Max divine's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Max stepped through the mansion's pink doorway for the first time. Dust covered the floors in thick layers. The walls showed cracks and water stains from years of neglect. She needed to make this place work. Travelers wouldn't trust a ruin, and trust meant information. She grabbed a broom from the corner and started sweeping the main room. Each stroke revealed colorful tiles beneath the grime. Her arms ached, but she kept going. By sunset, three rooms gleamed clean enough to use. She stood in the doorway and looked at her work. This was the first step. Now people would see she meant to stay. The next morning, Max hiked out past the dunes. She needed to spot travelers before they reached the mansion. A trading post sat abandoned a mile out, its wood weathered gray. Vines twisted up the posts and across the roof. She climbed the rickety stairs to the lookout platform. From here, she could see movement in all directions across the wastes. Perfect. She'd check this spot twice a day. Inside the trading post, she found stacks of old crates and papers. Max pulled out yellowed documents, squinting at faded ink. Shipping records, supply lists, names of people who'd passed through years ago. Her fingers trembled as she sorted through them. One of these papers might mention an abandoned baby. One might list her parents' names. She stuffed the clearest pages into her pack to read later. On her way back, Max hung a flask from a post outside the mansion. The container shimmered with strange colors, its surface carved with fish patterns. She filled it with clean water from her filtered supply. Survivors who stopped here would need something to drink. Comfort loosened tongues, and loose tongues shared stories. She wiped her hands on her ragged clothes and looked at her growing sanctuary. The mansion was clean, the lookout was ready, and water waited for guests. When travelers came with their tales, she'd be ready to listen.