As Hale drifted back into a restless sleep, the group gathered outside the infirmary, their voices hushed but urgent. The dim glow of mana crystals cast long shadows on the brass walls of the corridor, and the faint hum of the Wagon-Fortress’s systems filled the air. Aelin leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes narrowed in thought. Borin stood nearby, his broad shoulders and stocky frame giving him an imposing presence despite his shorter stature. Pip fiddled with a small gadget in her hands, her usual energy undimmed by the gravity of the situation.

  “He could be useful,” Aelin said, her voice low but firm. “If he’s telling the truth about the convoy, those supplies could make a difference. Mana crystals, rare metals—we could use all of it.”

  Borin crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “Or he could be leading us into a trap. We don’t know enough about him. For all we know, he’s working with those Rust Pirates, and this is some kind of setup.”

  Pip grinned, her usual optimism shining through. “Either way, we’re in this together. And with Victor’s upgrades and my inventions, I’d say we’ve got a pretty good shot. Besides, if he’s lying, we’ll figure it out soon enough. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Tricks? Like what?”

  Pip held up the small device she’d been tinkering with—a brass and crystal contraption that whirred softly. “This is the Aether Compass I mentioned earlier. If there’s trouble ahead, we’ll know before it hits us, at least in theory, I'm still working out the kinks but I'm close”

  Borin snorted. “In theory? That’s reassuring.”

  “Hey, it’s better than nothing,” Pip shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

  Victor’s core pulsed with agreement, his presence felt through the faint hum of the Wagon-Fortress’s systems. He observed his allies through the eyes of the Steam Sentinels and the Clockwork Falcons, their determination fueling his own. Aelin’s precision, Borin’s strength, and Pip’s ingenuity—each of them brought something vital to the group, and together, they were stronger than they were apart.

  “We’ll proceed with caution,” Victor said, his voice calm but firm. “Hale may be telling the truth, or he may not. Either way, we need to be prepared for anything. The Rust Pirates are a real threat, and if they’re as dangerous as he says, we’ll need every advantage we can get.”

  Aelin nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Agreed. But we can’t afford to waste time. If there are survivors from his convoy, we need to move fast.”

  Borin grunted, his arms still crossed. “And if it’s a trap?”

  “Then we’ll be ready for that too,” Aelin replied, her voice as sharp as the arrows she loosed. “We’ve faced worse.”

  Pip grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Exactly! And who knows? This could be the start of something big. A moving dungeon, a rogue captain, and a crew of misfits taking on the Rust Pirates? Sounds like the beginning of a legend to me.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with warmth at her words. Despite the dangers ahead, there was a sense of camaraderie among them—a shared purpose that made the journey feel less daunting. The Wagon-Fortress rolled onward, its treads crushing stone and dirt beneath its weight, and Victor felt a flicker of hope. It was a small spark, but it grew brighter with each passing moment.

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  The journey had only just begun, and the road ahead was uncertain. But Victor was ready. Together, they would face whatever lay ahead.

  Building Trust

  Hale’s Recovery

  Over the next two days, Hale traveled with the group, his wound slowly healing thanks to Aelin’s herbal remedies. She had a knack for finding the right plants and mixing them into potent salves, and though she rarely spoke about her past, it was clear she had learned her craft through years of practice. Hale, for his part, proved to be a charismatic and resourceful companion. He had a way with words, regaling them with tales of his adventures as they traveled.

  One evening, as the Wagon-Fortress rolled to a halt in a sheltered canyon, the group gathered around a small fire. The flickering light cast long shadows on the brass walls of the dungeon, and the air was filled with the scent of roasting meat and the faint hum of machinery. Hale leaned back against a crate, his bandaged shoulder resting comfortably as he spun a story about a daring escape from a goblin-infested mine.

  “So there I was,” he said, his voice low and dramatic, “surrounded on all sides, with nothing but a rusty pickaxe and my wits. I knew I had to think fast, so I grabbed a barrel of blasting powder and—”

  “Let me guess,” Borin interrupted, his tone dry. “You blew the place up and walked away without a scratch.”

  Hale grinned, his green eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Not quite. I blew the place up, sure, but I also broke three ribs and nearly lost an ear. Still, it was worth it to see the look on those goblins’ faces.”

  Pip laughed, her hands busy tinkering with a small gadget. “You’re either the luckiest man alive or the craziest.”

  “A bit of both, I’d say,” Hale replied with a wink.

  As the fire crackled and the stars began to appear overhead, Hale’s gaze drifted to the Wagon-Fortress. His expression grew thoughtful, and he gestured toward the brass walls. “You’ve got a good thing going here,” he said, his tone tinged with admiration. “A mobile fortress, a sentient core, and a crew that knows how to fight. You could go far in this world.”

  Victor’s core pulsed softly, his voice calm but firm. “We’re just trying to survive. The world’s a dangerous place, and we’ve got our share of enemies.”

  Hale’s smile faded, and he stared into the fire. “Aren’t we all?” he said, his voice quieter now. “The world’s a harsh place, especially for folks like us. But together, we might just make it.”

  Victor’s core pulsed with curiosity. “What do you mean, ‘folks like us’?”

  Hale’s expression darkened, and he hesitated before answering. “Outcasts. Survivors. People who’ve lost everything and will do whatever it takes to survive.” He paused, his gaze distant. “I used to have a convoy—a family, of sorts. We travelled the Iron Road, trading goods and helping folks along the way. But the Rust Pirates took that from me. Now, all I’ve got left is the hope that I can rebuild.”

  The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them. Aelin’s sharp eyes softened, and even Borin’s usual skepticism seemed to waver. Pip stopped tinkering and looked at Hale with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.

  Victor’s core pulsed with a strange warmth. Hale’s words resonated with him, stirring memories of his own journey—how he had woken up as a dungeon core, alone and confused, and how he had found allies in Aelin, Borin, and Pip. They were all survivors in their own way, each carrying the scars of their past.

  “You’re not alone,” Victor said finally, his voice steady. “We’ve all lost much. But we’ve also found each other. That counts for something.”

  Hale looked up, his green eyes meeting the faint glow of Victor’s core. For a moment, he seemed to search for the right words, but all he said was, “Thanks.”

  The conversation left Victor thoughtful. Hale’s words had struck a chord, and he found himself warming to the man. There was a shared understanding between them, a recognition of the struggles they had both faced. As the fire burned low and the group prepared to rest, Victor couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps meeting Hale would prove to be a blessing rather than a curse.