The starship glided into Pine Creek just as the first crates of apples were being loaded onto a cart—only to stall halfway to the river. Below, a group of villagers stood staring at the bridge that once spanned the water: its wooden planks were rotted through, one of its stone pillars had cracked, and the ropes holding it to the banks hung loose, frayed at the ends.
Lin Che landed the starship in a grassy field beside the orchard, where rows of apple trees heavy with fruit stretched to the horizon. A woman with a woven basket on her arm hurried over—her apron was stained with apple juice, and her hair was tied back with a red ribbon.
"You must be the travelers Elder Gao sent!" she said, her voice urgent but hopeful. "I'm Clara—my family runs the orchard. That bridge… it's been falling apart for months, but last night's storm finished it. Apple season starts tomorrow—we need to get these crates to the market, or they'll rot. The next closest bridge is ten miles away, and the road's muddy—we'll never make it in time."
Xiao Ya stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the river. She closed her eyes, her hands glowing green, and took a deep breath. "The willow trees by the bank," she said, opening her eyes. "Their roots are strong—they can hold the new bridge in place. And the river plants will keep the stone pillars from cracking again."
Mo Ying slung her toolbox over her shoulder, already walking toward the bridge. "First, we'll tear out the rotted planks. Then we'll reinforce the stone pillar with fresh mortar—Clara, do you have extra stone and sand? Lin Che and I can mix it."
Su Qing flipped open her Arcane Manual, scanning a page on structural runes. "I can carve runes into the new planks—they'll make the wood resistant to rot and water. That way, the bridge won't fall apart again, even in storms."
Clara nodded, relief washing over her face. "We have a shed full of planks, stone, and sand—my husband, Tom, can help you carry them. And the other villagers—they'll be here in a minute. Everyone's been waiting to fix this bridge."
True to her word, a group of villagers arrived within minutes: Tom, a broad-shouldered man with calloused hands; Mrs. Hale, the village weaver, carrying spools of strong rope; and a handful of teenagers, eager to haul supplies. Together, they set to work.
Lin Che and Tom mixed mortar, their hands covered in sand and water, while Mo Ying and the teenagers pried up the rotted planks—they crumbled in their hands, so decayed they could barely hold weight. Xiao Ya knelt by the riverbank, talking to the willow trees; soon, thick, gnarled roots began to snake out of the soil, wrapping around the cracked stone pillar like a brace.
Su Qing sat on a pile of new planks, her knife in hand, carving runes into the wood. Each symbol glowed faintly green as she finished it—warding off rot, strengthening the grain. "These runes should last for years," she said, holding up a plank to show Clara. "Even if the river floods, the wood won't warp."
By midday, the sun was high, and sweat dripped down their backs—but no one stopped. Mrs. Hale brought out a bucket of cold apple cider, and the villagers passed it around, laughing as they drank. A group of children from the village brought baskets of fresh apples, their cheeks red from running.
"For energy!" one little boy said, holding out an apple to Xiao Ya. She took it, smiling, and bit into it—juice ran down her chin, and she laughed.
As the afternoon wore on, the bridge began to take shape. Mo Ying and Lin Che nailed the new planks into place, their hammers ringing in time with the villagers' chatter. Xiao Ya's willow roots held the stone pillar steady, and Su Qing's runes glowed softly on the wood, casting a faint green light over the river.
By sunset, the bridge was finished. It stood strong: new planks, reinforced pillars, and ropes that held tight to the banks. Tom led the way across, his cart loaded with apples, and the planks didn't even creak. The villagers cheered, clapping and hugging each other.
Clara pulled Lin Che and the others into a tight hug. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with tears. "We thought we'd lose everything—our orchard, our homes. But you… you gave us our bridge back. You gave us our hope back."
That night, the villagers held a feast in the orchard. They spread blankets on the grass, and Clara's family cooked a pot of apple stew, while Mrs. Hale brought out loaves of apple bread. The air smelled of cinnamon and baked fruit, and the sound of music filled the night—Tom played the fiddle, and the villagers danced under the stars.
Gathered around a small fire, Clara told them about Pine Creek's history: how her great-grandfather had built the first bridge, how the orchard had been passed down through four generations, how the village had always stuck together, even in hard times.
"We don't have much," she said, handing Lin Che a jar of apple butter. "But this—this is our way of saying thank you. It's made from the first apples of the season. Take it with you, and remember Pine Creek."
The next morning, they packed the starship—now with a jar of apple butter tucked beside the corn seeds and the iron key. The villagers walked them to the field, waving and calling out goodbyes. Clara held up a crate of apples, and Tom tossed it to Lin Che—"For the road!" he shouted.
As the starship lifted off, Lin Che looked out the window. Below, the new bridge spanned the river, and the orchard's trees waved in the wind. The villagers stood in the field, tiny figures now, but their smiles were still visible.
Su Qing flipped open Elder Gao's map, pointing to a village in the north. "Cedar Falls," she said. "Elder Gao says their sawmill's broken—they can't cut wood for winter. We could help."
Mo Ying nodded, adjusting the starship's controls. "Sawmills? I fixed a bellows and a bridge—sawmills are next. And with Xiao Ya's plants to help with the logs… we've got this."
Xiao Ya smiled, holding an apple from Tom's crate. She took a bite, and the juice sparkled on her lips. "The trees in Cedar Falls are waiting," she said. "They want to help, too."
Lin Che looked at the jar of apple butter on the dashboard, its label handwritten: Pine Creek, With Gratitude. The Star Marrow on his wrist glowed softly, warm and steady. This was their journey—small acts of kindness, shared meals, bridges rebuilt and hope restored.
"Cedar Falls," he said. "Let's go."
The starship turned north, toward the mountains. Ahead, a new village waited. A new problem. A new chance to help.
And as always—they were ready.