The Excavation Site was located in the northeast corner of the valley, a geological scar where the mountain's skin had been peeled back to reveal its ribs. Leo arrived at dawn, driven not by curiosity, but by the crushing arithmetic of debt.
Dr. Hardy's bill sat heavy in his pocket. Eight hundred Gold. In the city, that was the price of a cheap suit. Here, it was a fortune. Without crops to ship, Leo had no income, and the valley's economy was mercilessly tangible. You either produced, or you starved.
Carter, the valley's resident archaeologist, stood waist-deep in a trench, brushing dirt from a fossilized ribcage. He was a man who seemed more comfortable with the dead than the living; the dead, after all, did not ask for loans.
"You're the new farmer," Carter noted, not looking up. His voice was dry, matching the dust that coated his vest. "You're early. Most people don't come up here until winter, when the fields are frozen and boredom sets in."
"I need money," Leo said, stepping to the edge of the pit. "Dr. Hardy put my treatment on a tab. I need to pay him before he repossesses my kidneys."
Carter stopped brushing. He straightened up, cracking his back. "Hardy is efficient. He treats the human body like a tractor—replace the parts, bill the owner. If you're looking for gold, you're in the wrong strata. The ancients mined this place dry centuries ago."
Flora emerged from the supply tent, wiping her glasses with a microfiber cloth. She looked at Leo with a clinical, detached interest, as if he were a specimen that had wandered into her lab.
"We dig for history," Flora said. "But occasionally, we find the refuse of the previous civilization. Jewelry. Coins. Conductors. Van, the merchant, buys them. He comes on dates ending in three or eight."
Leo grabbed a shovel from the rack. "I'll dig."
"Keep what you find," Carter said, returning to his fossil. "Just don't break my bones."
The work was monotonous, a repetitive violence against the earth. For hours, Leo threw dirt over his shoulder, his eyes scanning for the glint of metal. The sun climbed high, baking the back of his neck, but he didn't stop. He couldn't afford to stop.
By noon, his pile of "treasure" was pathetic: three rusted bangles, a pair of earrings with the stones missing, and a handful of grey junk ore.
He picked up one of the earrings. It was heavy, made of a strange, dark alloy that didn't rust.
"Why is there so much jewelry down here?" Leo asked, wiping sweat from his eyes.
"It wasn't fashion," Carter said, his voice echoing from the trench. "It was utility. The civilization that built the Goddess Pond... they didn't use electricity. They used resonance. These bangles? They were grounding wires for the farmers. They channeled the valley's energy into the crops."
Flora leaned against a support beam, looking at the grey ore in Leo's hand. "They tried to automate nature. They wanted to grow pumpkins the size of carriages and corn that ripened in an hour. They wore those trinkets to conduct the flow."
"What happened to them?" Leo asked.
"The soil snapped," Flora said simply. "You can't accelerate biology forever without paying a tax. The land burned out. The civilization collapsed overnight. Now, we just sift through their hubris."
Leo looked at the earring. It felt cold in his palm. He wasn't thinking about ancient hubris; he was thinking about the exchange rate.
"How much is this worth?"
"Van will give you maybe 50 Gold for the lot," Carter estimated. "Enough for a loaf of bread and some aspirin."
Fifty Gold. He needed eight hundred.
Leo threw the shovel down. The noise startled a flock of crows. Scavenging the past wasn't going to save his future. He was a farmer, not a grave robber. If he wanted to survive, he couldn't just dig for scraps; he had to produce something.
He gathered his meager findings. "Thanks for the shovel."
"Kid," Carter called out as Leo turned to leave. "If you're going to farm that land, be careful. The soil remembers what happened here. It doesn't like being rushed."
Leo nodded, though he didn't fully understand. He walked back down the mountain path, the meager weight of the jewelry in his pocket serving as a reminder of how far he was from solvency. He had enough for a meal, perhaps. But he didn't need food. He needed seeds. And for that, he needed to beg.