"What are those?"
"Brownies." Cody holds one up. "Chocolate. It's a human thing. I think you'll like it."
He arranged all of this. The care behind it, the quiet, deliberate thoughtfulness, tightens my throat.
We settle onto the blanket side by side, our backs to the curved alcove wall, the food spread out between us.
The light shifts as we eat, the sun moving lower, sending long amber beams across the main hall's floor. Dust motes drift through the light like tiny sparks. The faded murals on the far wall catch the sun's beams, and for a moment, I can almost see the colors they used to be.
"It is strange," I say, "eating in here. This hall was always full of people. The noise during festivals was deafening. Children running everywhere, elders arguing about everything, the smell of food from a dozen different vendors." I turn the noodle bowl in my hands. "And now it is just us."
"Maybe that's okay," Cody says. "For now." He tips his head back on the bench and looks up at the soaring ceiling. "You built this place so people could gather. Share meals together. Be with the people they cared about." He glances at me. "That's what we're doing."
He is right. The building is doing exactly what I designed it to do. It is sheltering us. It is holding space for something that matters.
I reach over and brush my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and we sit like that for a while,quiet and unhurried, eating and watching the light move across the walls of my building.
The brownie, when I finally try it, is extraordinary. Dense and rich, sweet in a way that Cerastean food rarely is. The flavor is deep and complex, and it melts on my tongue.
"Well?" Cody asks, watching my face.
"This is acceptable," I say, already reaching for a second one.
His grin is enormous. But he doesn't comment while I primly eat a second brownie.
We pack up when the food is gone, Cody folding the blanket and tucking the empty containers back into the bag. The hall feels different now. Less like a ruin and more like a place that has been used, however briefly, for its intended purpose.
We leave the community center and walk through the abandoned settlement. The silence is profound, broken only by the whisper of wind through empty doorways and the distant call of a desert bird. I show Cody the marketplace where vendors once sold their wares, the small temple where citizens used to pray, and the school that had once been filled with children's laughter. I lived here for nearly a year while overseeing construction. Long enough to know every corner.
It is strange, walking through this place that was once so full of life. Strange and sad and yet somehow healing.
"There is something else I want to show you." I lead him toward the edge of the settlement, to a place where the rocky ground rises in a gentle slope. "This is the real reason Brishar exists. It is why the town was built here in the first place."
"What is it?"
"Come and see."
We climb the path, and the volcano's slope opens before us into a massive cave mouth. The entrance is enormous. Wide enough to fit several shuttles side by side, tall enough that the ceiling disappears into shadow. Warm air drifts up from thedepths, carrying a hint of moisture that feels almost miraculous in the desert heat.
"The Springs of Brishar." I gesture into the darkness. "Pools of mineral-rich water, heated by geothermal vents deep beneath the volcano. My people believe the waters have healing properties. People would travel from all across Ceraste to bathe here."
"For healing?"
"For healing, yes. But also for spiritual purposes. It was said that the springs could cleanse not only the body, but the soul. That bathing in them could wash away sorrow, could help you release what no longer served you." I smile softly. "People came here at crossroads too – before a great decision, or when they had lost their way and needed to find it again. My grandmother called it 'the place where burdens are left behind.'"
Cody peers into the cave.
"Would you like to see it?"
He answers by digging into his bag and pulling out two flashlights. He hands one to me with an eager grin.
"The springs are not far," I say. "Perhaps a ten-minute walk. The path is well-marked."
We descend into the earth together.
The cave walls glitter in the beams of the flashlights, veined with minerals that sparkle like embedded stars. The path slopes gently downward, carved smooth by countless feet over a millennium. The air grows cooler as we go deeper, and the faint sound of running water begins to reach my ears.
"It is beautiful," Cody says, and he is not wrong.
