By the time the last of the timber was hauled up onto the rock tortoise's broad back, the light had begun to fade, turning the sky a molten orange. The air smelled faintly of dust and pine resin. Luciel stood at the edge of the half-finished roof, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his palms dusted with the fine gray of stone powder.
"Alright," he murmured, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Now we can start on the roof."
Mino was already halfway up the wall before he finished speaking. "I'll lay the bricks! You pass them to me," she called down cheerfully, her voice ringing with excitement.
Luciel looked up at her slight frame balancing on the narrow beam and couldn't help smiling. "Be careful, and make sure your footing's steady."
"Got it!" she replied, crouching to set the first stone into place.
The girl worked quickly, her movements light and sure. She seemed to hum with energy, the kind of restless joy that comes when a dream begins to take shape. The walls they'd built that morning—cold, lifeless slabs of stone—had transformed under her hands into something that finally resembled a home.
Luciel passed the next stone upward. "You're getting good at this," he said.
Mino grinned, her cheeks smudged with gray dust. "It's amazing, isn't it? I can already imagine what it'll look like inside. My own bed, a table, maybe even a window with sunlight!"
Luciel laughed softly. "One step at a time."
By the time they'd finished laying half the roof, night had already swallowed the hills. A bonfire crackled in the yard below, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The orange glow painted Mino's face as she worked, her blue eyes reflecting the flames like tiny stars.
Another hour passed before the final stone settled into place. Luciel stood back, stretching the ache from his shoulders. "That's it," he said, exhaling in relief. "The roof's done."
At his signal, the rock tortoise beneath them shifted slightly, its massive shell pulsing with a faint, earthy hum. The seams between the stone bricks began to glow, and then—almost magically—the joints sealed together, merging into one solid surface. The air rippled with energy, and when it faded, the roof looked as if it had been carved from a single slab of rock.
"Finished!" Mino cheered, jumping down from the roof and landing lightly on her feet. Her excitement was pure and infectious. "It's perfect!"
Luciel smiled at her enthusiasm, though his own satisfaction was quieter. He had built things before—walls, shelters, even traps—but this was different. This was the first time he'd built something meant for comfort, not survival. For warmth, not defense.
"Let's start moving our things over," he said, brushing dust from his hands.
Mino nodded eagerly, her ponytail bouncing as she ran toward the camp.
---
They didn't have much to move—just what little they had managed to hold onto since leaving the tribe. Mino's belongings fit easily in her arms: a pillow stuffed with dry grass, a wooden board she used as a bed, two carved bowls, a bucket, and the old door from her wooden shed.
Luciel raised an eyebrow when he saw the door. "You're taking that too?"
"It's… important," she said softly, hugging it against her chest. "It's the door from the place where my sister and I lived. I want to keep it."
Luciel said nothing more. He simply nodded and went back to work. He understood. Some memories were worth carrying, even when they were heavy.
By the time they'd finished, only the wooden shed itself remained, standing empty and silent in the darkness. Luciel held a torch at the doorway, watching as Mino lingered inside one last time. She stood in the middle of the small, bare room, her arms wrapped around the pillow, her gaze distant.
He didn't interrupt. Some farewells needed silence.
Finally, she turned back, her lips trembling faintly but her eyes steady. "Let's go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Luciel nodded, and together they walked into the night. The torchlight flickered across their faces as the black shell of the rock tortoise loomed before them like a mountain waiting to move.
When they climbed aboard, Mino couldn't help looking back. The shed was already fading into the shadows, the orange glow of the torch swallowed by the dark. It looked so small now—just another forgotten shape in a vast wilderness.
---
The moment she stepped into their new home, her sadness began to melt away. The space felt bigger than she remembered—warm, open, alive with possibility. She darted from room to room, touching the smooth stone walls, laughing as her footsteps echoed faintly.
Luciel leaned against the doorway, watching her with a faint smile. "Satisfied?"
"Is this really my room?" she asked, peeking out from behind the doorway, her eyes bright.
"Yes," he said. "You can arrange it however you want."
Her face lit up. "Then I'll clean everything tomorrow! I'll make it cozy!"
Luciel chuckled. "Tomorrow. For now, let's get some food in us."
