Summer came differently than spring.
Spring had announced itself, arrived slowly and cautiously, revealing a little more of itself each day before it was truly there. Summer simply came. One morning the air was warm before the sun had properly risen, and the plain had taken on a different color—richer, deeper, a green that almost felt heavy.
Samuel woke earlier than usual and lay still for a moment, listening to the settlement.
Footsteps. Wunn doing his rounds. The clatter of Torck's tools somewhere in the distance. A voice he recognized as Tira's without needing to think.
He got up, washed his face, reached for his spade.
He no longer had to think about where he was going.
The field looked good. The plants that had survived the blight had grown in the weeks after as if they were making up for what they had lost—stronger than the year before, according to Jorcx, a response of the soil to what had happened. Samuel believed him without fully understanding it. Jorcx understood the soil in a way that couldn't be explained.
Morra was already working when he arrived. She looked up briefly as he took over his row, then returned to her own.
No explanation needed. No instruction.
He dug.
Dravan came at midday as always. Over the last months he had grown a little—not much, but enough that it was noticeable when you stood next to him every day. He worked better than in spring and complained about the same amount, which meant he felt well enough to be honest.
"It's too hot."
"Yes."
"Why do you have to work fields in summer."
"Because the plants don't wait."
Dravan let out a deep sigh and kept digging.
Barak came up to Samuel in the afternoon and helped him with irrigation without being asked. They worked side by side for an hour without speaking. When Barak was done, he gave a short nod and left.
Samuel watched him go.
I still remember when he walked past me without seeing me. That was a year ago.
He let the thought sit for a moment and kept working.
In these summer weeks, things happened that wouldn't have happened before.
Setha asked his opinion on irrigating the northern side. Not because he was the expert—Jorcx was the expert—but casually, as one asks someone standing nearby who happens to be looking at the same thing. Samuel answered. Setha nodded. That was all.
Torck once asked him for help lifting something without checking whether Samuel would actually be useful. He simply asked. Samuel helped. Torck said a brief thank you afterward. For Torck, that was a lot.
Greth spoke to him one morning on his own initiative—not a correction, not a murmur, but a real question about the outer rows. Samuel answered. Greth grunted in approval and kept working.
Vranna commented on his work more often than before, sometimes critically, sometimes not—but she commented on it the same way she commented on everyone else's work. Not as an exception. As normal.
In the evenings by the fire, Samuel no longer sat at the edge.
He hadn't decided it. It had simply happened—at some point someone had made space without thinking, and at some point he had sat down without thinking, and the conversation hadn't stopped.
Yeva sometimes fell asleep at his side. Kessa came to pick her up without comment, gave Samuel a brief nod, and disappeared.
Dravan used Samuel as a backrest when he was tired and Vorzak told stories.
Gorc sometimes looked at him from a distance and gave a short nod. Nothing more. But with Gorc, nothing more was enough.
One evening Samuel laughed at a joke Tira made.
Not politely, not restrained—real, brief, an honest laugh.
Tira glanced at him briefly, then back to Vranna, with whom she had been speaking, and the conversation continued.
I don't think I've ever really laughed here. Not like that.
It felt good. And then it felt strange. And then it felt good again.
A week later Gustov sat down next to him and said without preamble:
"You're thinking about leaving."
Samuel looked at him.
"How do you know that?"
"You laugh more than before. And still sometimes you look in a direction that has nothing to do with what's happening."
Samuel was silent for a moment.
"I've always thought about it."
"I know. But before it was a burden. Now it's a direction."
Samuel considered that. It was true. Thoughts of the trader, the library, Antony and Tyron—they had changed their weight. Before, they had felt like a wound that wouldn't close. Now they felt like a task. Something not yet finished, but that needed to be finished.
"I don't know when."
"That's fine."
Gustov drank his infusion.
"But you know you're leaving."
"Yes."
It was the first time Samuel had said it out loud. Not as a question, not as doubt—just as fact.
Gustov nodded once.
"Then let's make sure you're prepared when the time comes."
"Prepared how?"
"You know how to farm. You know how to read soil. That helps on the road."
Gustov paused.
"But you also need language. Karveth is a city. People there speak differently than we do here."
Samuel looked at him.
"You know the city?"
"I was there once. Long ago."
"And?"
Gustov fell silent briefly.
"It's a city under Aeterweite control. You notice it immediately. But many kinds of people live there. Traders, craftsmen, scholars. If you know how to ask, you get answers."
"How to ask."
"As someone who knows nothing and wants to learn. Not as someone who raises suspicion." He glanced at him.
"You're human. That's your advantage there. Use it."
Samuel nodded slowly.
He hadn't thought of it that way. Here, not being an orc was a disadvantage. There, it would be an advantage.
Dravan stopped by briefly, too tired to stay long, leaned for a moment against Samuel's shoulder as if setting something down, and then disappeared toward his quarters. Yeva followed close behind.
The fire burned lower.
Urag sat on the other side speaking quietly with Jorcx about the second harvest. Samuel couldn't hear the words, but he saw Jorcx glance his way once before continuing.
