Vortex Origins
Chapter 65: The watchers

Chapter 65: The watchers

"Okay, Chris, that’ll be fifty points."

The shop owner said, passing over a small, worn bag of supplies.

Chris nodded. His eyes looked a little dull, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile.

"Thank you. Hope business picks up. And... thanks for the discount."

The shop owner waved him off, a dry chuckle escaping his throat.

"After what you did for us? You should be getting this for free."

Chris gave a half-shrug, the smile still on his face as he turned—then froze mid-step.

Ash stood a few feet away. His face gave nothing away, but the way his eyes stayed fixed said more than words. Wind tugged at his coat, his hair shifting just enough to show the shadow across his brow.

Chris’s lips pulled into a grin.

"Well, hello, kid."

Ash’s voice came out low.

"Hey. I remember you didn’t give me your name back there. You’re Chris, right?"

Chris chuckled.

"Yeah, and I knew you’d come back, but I didn’t think you’d come looking for me."

He turned and started walking. Ash didn’t answer right away, but his feet moved after him.

"I didn’t come for you. Just saw you passing and figured I’d say hello."

Chris didn’t look back.

"Fair enough."

He let the silence stretch for a bit.

"So, how was Sandworm Valley? Word around here says... it was a damn mess."

Ash’s steps slowed. His voice dropped.

"It wasn’t what we planned. A lot of people died. I nearly lost my brother."

Chris looked over his shoulder. His gaze stayed on Ash for a second before he faced forward again.

"The world outside these walls... I don’t know much about it, But if there’s one thing I’ve seen, it’s that plans break. They don’t wait. They don’t ask. They just break."

He came to a stop, turning to face Ash. His voice hardened.

"You and your brothers rescued those people, didn’t you? If you hadn’t, they’d be dead. Whether it was today or tomorrow, that worm would’ve come. You and your brothers did what mattered. So stop worrying."

Ash didn’t speak. His face didn’t change. But something passed behind his eyes—like a shadow moving just beneath the surface.

’Me? Worry? I don’t care about those people. I didn’t fight to save them. I fought to keep my brothers alive. They could burn for all I care.’

"Yeah. You’re right."

They walked a few more steps, the settlement’s noise folding around them again.

Chris tilted his head.

"You said you weren’t here to meet me. So... what are you looking for?"

Ash’s eyes narrowed.

"How did you know I came to look for something?"

Chris didn’t answer right away. His head turned slightly, eyes flicking to Ash. Then he looked ahead again. His voice came quiet, like it belonged to the cold air itself.

"Because of the way you move, You’re not walking like someone who’s just taking in the sights. Your eyes are constantly scanning—every face, every corner. And your steps... too measured, too careful. Like you’re waiting for something—or someone—to step out of the shadows."

Ash blinked. Just for a second, the edge in his expression softened.

"Wow... you got all that just from watching me? That’s kind of amazing."

Chris’s lips pulled into a smile, but the rest of him stayed still.

"We were trained to read movements—learned it from watching creatures. Patterns, instincts, posture. You pick up a few things when your life depends on it."

Then, without breaking stride, he asked,

"So... who are you looking for?"

Ash’s mouth lifted at one corner.

"Guz."

Chris’s brow twitched. Barely. Like hearing the name didn’t surprise him at all. Just made things line up.

"Ah. Him. Makes sense you’d want to find him."

He glanced sideways.

"So do you know where he lives?"

Ash shook his head.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

Chris let out a slow breath through his nose. His shoulders dropped slightly, the bag in his hand swaying.

"Alright. I’ll drop you off. Then I’ve got somewhere to be."

Ash’s smile was real this time.

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

They turned into a side street. The crowd sounds faded behind them, swallowed by the narrow walls. Somewhere in the distance, metal clanked. Laughter echoed, high and brief, from a nearby rooftop.

Chris spoke without looking back.

"Guz’s place isn’t much. Small. But he manages to feed his family... somehow."

Ash tilted his head, keeping pace.

"Then why take the Watcher job if he’s got a family to look after?"

Chris didn’t pause. His voice came steady.

"They were drowning in debt. Lane—our second-in-command—offered him the job. Said it’d give him and his family more ration points and partial medical coverage. Guz didn’t have much of a choice. He needed it."

Ash’s thoughts drifted.

’Lane.’

The name triggered something deep inside him. A flash of memory: the meeting room, the face, the name.

’So it was Lane who’d sent Guz to die.’

His hands tightened into fists, the muscles in his arms bunching for a moment. He forced the tension out of his body, keeping his tone even.

"Isn’t it dangerous out there? And you let him live in wooden cabins? Why not just put a bot to watch the place?"

Chris chuckled dryly.

"You really don’t get how fragile this system is, do you?"

Ash didn’t respond.

Chris’s voice cooled.

"Our settlement isn’t the only one watching Sandworm Valley. There are others, and they’ve got Watcher cabins on every side. They send people like us to keep an eye out and alert the others if something happens. You asked about bots? Well, bots are even more dangerous. They make noise. They shine. They move in ways that provoke. Sandworms can sense vibrations and sound. They’d tear the place apart in minutes."

He stopped, his voice lowering, tense.

"And we haven’t even talked about the metal-eaters. There are things out there that would shred through steel just to get a taste."

Ash’s silence stretched, but he finally muttered,

"Still feels like sending Guz to his death."

Chris shook his head, his voice steady.

"Nah. He’s lucky, if anything. He only gets one shift a week. Night shift. When things are quieter around here. Safer than most."

They stopped at the end of a narrow alley. The buildings around them grew more spaced out, worn-down. A small house sat between two larger structures, squeezed into a corner like it didn’t quite belong. It looked like it had been rebuilt more than once, the walls patched together with scraps of concrete and insulated wood panels. A sheet of rusted metal extended over the roof, casting a weak shadow over the entrance. A small solar panel flickered faintly at the side.

The house had just two narrow, sealed windows. The entire place looked like it could barely hold two small bedrooms, a kitchen area, and a cramped toilet.

Ash glanced at the building, his thoughts dark.

’Well. This place looks like a dump. Don’t tell me this is where he lives.’

Chris gestured to it.

"Here it is. Bet he’s inside now."

Ash nodded once, the realization sinking in.

"Thanks, Chris."

Chris gave a brief, tired smile before turning away, his figure fading into the street.

Ash stepped forward.

The house was quiet—too quiet.

He reached up and knocked. Three slow, firm taps echoed against the thin door.

Then he waited.

Inside, something shifted.

A young female voice called out from behind the door, sharp but careful.

"Who is it?"

The door creaked open a moment later.

A girl stood there. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen—same age as Ash. Her shirt hung loose at the shoulders, and strands of dark hair clung to her face like she’d just finished working. Dust clung to her fingers. She blinked, once, twice, then froze.

Her eyes locked onto Ash.

Ash didn’t speak. His gaze met hers, steady, unreadable.

The space between them felt tight. Still.