His stomach growled as if on cue. He walked to the center of the hall and began building a firepit. With practiced movements, he shaped the stone floor into a square depression, spread a layer of soil and sand for insulation, then used his earth-shaping ability to carve a narrow vent through the roof. A small chimney rose above the surface like the throat of a sleeping beast.
When the fire caught, it filled the room with flickering gold light. The air smelled of smoke and stone dust, but it already felt like home.
Luciel suspended a steel pot over the flames, poured water into it, and dropped in pieces of dried meat. "We'll stew it slow," he said, mostly to himself. "Let it soften."
Soon, the scent of simmering broth filled the air. He added a few strips of meat on sticks, holding them over the open fire.
From the side room, Mino's voice floated out. "Something smells amazing!"
She appeared in the doorway, her nose twitching adorably. "Is that… meat stew?"
"Where else would the smell come from?" Luciel said, turning the skewers. "Come here. You've been running around all day. You must be starving."
Mino's stomach growled in response, but she giggled and sat down beside him, cross-legged near the warmth of the flames. Her cheeks glowed orange in the firelight.
She was about to remind him to save some meat for tomorrow when she caught sight of his face—smudged with soot, his hair a mess, but smiling faintly, satisfied. She hesitated, then smiled too. "You've worked harder than me today. You should eat more."
Luciel raised a brow, amused. "What's this? No lecture about wasting food?"
"Not tonight," she said with mock seriousness. "Tonight's a celebration."
The stew began to bubble gently. Luciel stirred it with a wooden ladle, watching the rising steam. "Let it simmer a while longer. The flavor comes out better that way."
Mino leaned closer to the fire, her expression thoughtful. "Luciel… you said before that there might be spies or thieves. If someone comes here tomorrow, how can we make it look like everyone in the camp just left recently?"
He looked up from the fire, surprised by her sudden question. Then he smiled faintly. "Good question. Tell me, Mino—if you were the spy, how would you tell when people left?"
She blinked, then frowned in concentration, her rabbit-like ears twitching slightly. She loved when he asked questions like that—when he made her think.
"I guess…" She glanced down at the floor. The dirt beneath her bare feet caught her attention. "Footprints! You could look at footprints, right?"
Luciel's eyes glimmered with approval. "That's one way. The depth of a footprint can tell you how long ago it was made—the deeper, the fresher. But there's another method too, one that's even easier."
Her curiosity sparked instantly. "What method?"
He turned one of the skewers slowly over the flames. "Charcoal," he said. "The degree of burning and the temperature of the ashes."
Mino tilted her head. "You can tell time from charcoal?"
"In a way," he said, his tone patient. "If you pay attention—how long it takes for embers to cool, how long the soil beneath a firepit stays warm—you can estimate when the fire was last used. The army used that trick to track movements. It's simple, but it works."
Her blue eyes widened with admiration. "That's… actually really smart."
Luciel chuckled, handing her a skewer of roasted meat. "You'll learn all sorts of tricks like that if you stay close."
Mino accepted the skewer absentmindedly, her mind still on what he'd said. She chewed thoughtfully, half lost in her imagination—visions of her sister, of distant tribes, of adventures still to come.
Luciel noticed her dazed expression and reached out to flick her forehead lightly. "Focus," he said, his tone teasing.
"Ow!" She yelped and pouted, rubbing her forehead. "Don't do that!"
"Eat while it's hot," he said, handing her a bowl of broth. "Thinking can wait until your stomach's full."
She accepted it with a small, exaggerated sigh. "Yes, sir."
The fire crackled softly between them. Outside, the night was quiet except for the slow, rhythmic breathing of the massive rock tortoise beneath them. The stars shimmered faintly through the small window Luciel had carved earlier that day.
For the first time in weeks, they weren't running or hiding. They were simply living—warm, safe, and together. Mino leaned her head against the wall, cradling the bowl in her hands, and smiled sleepily.
"Luciel," she murmured. "Thank you… for building this."
He looked up from the fire, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Get some rest," he said softly. "Tomorrow, we start fresh."
Mino nodded, too tired to argue. The warmth of the stew and the comfort of the stone room lulled her toward sleep. As her eyes drifted shut, she thought she heard the low rumble of the tortoise's breath, deep and steady beneath them—a heartbeat of stone echoing into the night.