I will leave. But not today.
He leaned back and looked up at the summer Nabai sky, wide and clear and full of stars.
Not yet.
Summer had its own weight.
Not unpleasant—more like fullness. The days were long and work filled them well, and in the evenings when the light finally gave way, the exhaustion felt honest. The kind that came when you had done something that needed to be done.
In these weeks Samuel learned more from Gustov about Karveth and the world beyond the settlement. Not in long conversations, but in small moments—sitting together at night, when everyone else had gone to sleep and the fire had almost burned down.
Gustov spoke about money. How it worked in Karveth, what currency was used, how much a meal cost, how much a night in a simple inn.
"What the settlement can give you will last two weeks if you're careful."
"And after that?"
"Work. In a city there's always work if you're willing to take it. Warehouses, markets, stables."
Samuel nodded.
"What should I look for in Karveth?"
Gustov thought.
"A merchant who sells or buys books. They know where libraries are. They know scholars."
"And if someone asks where I'm from?"
"Tell the truth as far as it fits. You're from the west. You worked on a farm. You're looking for work and want to see the city."
"And the orc settlement?"
Gustov looked at him briefly.
"Don't mention it."
Not as a warning. Just advice from someone who understood how the outside world worked.
Samuel understood.
The second harvest began in midsummer.
It was different from the first—quieter, steadier, with a certainty the first hadn't had. Everyone knew what to do. Everyone did it. Samuel worked his row, Morra hers, Greth his, Dravan at the edge. Jorcx moved slowly through the rows, inspecting.
One afternoon in the middle of the harvest, Jorcx passed Samuel carrying two full baskets and said casually:
"South side first tomorrow morning."
Then he moved on.
Samuel heard it. Nodded even though Jorcx was already gone.
I know what that means. The south side dries faster when it's hot. Tomorrow morning before the sun rises high.
Earlier, Jorcx would have explained that. Not anymore.
That evening after the first day of harvest, the community gathered like before—more food, more light, a mood different from an ordinary evening without anyone needing to name it. Ystra and Thessa had cooked again from the first fruits, this time with herbs Sarva had contributed. It smelled good across the settlement.
Samuel sat in his place by the fire, holding a full bowl.
Wunn sat down beside him. That was unusual—Wunn usually stayed in his own place. He simply sat, hands around his bowl, looking into the fire.
For a while they said nothing.
Then Wunn said without looking at him:
"You've been here a long time now."
"Almost a year."
Wunn nodded slowly.
"I've seen many come and go."
Samuel looked at him.
"Many?"
"In my life, yes. Not this place." Wunn thought.
"But people who joined and then left again."
"And?"
Wunn took a sip.
"Those who stayed always had a moment when you could see it. When you knew—they're staying now." He paused.
"For you, it was the crystal incident."
Samuel looked down at his food.
"I'm still going to leave. Eventually."
"I know."
Wunn said it without regret. Just a statement.
"But you still had the moment."
He stood, gave a short nod, and returned to his place.
Samuel sat and thought about it.
The crystal moment. Wunn saw what Urag saw. What Morra saw. All three had noticed without saying it.
He ate his stew and let it settle.
In the last weeks of summer, something changed in him.
Not suddenly. It was more like thawing in spring—first at the edges, then more, then all at once. He found himself looking at things with the attention of someone seeing them for the last time—not sad, just aware. The light in the evening over the fields. The way Dravan spoke when he thought no one was listening. The way Jorcx held his spade.
He began storing small things.
The smell of soil after rain. The sound of Torck's hammer in the early morning. Barcx's voice speaking softly to the horses.
He didn't tell himself it was farewell. But it was.
Urag spoke to him once during this time—briefly, without warning, at the edge of the field.
"Gustov says you're thinking of leaving."
Samuel looked at him.
"Yes."
Urag nodded once. He looked over the field.
"Will you be gone before the second harvest is finished?"
"Yes."
"Good."
That was all. Urag walked away.
Samuel stood and watched him go.
He doesn't ask why. He doesn't ask where. He asks when the work is finished. That's his way of saying he accepts it.
He reached for his spade.
One evening shortly before the end of the harvest, he sat with Gustov and they were silent for a long time. The fire was small, the settlement quiet, the sky above the plain clear and vast.
Then Samuel said:
"I'm leaving after the harvest."
Gustov drank his infusion.
"I know."
"I don't know how to say it. To the others."
"You don't need to make it a big announcement." Gustov looked into the fire.
"They know too."
Samuel was silent.
Of course they know. Wunn told me himself. Urag asked when the work would be done. Gustov has been preparing me for weeks.
"And still."
"Yes." Gustov set his bowl down.
"And still."
They sat quietly for a while.
Then Gustov leaned slightly forward and said softly:
"You learned here how to stay. That is no less valuable than anything else you'll learn. Maybe more."
Samuel looked at him.
He didn't answer.
There was nothing that would have done it justice.
The fire burned lower. Dravan didn't come anymore—he was already asleep. Yeva too. The fields lay still in the warm summer night.
Samuel sat and let the settlement be quiet around him.
A few more days.