though she was exhausted, she had to consider her safety, too. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a couple of things, right?

“I… could go over the basics,” she relented.

“Splendid! Let’s go!”

She immediately regretted her decision.

One moment, she was a few steps away from the city hall, and the next, Pen had dragged her into the middle of an arena on the other side of Sandrock. Heart racing, she took in her surroundings. The growing darkness obscured the words on the signs of nearby buildings, but she could still catch the bold lettering of a clinic a few paces away. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go there after this impromptu training session.

“Now! Choose your weapon!” Pen presented the weapon rack with a grand sweep of his arm.

Azalea swallowed the lump in her throat and approached the rack. It held twin daggers, a spear, a sword and shield… and a broadsword? They were all made of stone and had seen a lot of use. Just how often did the average Sandrocker spar?

Azalea scanned the weapons. Her mind imagined brief scenarios where she found trouble and tried to apply logic. Her eyes kept returning to the spear after each calculation.

The spear was the most primitive weapon out of the selection, but she couldn’t deny its effectiveness. It had more reach than any blade, and even if she had to go head-to-head with a foe, she’d still be able to keep some distance between them. And if it came down to it, she could throw it and make a clean getaway.

Her fingers curled around the smooth pole.

“A spear, huh?” Pen said, his comment betraying curiosity. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Er, no. But the pointy end goes into the other guy, right?”

Pen’s roaring laughter rattled her bones. “Right you are! Now, show me what you got.”

“You’re not picking a weapon?”

“Hah! A man like me doesn’t need a weapon!” At her hesitance, he crossed his arms. “A puny toothpick like that won’t do anything to me. I’ll be standing right here, so do your worst.”

He’s joking, right?

He quirked a brow when he caught her disbelieving stare. He said nothing else, so she could only assume he was being serious.

Azalea grasped the spear in her right hand to prepare her first strike. Giving Pen one last worried glance, she sucked in a breath before lunging. The sharpened point made direct contact with the man’s stomach, only to bounce off and leave her staggering. She regained her footing and looked back at Pen with wide eyes.

“See? My abs are solid enough to break bricks, so what’s a little rock on a stick going to do?” Pen grinned. “Again!”

By Peach, this man’s insane!

But with his permission, she struck again with more force. The spear bounced off like before, but undeterred now, she kept stabbing at him with all her might. Eventually, Pen yawned.

“Yes, yes. You can swing that thing around.”

A frustrated growl escaped her. This guy didn’t even twitch from her repeated attempts to puncture, so her reservations about attacking him vanished. He had to have a weak point somewhere! So, pressing her lips together, she adjusted her grip before letting out a fierce cry, jabbing the spear as hard as she could into his side. Pen flinched!

“Wait… did I just feel pain?”

Pen looked as stunned as she felt, prodding at his side where she had just pierced him. Satisfaction bloomed in her chest, and a victorious smile made its way onto her face. She was ready to return the spear to the weapon rack, believing the spar was over, only to see Pen’s expression change. Her smile slipped when she caught sight of Pen’s fiery gaze.

He grinned. “Alright! Next, try not to get hit!”

“Wha—Ah!” Pen threw a punch so fast she flung herself to the ground to avoid it. The wind knocked out of her on impact, but she struggled to her feet as fast as she could, wheezing.

“Think fast!”

Azalea helplessly ducked his right hook, rolling again to dodge another blinding swing. She kept light on her toes, trying to anticipate his next move. Pen held both fists up like a professional boxer. He watched her closely, too.

A twitch from his left shoulder signaled his next strike, and she leaped out of the way and used the spear to slash his outstretched arm. He swiveled around to swipe at her again, but she was faster, already dodging his attack, only to make another one of her own. His cape ripped when she aimed for his back. Not by much, but the fact she managed to tear it at all was already impressive.

He grunted. “Why won’t you stay still?”

Another swing, another timely dodge. By now, the weapon in Azalea’s hand was easier to handle, but she was growing weary and uncoordinated. Her arms were too heavy to lift, and her next lunge was a clumsy one, missing her target by a mile. This seemed to irritate Pen even more.

“That’s it! I grow tired of this game!”

His declaration was the only warning she got before he jumped high into the air. She didn’t know where to run, and the crashing blow from his landing sent her flying towards the other side of the arena. She rolled to a stop, panting hard as she stared up at the first flickering stars.

“Ha-ha! Another victory for the mighty Pen!”

The man chortled to himself. He puffed out his chest while he flexed to impress… no one. Azalea heaved herself into a seated position, groaning at the burning strain of bruised muscles. She rubbed her smarting shoulder, which had absorbed all the shock from the fall. She had lost the spear as well.

“Not bad, skinny arms! With more training, you might be able to beat me!” Pen said. He didn’t lend any help as she climbed onto her hands and knees before standing on shaky legs. She wobbled, but caught the rope encasing the arena to avoid falling over. He was still talking, more to himself than to her. “Though that may never happen, as I’ve never lost before.”

Azalea addressed him in a wavering voice. “Pen, right?”

