With the dissolution of the cliffs, the land changed dramatically. Though it was still sand and stone, it pulsed with a vibrancy that had been lacking before. It almost felt as alive as when they had been in the River lands, the earth saturated with mana supporting all manner of life.

The weather pattern in the vicinity of the crater changed too. It had been protected from winds, but also extraordinarily dry before, but now it was exposed to the desert storms that used to roll around it. The storms brought a great deal of sand, which filled the crater and infiltrated their new home, so they had to build higher.

One evening, a powerful storm rolled through, bringing in heavy rains that drenched the land for the first time in over a thousand years. The bottom of the crater filled with water, flooding the lower levels of their house, but happily they had already built upper floors to flee to.

“It’s nice to be able to look out from a safe, dry house,” Tanner said as they watched the lightning fork down from the sky.

Grandma had asked Genma to make some windows for them, teaching the ancient miasma about glass manufacturing and then letting it manage the process with pure mana. She had then carved the glass to shape, and set them in frames made of stone, before melding the whole assembly into the walls of their house. The result was an extremely snug fitting window that gave a wonderfully clear view of the outside.

When the weather was inclement, they spent their time in the dungeon. The plants inside the strange magical space were growing increasingly odd. The first few generations had seemed relatively normal, producing the expected fruits based on the labels, but slowly, they started to change. Some grew increasingly colorful, others grew larger and larger, while a very few simply stood up and walked away.

[Does an excess of mana cause some kind of weird mutation?] Grandma asked as a plant that used to be a vine stood up and hopped away from her trowel.

“I guess this explains those chicken mushrooms,” Mina said, staring after the fleeing plant.

“I wonder where that little guy is going.” Tanner hurried after the plant. Sensing pursuit, the plant hopped faster. “Wait! I’m not going to hurt you!” Tanner broke into a trot, which only spurred the plant to greater speeds.

Grandma watched their antics with raised eyebrows, then shook her head with a smile. [Does that mean, if we live here for many generations, we’ll also grow strange?]

“You know, I wonder if that’s what gave rise to the River People.” Mina twirled a lock of her blue hair around her fingers and gazed at it thoughtfully. “The different hair colors, the magical abilities. Their territories were richer in mana than other places. Maybe it took longer because it wasn’t as dense as inside a dungeon, and the changes were more subtle.”

“That’s a fascinating theory,” Fariel said, taking notes as usual. “I wonder if there’s any way to prove or disprove it.”

[Stop. There’s no ethical way to do that, so just stop right there.] Grandma shook her head firmly. [Where people are concerned, the best you can do is historical records.]

“Fair enough,” the imperial mage conceded.

[Now, if we got a couple of lab mice in here though,] Grandma mused. [That’d be a different story.]

“But we already have chickens and rabbits,” Mina pointed out.

In fact, the rabbits have bred already. After they had broken out of their roughly constructed enclosures, they had wandered off into some corner of the dungeon and made themselves at home. Genma knew their precise count and location at all times, so Grandma didn’t feel too motivated to chase them all back down, and only asked the miasma to keep tabs on them.

Genma thought the rabbits were hilarious, especially the kits. It spent hours simply examining the creatures. There was one rabbit kit in particular that it favored, a large brown bunny with a fluffy white tail, who seemed to notice whenever Genma was nearby. The two often played together, though their games were incomprehensible to Grandma.

As for the chickens, they had been eating the eggs as soon as they were laid, so there was no next generation of chickens yet. [Should we set aside an enclosure for breeding the next generation of chickens?] Grandma asked, more to herself than to anyone else.

“Well, it would certainly help our research,” Fariel said mildly.

[Fine, I’ll build a new enclosure and quarantine a rooster and a few of his girlfriends.]

In the days after the rain, the desert landscape transformed into a riotous carpet of flowers. Grandma was impressed. These seeds must have lain dormant for a thousand years. Had the overflowing mana reignited their vitality? She carefully harvested a few samples of every type of flower she could find, and transplanted them into the dungeon.

