The trees had long dried. The flowers before the trees. And the last healthy stalk of wheat was months ago. Now even the most determined of grasses shared the fate.

Brew cupped the wilted grass. He remembered hating the thing's resilient, always burgeoning where it shouldn't and always stealing growth from wheat. Now he wished for its survival. Even seeing a plain blanketed in grasses would throb his heart into glee. But the soil was dark and so were the grasses. The land was dead.

Around them refugees walked with bowed heads broken faces. Their legs sagged and dragged. Children cried without tears as even water was in short supply. Most of them would die if not all.

"What now?" Blink asked, a question he hoped of avoiding. What now. As if he had all the answers.

"What indeed. We die I guess." Brew patted his hands. "But later. Dying now would be too lenient, too easy for our sins. The burden, the guilt, we shall be haunted until the cold touch of the grave."

"This isn't our fault. Not fully anyway. This-"

"Not our fault? Words to escape guilt. Do not run from it Blink. Let it embrace you. Devour you. Our failure caused this. Do you understand? We were tasked, chosen. And yet we idled until it was too late."

"I know!" Blink gripped his arm tight. It only eased when Blink began to sob. "I know Brew. I know." His head leaned forward on Brew's shoulder. "We must suffer, we must rue. But it will happen again. Everything. And failure by then would be the end. So please don't abandon us. I beg of you. Do not abandon us."

Brew traced the long line of refugees. The weak shuffled out of the line, falling dead and fogotten. At the rear, the city still burned with dark smoke still rising and coiling.

"I am tired. I am broken."

"Aren't we all?" Blink asked. "One last time. Lead us one last time."

His shoulder sagged as was his face. He nodded. As if I could give up anyway.

"East. We will push east across the sea and find new lands to settle. The journey would be terrible. Building anew would be more so."

"But we must keep going."

"Yes. And I hope we'll get it right this time. No more fighting. No more trifle wars. We will guard the Stone of Mirth united."

He looked to the east, to the direction of the unknown. Beyond the rotting land was dream behind a curtain of struggles.

Can we stop it this time? Are we going to learn from our mistakes? Is there even a stone left?

Questions flooded and questions were left unanswered. Brew found that answers can only be closer after taking the first step. And so he did.