“That’s my name, yes.”

“Can you take me back to city hall?”

“Say no more!” A blur of movement, and he swept her off her feet. There were so many twists and turns that it left Azalea even more disoriented. When Pen plopped her in front of the stairs, her eyes swam in her skull, trying and failing to discern what hid in the shadows. She winced when Pen patted her sore shoulder. “If you need any more training advice, you can just ask! I’ll be around!”

Pen waved a farewell and strode away with long, confident strides. It took everything in her not to crumple on the spot, and she forced herself up the stairs to push open the door. She squinted at the bright light that spilled through.

“There you are! I was worried you wouldn’t make it in today.”

An older woman approached her, cane in hand. Azalea stepped inside, meeting the eyes of who had to be the acting mayor. She was a regal lady, standing tall in her yellow dress and green shawl. Her gray hair sat atop her head, its height defying gravity. The woman’s expression tightened with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, um,” Azalea self-consciously smoothed down her frazzled locks with her fingers. She must’ve lost her hair tie during the spar. “Pen wanted to give me a combat lesson. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No need to apologize.” The woman nodded with total understanding, her gaze sympathetic. “He has the best intentions at heart, but he gets carried away. Do you need medicine?”

“I must look terrible,” Azalea laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine, though. I just need to rest after this.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time then.” The woman smiled. “I'm Minister Matilda from the Church of the Light, filling in for Mayor Trudy. We're so excited to see you getting started as a Builder here in Sandrock.”

Matilda gestured for Azalea to follow, and they moved through the spacious hall. The whole place emitted a clean, professional vibe. However, what drew her attention was a series of bookshelves lining the left and right walls, with even more on the second floor. She felt the itch to read the spines of the books, but she was too fatigued to pay it any mind.

“To register your workshop, all you have to do is fill out this form.” Matilda said. They had reached the desk at the back of the hall, where a single registration sheet waited for her. Azalea took a pen from an ornate cup, skimming over the words before adding her information.

She put today’s date, added her full name and birthday, checked a box stating she understood the laws of Sandrock, and paused when she came across Workshop Name.

Azalea had a whole train ride to decide this. Her workshop would be her brand, a way for the world to recognize her work and accomplishments. But she wasn’t doing this for money or fame. She could be as whimsical or as punny as she wanted, and she’d be able to change what she called her workshop if she ever got bored with it.

Yet, she put everything she had into becoming a Builder, and to have physical proof of her efforts made all the nights she spent crying worth it. So, she’ll name her workshop something inspiring. Her pen met the paper once more.

Workshop Name: Phoenix Rising

She signed the form with her signature, only to stare at the document in silence.

“That'll do it!” Matilda’s voice snapped her back into the present.

“Congratulations, Azalea! Your workshop is officially open for business in Sandrock!” The woman hummed, taking the paper and looking over it. “Now, it’ll take a couple of days for us to make your workshop sign, but we’ll make sure it’s delivered to your door when it’s ready.”

The older woman opened a drawer within the desk, taking out another form and using a different pen to copy over the information Azalea provided. Then, with a flourish, Matilda took a stamp and planted it on the bottom right corner of the document. The red ink dried quickly, and Matilda slipped the stamped form into a wooden frame.

Matilda handed the frame to her. “Now, this one is a temporary copy, but this license lets you start taking commissions from the Commerce Guild as soon as you’re ready. Getting the official one will take a few extra days, but I’ll send a letter to let you know when it’s ready to pick up.”

Azalea took the temporary license from Matilda. Just holding gave her pleasant jitters.

“Now, I'm not exactly known around these parts for my arithmetic, but I do reckon we can expect a lot from two Builders as opposed to just ole Mason by his lonesome! I daresay this calls for a celebration! Normally we have fireside meetings on Sunday nights, but I reckon I'll just round everyone up tomorrow night to properly welcome you new Builders; oh and you must come, it wouldn't be the same without you!”

“That sounds fun,” Azalea said, feeling giddy. “I’ll definitely be there.”

Matilda was already guiding her back to the entrance. When they reached it, she spoke warmly. “We’ll see you tomorrow night, then. And congratulations again, Azalea! May you bring telesis to Sandrock.”

Azalea stepped outside, only for the desert cold to wrap her in an icy death-grip. Shivering, she hurried back to her workshop. By the time she slammed the door behind her, her teeth chattered hard enough to strain her jaw.

It was so dark that she had to run her hand over the rough walls to find the light switch. When she found it, the dim bulbs lit up the room with a sickly glow. Turning the lock, she set aside her license before flinging her suitcase on top of the bed.

She had filled her luggage to max capacity with clothes and other necessities, so she dug through piles of folded shirts and jeans before her numb fingers brushed against a blue sweater. Tugging it free, she sent everything she packed spilling carelessly over the sides before reaching for fleece joggers and fuzzy socks.
Trembling and covered in goosebumps, Azalea pried off her shoes first and yelped as sand pooled onto the creaky floorboards. She stilled, a shoe in hand, staring at the mess. At that moment, the full extent of her exhaustion crashed down on her, and she fell back to sit on the hard mattress.