[Genma, do you think you could make an area that’s like what it is outside right now?] Grandma asked.

[I guess so,] the miasma answered sulkily.

Genma was still in mourning over the unimaginable trauma it had suffered. Grandma desperately wanted to interrogate it on what had happened, what the world had been like a thousand years ago, but the miasma was not ready to discuss any of those things yet. Still, it shared glimpses of what life had been like back then, in the landscapes it recreated from the mana they had been able to reclaim.

[Sorry, Genma. And thank you.] Grandma swished a hand gently through the cloud of mana, and it swirled around her like water.

Along with the rain and the sudden blooms came people. When Mina sensed the first strangers arriving, they had all been alarmed. Why were other people suddenly seeking out this forsaken dead patch of desert? Nanur had been very clear that nobody came this way, that it was considered madness to even try.

The first arrivals were a mother and her child. They both had fiery red hair that shone under the sun like glinting copper, deeply tanned skin, and dark eyes flecked with gold. When they arrived at the crater, surrounded by its absurd field of flowers, the woman fell to her knees and wept.

“Er,” Tanner said, poking his head out of the door to their house. “Can we help you?”

“We felt a pull,” the woman stammered. “To come home.” Tears shone on her cheeks, now mounded in a smile. “Everyone told us we were crazy, that we would die out here.”

“Mama, I’m thirsty,” the child whined, tugging at the woman’s robes.

[Might as well show them in,] Grandma said.

More and more people came after that. Some left after their curiosity had been sated, but most chose to stay. For a while, Grandma, Mina, Tanner, and Fariel were busy building shelters for all the people who arrived. Then, a merchant caravan showed up out of the blue, carrying home necessities and dried goods. Grandma was secretly pleased, and bartered for a variety of wares. The merchant caravan left heavily laden with high quality panes of glass carefully packed in cloth, as well as a selection of bizarre but delicious fruits that could not be found anywhere else, kept fresh in special crates that chilled their contents through the use of an inscribed gem.

The haphazard village grew and grew, as more and more people were drawn to it. Some had brought their entire lives with them, while others had traveled light, with barely enough supplies to sustain them the length of the trip. Quite a few brought their children with them, who now ran through the zigzag streets, screaming and laughing as they played. Mina watched them with a little smile tugging at her lips.

“Should we build a school?” she asked one day. “We could teach them magic, among other things.”

[I’m not a particularly good teacher,] Grandma said, [but I’m happy to help you build it. I’m sure Fariel would be happy too.]

With more people in the village now, they combined physical and magical building techniques to erect a small school, and connected one of its doors to the dungeon entrance. Within the dungeon, they built the rest of the school, a much more spacious building that was comfortable and airy, overlooking the village gardens.

Fariel started the children off with basic literacy skills. Mina and Tanner supplemented those classes with practical mana manipulation. The children, and most adults as well, learned to circulate their mana, to form links with each other, to sense the land and all the life within it, and how to protect themselves and each other.

More trade caravans came, drawn by the tales that they had heard, and the profits the first enterprising merchant had made. The size and clarity of the glass that the village produced, thanks to Genma, were unmatched throughout the empire. The fruits were rare, and therefore sought after. Even the crates the fruits had been shipped in generated a huge profit, thanks to the magic engraved in it.

“Should we name this place?” one resident asked.

“It’d be nice to be something other than ‘that forsaken place out in the desert’,” another agreed.

The residents submitted a petition to Mina, requesting that the founders name the town. Grandma couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of it all. [Naming is one of the hardest things to do, you know,] Grandma chortled.

“But Grandma, you’ve named plenty of things!” Mina spread her arms, encompassing Pluot and Fiddler.

[And Fiddler has yet to forgive me for it,] Grandma grinned.

“Well, none of us would be here if it weren’t for you,” Tanner said, giving Grandma a hug. “So we’ll put up with whatever name you choose, even if it’s awful.”

[Fine, then. Don’t cry to me afterward.] Grandma thought in silence for a minute, then finally smiled. [Wellspring. Let’s name this place Wellspring.]