Here she was: dusty and grimy from the day’s adventure. Her whole body was in pain from the random sparring session, and her skin still felt raw despite the generous layers of sunscreen she lathered over it. Even now, her hair had finally dried from the sweat, only for it to feel greasy and unkept.

“I literally signed up for this,” she told the empty room. Her voice seemed too loud, and she lowered it to a murmur. “I can do it.”

Her next breath shuddered, but she stood and reached into her luggage again. She pulled out a towel and shampoos before entering a tiny bathroom. She had been here earlier, but she still felt disappointment as she took in the place.

There was barely enough room for a standing shower, sink, and toilet. There were no cupboards or counter space, but she still considered herself lucky to at least have a towel rack and cracked mirror. She tossed her extra supplies into the sink before shoving her hand into the shower to adjust the dials.

The water had an odd tint to it. Likely it was full of rust, seeing the orange stains that led into the drain, but she wasn't in a position to complain. Her only priority was to wash off the grime as fast as possible before falling asleep.

With a simplified routine, Azalea rinsed off the suds before drying and dressing in half the time. Reaching the bed with socked feet, she dragged the suitcase off the mattress and tossed the scattered clothes back into it. She weakly crawled into bed and dragged the covers over her head. She closed her eyes.

The familiarity of warm clothes, combined with the scent of flowery Highwind detergent, gave her the comfort she needed. Burying her nose into a sleeve, she turned to rest on her side. With a quiet sigh, she listened to the distant creaking of metal and the muted coos of an owl. Even the breeze whispered as it brushed over the sand.

When sleep came for her, she fell into it deeply and willingly. There were no dreams or nightmares. Only a lingering sense of peace that draped over her like a pair of wings.

Chapter Text

“Oh, come on!”

The faucet gurgled weakly, and Azalea groaned. The day was off to a terrible start. Not only did she wake an hour before she planned to, drenched in sweat and suffering from an aching shoulder, but she ran out of clean drinking water too. She was supposed to have left already, yet here she remained, hunched over the bathroom sink waiting for the brown water to clear up.

“Please, just work with me here,” she begged, crouching until she was eye-level with the faucet.

The water, indifferent to her plight, stayed dirty. She glared for a moment longer before growling through her teeth. She bolted upright, severing the flow with a hard squeak of the lever.

How could she be so unlucky? Why didn’t anyone warn her about the state of the house when she signed the contract? It didn’t have a kitchen, so she had to resort to the bathroom sink to get water. And, now that she could see with proper lighting, she discovered the water was even more disgusting than she realized! This much rust could only mean the pipes had to be replaced altogether, but the repairs were going to cost money she didn’t have.

As of now, Azalea only had three hundred gols in her name. Before she left Highwind, she thought she’d only have to worry about purchasing ingredients to make her own meals, along with other necessities. She made a budget with this idea in mind, thinking if she played it smart, the money could last as long as two weeks.

Nope! Thanks to destiny, she’d have to get her food and water somewhere else. Living here was going to empty her wallet faster than she could say ‘why me?’.

Azalea stalked out of the bathroom, rubbing her temples with both hands to stave off a growing headache. The floorboards creaked under her feet, adding fuel to her boiling blood.

It only took a few quick strides to reach the front door. Snatching up her pickhammer, Azalea stepped outside. It was only seven in the morning, but the heat was already just as nightmarish as the day before. With the sunlight stabbing her eyes, thirst wringing her throat dry, and her belly rumbling and empty — she felt her lip tremble.

Of course, she was furious. The emotion swelled in her chest like a building thunderstorm, ready to trigger a raging tempest. But the storm was just cloud cover for her true feelings. In actuality, the root of her anger was despair.

Did she make a mistake coming here, after all? Was everyone right when they said her decision was too reckless? That, in her efforts to help Sandrock, she’d ruin herself?

Should I… give up?

Movement drew Azalea’s attention to the mailbox by the gate. A little girl was there, waving happily in her direction.

“Hi there!” The girl greeted.

Azalea promptly straightened her posture and forced a smile. She pushed away the feelings, even if it was like stuffing a shrieking cat into a bag. When she returned a friendly wave, it looked natural.

“Hello. What are you up to?”

The girl grinned, the freckles over her cheeks and nose more noticeable with her dimples. A blue bow held her ginger hair in place, and she wore a cottony white shirt and purple skirt. She carried a backpack filled with rolls of newspaper and a well-loved teddy bear.

“I was delivering your sample newspaper!” The girl bounced on her toes. “If you like reading it, you can go into city hall to subscribe! Then you will get each issue in the mail!”

“That’s… not a bad idea.” Azalea said slowly. “I could learn about Sandrock through the local news.”

Yes, talking was always a good distraction. It helped Azalea get out of her head and ground into the real world. When she saw how the girl’s eyes lit up at her response, she already felt a little less burdened.

“Hey, let me show you around! I'm a super good tour guide! I know lots of stuff about Sandrock!”

“Sounds great,” Azalea said, truly meaning it. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jasmine! And you’re Azalea, right? We’re both named after flowers!” Jasmine rocked on her heels, giggling at the coincidence. “So! The Official Sandrock Tour is now beginning! Our first stop will be... the Wandering Y Yakmel Ranch!”

Jasmine suddenly took off at lightning speed, kicking up sand and dust with each footfall. Azalea balked, impressed and startled at once. Already, Jasmine was nearing the train tracks, so she sprinted after her to catch up. She didn’t expect to keep running for the rest of the tour.

After the ranch, they visited the oasis, stopped in front of city hall, then climbed the mountain of stairs that led up to the church. Azalea trudged towards the church entrance, only to slump against the yakmel station.

Her impromptu tour guide continued speaking in cheerful tones that blended into incomprehensible words. No doubt Jasmine was mentioning more fun facts, like she did with the other locations they visited. Despite Azalea’s best efforts to separate sounds into sentences, her other senses screamed.

When did her gloves get so damp? Though the rough material scratched against her palms like tree bark, what disturbed her more was how her skin felt like sizzling bacon fat. With a dull pulse throbbing in her ears, and her heart pounding against her ribcage, it was incredible she could still stand at all. Trying to shake off her daze, she suddenly heard a sharp gasp. Azalea staggered when Jasmine rushed over to tug at the hem of her shirt.

“You’re so red!” The girl exclaimed, loud and panicked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m not out of shape or anything. This is normal for me.”

Jasmine’s expression contorted into a look of horror. “What? How is that normal? You need to see the doctor!” She tried to pull her in a different direction, but Azalea resisted.

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m still getting used to the heat, that’s all.” Her reassuring smile wavered. “I’ll visit the doctor if it gets bad. I promise.”

Jasmine stopped pulling, but stomped her foot instead. “But it already looks bad!”

Unwilling to let the matter go, Jasmine set down her backpack and rummaged through it. She pulled out a glass bottle and pushed it into Azalea’s hands. The cool surface shocked her fingers.

“You have to drink water! And lots of it!” Jasmine pouted. “You’ll shrivel up if you don’t stay hydrated.”

“What about you? I don’t want to take it if you need it—”

“No way! I always carry more than I need at all times. It's basic knowledge.” Jasmine crossed her arms to make herself bigger and more authoritative. “You have to be careful!”

If Azalea’s face wasn’t already red, it would've burned even hotter with shame. Before coming here, she spent so much time trying to educate herself on desert living, and she felt like she gained a general understanding of what she had to do. But now? Her ignorance was literally putting her life in danger. She was being careless. Even a child had more sense than she did.

“You’re right,” Azalea admitted. “I'll be better prepared from now on.”

Jasmine nodded resolutely. “As long as you know you have to take care of yourself.”

“I do now. Thanks, Jasmine.”

“Good!” The girl’s face relaxed. “Hey, you should try some sandberries. They’re juicy and make a good snack, too.”

“Sandberries?”

“Yeah! Here.” Jasmine went back to her bag and pulled out a small jar with red berries. They looked plump and had grown in a bunch like grapes on a vine. “They help with dehydration, so they’re good to have around.”

“Oh.” Azalea took the jar. “Are they sweet?”

“Hmm, a little bit. They should help you feel better, though.” Jasmine closed her backpack and shrugged it over her shoulders. She faced her, holding the straps proudly. “Right now I still have papers to deliver, so I’ll see you later!”

Jasmine ran off, but not before she called back with gusto. “It was nice meeting you!”

Azalea waved farewell as she slid onto the yakmel station bench to hide from the sun. Resting against the supporting beam, she pulled the rope for the bell. It clanged, thus sending a signal… somewhere. The coach will pick her up soon.

Given her bad luck so far, if she tried to take the stairs, she’d probably end up breaking a leg or shattering her skull. So, she’ll sit here and recover. It wasn’t too late in the morning, and a little waiting wouldn’t kill Yan, anyway.

She twisted off the jar’s lid to taste a sandberry. They were tart like cherries, and she found them to her liking. She popped another into her mouth, allowing her gaze to sweep over the church grounds while she chewed.

It was well-maintained, though there wasn’t any color to bring life to the place. It needed some kind of flora — a splash of greenery. Even a cactus would be better than the thorny bushes that lined the exterior of the building.

The sound of wagon wheels and clopping yakmel hooves pulled her from her thoughts. She didn’t expect them to arrive so fast, but she stood to meet the coach, pleased she was already steadier on her feet. She climbed into the wagon when it pulled up in front of her.

“Where we headin’?”

“To the train station, please.”

With a crack of the reins, the yakmel tore away from the station like a bullet. Azalea clung to her seat with a white-knuckled grip, refusing to peek out and see the path they took. When they lurched to a stop, Azalea clambered out of the wagon and landed clumsily in the sand.

“That’ll be eight gols.”

“Right, right, yeah. Let me… get that.”

After paying, the coach charged off with the wagon teetering dangerously on two wheels as it made the bend. She stared after it, willing her adrenaline to sputter out, and her knees to stop shaking. When they did, she heaved a sigh of resignation.

Azalea looked over to find the Commerce Guild. From here, the building was just a short walk away. She didn’t want to see Yan again, and her nerves coiled just thinking about the interaction, but what else could she do but continue forward? When she reached the porch, she heard Mi-an calling out, and she saw the other Builder racing towards her.

“Hey, did you get a message for an emergency meeting too?”

“No?”

They met at the door. Shouting came from the other side, and after glancing at each other, they entered. Taking in the scene, Azalea found she didn’t need context to understand what was happening.

A man in faded jeans and a sweat-stained singlet towered over Yan, and even from the doorway, Azalea felt the sheer magnitude of his murderous aura. Yan had fallen on the stairs and was trying to scramble away, only to be yanked forward by the collar of his shirt. The stranger easily lifted him into the air.

“Me an' my boys have had it up to here with your excuses! Where's our lift? Huh?!” He gave Yan a vicious shake. “Since Mason's leaving, you promised me you'd do it yerself! Do you have any idea how much money I’m losing here?”

Yan stammered, “Look, Rocky: old buddy, old pal—”

“Don't you 'buddy' me, pal! Since you’re such a lazy mop-stick, I gotta give you a beatdown!” The man pulled back his other fist. “Sorry, but it's a company policy!”

At that moment, Yan noticed her and Mi-an for the first time. His voice grew shrill. “Wait, no, Rocky, look! What I really meant is that I was bringing in new people to take special care of your commission! Look, here they are!”

At Yan’s frantic gesturing, Rocky turned to face them with a deep scowl. The look alone made her lungs seize up.

“Did we come at a bad time…?” Mi-an asked, her eyes darting between the two men.

“No! No, you came at the perfect time!” Yan’s relief was palpable, even as he dangled. “Mr. Rocky here is the big boss of Eufaula Salvage, and he's got a very special commission that we should take care of right away!”

Rocky growled, releasing Yan’s collar to let the skinny man fall to the floor with a loud thud. Yan yelped, only to jump to his feet and not-so-discreetly inch towards his desk.

“Ah-hah, anyway…” The commissioner loudly cleared his throat, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket as if nothing happened. “Since Mason announced his retirement, Rocky’s commission sort of got lost in the shuffle for a few... months or so... But now that you two are both registered workshops, you can take this commission off my hands—er, help out, right?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Mi-an responded quickly. “That's what we're here for!”

Mi-an seemed oblivious to the glint in Yan’s eyes, but it didn’t escape Azalea’s notice. Her gut twisted in apprehension at the sight. Still, she was here for a reason. She… could make this work.

“Of course.” She said, an uneasy smile shaping her lips. “We’re here to help.”

The conversation with Rocky ended on a positive note. She learned he wasn’t a bad guy at all. Because of Yan’s inaction, he was actually the victim in this situation. His anger was valid, but resorting to violence wouldn’t have worked out in his favor, considering the law and all that. They arrived just in time.

After they introduced themselves, Rocky decided to give Yan one more chance. He even apologized for putting her and Mi-an on the spot, though he continued to make several jabs at Yan’s incompetence. Rocky gave them diagrams of the commissioned lifts and granted them free access to the salvage yard for the week. Once they built the lifts, they could install them and consider the job done.

“This is great!” Mi-an said when they left the Commerce Guild together. “If we work hard, we can finish the commission this week!”

“I don’t want to keep Rocky waiting any longer.” Azalea agreed, carefully sliding the new diagram inside her workshop handbook. There wasn’t much inside, but the book already felt heavy in her hands. “This is our chance to prove how reliable we are.”

“Yup! Let’s do our best! And let me know when you finish your lift, so we can install them both at the same time.”

They parted ways. Mi-an took the nearby stairs, disappearing deeper into the city. Meanwhile, Azalea hesitated before the steps of the saloon, taking in the crescent moon on the roof. It offered a metallic shine, beckoning her forward.

Not only was the temperature rising to the point of unbearable, but she still hadn’t found a reliable source to replenish her water supply. The bottle Jasmine gave her wouldn’t last another hour, much less a whole day. If she wanted to see this project through, she must do everything she could to ensure her success.

And that included asking for help.

Braving the unknown, she entered the Blue Moon Saloon.

Chapter Text

Azalea approached the empty bar, taking in the decor as she claimed a cushioned bar stool. The other side of the saloon looked like it was for entertainment. Red wallpaper, polished wooden paneling, theater curtains, and a stage. She was admiring the strings of colorful light bulbs when an unfamiliar voice reached her.

“Hey, you're one of the new Builders!”

A middle-aged man left a room tucked under the stairs and took his place on the other side of the bar. He was so tall she had to look up to see his handsome face properly, and as she took in his black hair and short, clean beard, she noted his relaxed posture and friendly demeanor. Even his smile was disarming, and it immediately put her at ease despite the unfamiliar environment.

“That’s me. I just got here yesterday,” she said, hoping to match his amiability. “I wanted to stop by sooner, but there was so much work I didn’t get the chance to.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it in today! Mi-an already visited, so you must be Azalea.” At her nod, he grinned. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Owen, and I run the Blue Moon Saloon.”

His words confirmed her minute observations. It explained the quality fabrics of his clothes, and even the gold rings he wore. His business must be successful enough to afford such fine things. But he didn’t seem to be the sort to flaunt it — going by first impressions, at least. She kept her musings to herself and gestured to their surroundings instead.

“I really like it here. Everything gives off a warm, comfy vibe.”

“That’s what I was going for. I want everyone who visits the saloon, traveler or otherwise, to feel like it’s a home away from home. Good food and good company make the hard times easier.” Owen looked around the saloon fondly before turning to her again. “Well, I don’t want to talk your ear off since you just got here. Can I get you anything?”

“Ah, right. That’d be great.” She searched her bag. “I only need water for now. Erm, enough to fill a few bottles, at least.”

"Water, huh? Sure, I can do that." Owen frowned. "I hope you don't mind me prying, but you do have access to water at home, right?"

"I do, but it's, uh, dirty." Owen’s brows shot to his hairline, and she quickly tried to amend her statement. "But it's just rust! I know better than to drink it, and I don't mind buying water until I can replace the pipes."

“By Peach, that explains everything.” Owen placed a hand against his temple, shaking his head. “I knew Mason’s house was old, but no clean water? In this heat?”

His forehead pinched with concern when he addressed her again. “Listen, maybe we can work together on this. I'll ask Heidi for a quote to get those pipes replaced, and in the meantime, you can visit Burgess’s shop. It’s called Waterworld, and you can buy several water canisters for a good price.”

“I didn’t know there was a store like that around here.”

“It’s great, isn’t it? Burgess helps by keeping an eye on Sandrock’s water tower, and he watches over the oasis, too.” Owen stroked his beard, deep in thought. “You know, I can cover the cost of the repairs.”

Azalea froze. She wanted to speak, even protest, but her tongue sat heavy and useless. It was impossible to utter a coherent response.

“You alright?”

“Yes!” she squeaked. “T-That’s very generous, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to, but this is a matter of safety.”

“It’s just…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t be able to pay back the debt right away. It’s a kind offer, but…”

Owen waved off her doubts. “Don’t worry about paying me back.” At her silence, he continued. “How about this? We split the costs fifty-fifty, and you don’t have to concern yourself with paying back my portion.”

Seriously? That’s… too good to be true.

Did this guy, Owen, habitually make these kinds of offers to people? She didn’t know, because she’d only known him for less than twenty minutes. The best thing to do right now would be to watch and wait, at least until she gained a better understanding of his character.

“Can I think about it?” She asked.

“Of course. Sorry for jumping that on ya.” Owen chuckled. “If you decide to go for it, you know where to find me.”

After she provided the glass bottles, Owen returned to the room he came from earlier. Given the sounds of pans and clinking utensils that filtered through the closed door, it must be the kitchen.

She sighed, lightly drumming her fingers on the counter as she pondered.

Even if Owen was an honest person, and insisted on forgetting the debt, she wasn’t sure if she could just ignore it. If she borrowed money, she always returned it. She just… didn’t know if she’d be staying long enough to pay anything back.

“Here you go!” Owen returned and lined her bottles on the bar. He also sets down a small sack. Seeing her confusion, he gestured to the bag. “As a Builder, you're probably going to be hitting the ruins around here pretty soon, right? It helps not to work on an empty stomach, so I thought you’d like to try some jerky and dried sandberries as a quick pick-me-up.”

The jerky was standard, but the dried sandberries piqued her interest. “Thank you! I haven’t eaten yet, so I’ll make sure to put them to good use.”

The comment was meant to be lighthearted, but given the alarm on Owen’s face, she knew she said too much. Again.

Thanking him again and parting with a hasty goodbye, Azalea paid for the water before rushing out of the saloon with her things. Owen didn’t even get a word in before the doors shut behind her.

Moving fast, she passed her workshop, weaved through bumble ants, and trekked up a small hill to reach the salvage yard. Along the way, she gulped down the contents of an entire bottle and ate a few pieces of jerky. By the time she reached her destination, she felt more capable of being the Builder Sandrock needed.

Wielding her pickhammer with renewed vigor, she got to work. The longer she scavenged, the more the surrounding metal absorbed the heat. Waves seemed to flow out of the gleaming junk piles, creating a mirage of water pooling at her feet.

Planting the head of her pickhammer with a hard crunch, Azalea used its handle like a cane. She sucked in lungfuls of air, squeezing her eyes shut to prevent sweat from trickling into them. By now, her vision had gotten blurry, and nausea churned inside her stomach. If she moved too suddenly, bile threatened to climb up her throat.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Either way, it was time for a break.

Reaching into her bag, Azalea searched for the bottle she’d been drinking from. She lifted it to her chapped lips… only for a single drop to escape. Dread settled in her gut as she searched for another bottle, only to find the rest empty.

There were six left! I couldn’t have drunk them all already?

The realization made her shoulders sag. Other than refills, she needed to cool down. Since her house was worse than an oven at this hour, she had no choice but to return to the saloon.

With a grunt, Azalea forced herself out of the salvage yard. A pounding headache made her so dizzy, the world swayed under her feet. Still, she placed one foot in front of the other. Slowly. Surely.

Almost… there…

The saloon was in sight, but it seemed to tilt sideways…

A sudden shout came from miles away. Before her legs gave out, someone took hold of her arm, saving her from falling face-first into the dirt.

“Sugar, don’t faint on me, you hear?”

Azalea blearily peered at the stranger at her side. A black woman with fluffy silver hair tsked before leading her to the chair at the saloon entrance. She didn't realize how uncoordinated she was until she sank into it like a limp ragdoll.

“Goodness, Jasmine mentioned you could turn as red as a Seesai pepper,” the woman said as she fussed over her. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

By now, the pounding in her head rivaled a sledgehammer. It hurt to focus on the blurry digits, but even with the strain, she counted them all.

“Four,” she slurred.

“You still have your wits about you. I caught you just in time, then.” The wooden boards of the porch groaned as the weight shifted. “Drink this for now. It’ll help you feel better.”

Something small pressed into her palm. It was a vial, but the letters on the label were so fuzzy she couldn't read what it was. Too weak to argue, she obediently tipped the liquid into her mouth — only to choke at the abhorrent flavor.

“Oh, dear. I know it tastes terrible, but you need to finish it.”

“What is it?” Azalea croaked.

“It’s heatstroke medicine. It’s only a quick fix until we can cool you down.”

Somehow, the woman’s voice was less distant, and the fog in her head was clearing up too. Was the medicine already working? But… she barely had a sip? Azalea warily tightened her hold on the vial and braced herself to swallow the rest.

The mixture of bitter herbs cut like a knife. Sharp and vinegary, enough to make her whole body shudder in disgust. Fortunately, a comforting pat on her back soothed the overwhelming urge to spit and gag. After a few tense seconds, the medicine settled.

“There you are. You did great.”

She looked up at the bespeckled woman. Laugh lines and crow’s feet creased her aged face. When the older woman smiled, she radiated a maternal warmth.

“Well now. You don’t have that glazed look in your eyes anymore. How are you feeling?”

Azalea turned her focus inward. Her breathing had evened out, her ears were no longer stuffed with cotton, and the aggressive headache was nothing more than a weak thumping. Even her vision cleared!

“I’m feeling better,” she murmured, awestruck. “Is it supposed to work that fast?”

“Doctor Fang is very good at what he does. I can’t tell you what’s in there, but it gets the job done.” The woman sighed, reaching over to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Really, you gave me such a scare. If you faint, you could slip into a coma and never wake up again.”

Azalea worried at her lip, inspecting the vial with apprehension. The blue label was still hard to read, but not because she was cross-eyed. The handwriting was barely legible. Overall, the bottle was so small and unassuming, one wouldn’t think it remarkable at first glance.

Yet, the effectiveness of the concoction left her reeling.

Could this be it? A miracle solution that would ensure her stay in Sandrock? She had to get more! Would it be too expensive to buy in bulk?

Azalea realized the woman was waiting for her to speak and fumbled out a response. “Thank you for helping me! How much did the medicine cost? I’ll pay you back—”

The woman chuckled. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing? We have plenty since my son works as a blacksmith, so don’t worry your little head. I’ll even give you a few extra to tide you over until you visit the doctor yourself.”

“That’s… wow.” Azalea shifted awkwardly. She didn’t know how else to express her gratitude without sounding like a broken record. “I forgot to ask your name…”

“I couldn’t have told you yet, given the situation,” the woman said, amused. “I’m Vivi, but you can call me Grandma. Everybody does.”

The saloon door suddenly opened. They both turned to find Owen stepping out with a drinking glass in one hand and a damp rag in the other. He watched her worriedly.

“Hey, Azalea. It looked like you were struggling with the heat.”

“I was, but I’m doing better now thanks to Vivi.” She hesitated when Owen offered the glass. “Are you sure I can take it?”

“It’s on the house,” Owen reassured her. “It’s yakmel milk. Drink some before standing up again. Put this around your neck, too.”

She took the proffered rag. It was as soft as it looked, and cold to the touch. Adjusting it so it directly met her skin, she sighed with relief.

“That should help a bit. Even if there's shade here, it's best to get out of the sun altogether. Think you can make it inside?”

“I will. I don’t want to give you any more trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We may seem a little rough around the edges, but we take care of each other out here.”

Azalea’s heart warmed, but she averted her gaze and took a sip of the milk. It was too frothy, and the thick texture was like drinking melted ice-cream. It wasn’t bad, but… definitely an acquired taste. At least it washed down the medicine.

“Good thing you were at the right place at the right time,” Owen said to Vivi, who hummed her agreement.

“I never thought my walk would turn out like this, but I don’t regret it one bit.” Vivi faced her. “Why don’t you go on in? I have something that could help, so I’ll bring it right over. ”

Vivi took her leave, and Owen gestured to her. “Need a hand?”

Azalea had finished the milk and was trying to stand using the chair’s arm. She tried to laugh it off, even if her voice shook. “Not at the moment, but I'll let you know when I need it.”

Owen frowned again, but didn’t push further. He held open the door and led her to a booth tucked into the corner of the saloon. There were other patrons now, and while a few did watch them pass by, they seemed to lose interest. For that, Azalea was grateful.

She hated making a scene, though it may be too late for that now.

“What happened?” Owen asked once she sat down.

She wearily fiddled with the damp cloth. “It’s too hot, that’s all. I drank my water and ate some jerky… and I was on my way back to take a break. I probably waited too long to leave the salvage yard, though. Just… learning my lessons the hard way.”

Azalea peeked up at Owen. He didn’t look angry, which was a relief, but he had crossed his arms and bore a troubled expression. Still, when he caught her stare, he smiled.

“Let’s hope that’s all it’s going to take. We still have a few hours until the fireside meeting tonight, and we’d all like for you to be there. You can rest here until it’s time to go.”

The doors of the saloon creaked open. A black man in a civil corps uniform sauntered in, waving in their direction. “Hey Owen! What ya got for the special today?”

“Ah, looks like I gotta get back to cooking.” Owen shrugged apologetically. “I’ll have Grace bring you water. Let her know if you need anything else.”

She nodded, and Owen left to greet the man like an old friend. “Good to see ya, Justice. We got sand tea noodles on the menu today.”

Azalea sat back to let the low light of the corner booth settle her nerves. From here, she could see the entire room. She wondered if anyone would look her way, but it seemed everyone was enjoying their food too much to take notice of a stranger.

While she tried to determine who the locals and tourists were, a blonde woman in a server’s apron approached the booth to set down a glass.

“Heard the heat’s not treating you well, huh?”

“No, but…”

“It’s a small town, so word will be getting around fast.” The woman propped a hand on her hip. “I’m Grace, by the way. I’m an archeology student from Atara, so it definitely took time for me to get used to Sandrock. It’s not easy, but it’s possible.”

“That… gives me a little hope, then.”

Grace asked if she wanted to place an order. She politely declined, and was once again left alone. Azalea watched the perspiring glass while planning her next course of action.

Vivi gave her three extra vials of heatstroke medicine, and while she would prefer to never taste the stuff again, it was better to be cautious and stock up on more.

It would be great if she got used to the extreme climate in a week or two, but considering her not-quite-a-condition, she may have to take this medicine regularly until she adapts. And… who knew how long that would take?

No matter what, she’d have to visit the clinic.

“Over here pondering the secrets of the universe, hmm?”

Azalea jumped, startled to find Vivi standing close by. The woman held a compact box wrapped in white paper and tied with a red ribbon.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear you coming.”

“No offense taken. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re still a bit dazed.” Vivi set down the box and motioned for her to open it. “I think you’ll like this.”

Pushing down her discomfort, Azalea took the box in her hands and unwrapped the gift. The ribbon slipped off easily, and instead of tearing off the paper, she undid the folds step-by-step. When she lifted the lid, she found a blue cap inside.

“A hat?”

“Mm-hmm. Since it gets so cold at night, I was going to give you a scarf, but this might be more useful. Why not give it a try?”

Azalea adjusted her ponytail before placing the cap on her head. It fit comfortably, and the material seemed breathable. The visor would offer much needed protection against the sun.

“This is perfect.” Azalea said, taking it off to admire the richness of the blue dye. Did Vivi know it was her favorite color? “I can’t believe I didn’t think of packing one with me.”

Vivi sighed, and Azalea bit her tongue. She was about to gush, but now she was too self-conscious to make any other comments.

“I can’t help but worry for you, child. Do you know how to get to the clinic, just in case?”

“Hm…” Searching her memory, Azalea tried to unravel the dark maze Pen took her through last night. Unfortunately, she had no luck making heads or tails of it. “I saw the clinic once before, but I’m not sure how to get there again.”

“If you go to a yakmel station, you can get the coach to drop you at the game center stop. The clinic is so close, you can’t miss it.”

The frugal part of her screamed, but considering what happened earlier? Yeah, she’d have to take the yakmel again. She won’t be happy about it, though.

“Thanks, Vi—I mean, Grandma.”

“No need to force yourself. Just call me Vivi, if that’s what you’re comfortable with.” The old woman straightened her dress. “I’d say it’s time for me to go. Stop by Tailor Made whenever you get the chance. I’d love to learn more about you, so don’t be a stranger.”

Once Vivi was gone, Azalea held the blue cap to her chest. She never expected to be on the receiving end of a stranger’s kindness. Even Owen, who she could hear laughing from the bar, showed no restraint in his generosity. She… wasn’t used to it.

But if this was normal in Sandrock, maybe she’d fit in better than she thought.