Morning came earlier than Aria expected.

She woke to the faint buzz of the wind-turbine outside and the soft glow of her watch, already alive with a quiet, steady glyph. Not a new pattern—just the same constellation as last night, pulsing like it was keeping count.

Virel was already up, rolling their small travel packs from beneath the bed. One held spare clothes, a compact tool kit, and a folded solar tarp. The other held carefully wrapped components: a portable relay unit, an extra battery for Clem, and a coil of fiber-line stamped with the co-op’s logo.

“Morning,” Aria said, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” Virel replied. He straightened, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “I’m trying not to over-pack, but the part of me that remembers the Collapse keeps whispering we should bring the whole ridge.”

Aria smiled. “The ridge might object.”

Clem chimed from the watch.

“For the record, bringing the entire ridge is not energy-efficient. I did the math. Several times. Also… good morning.”

The familiarity of their voices steadied her. She crossed to the small kitchen counter, slicing yesterday’s bread. Half went into a cloth bag for the road. The rest she left on a plate with a short note for whoever might stop by to check the cabin while they were gone.

For sharing. For remembering. For listening.

Her hand lingered on the last word.

By mid-morning, the settlement’s square was gently busy. People moved with the unhurried efficiency of those who knew every task mattered. Solar panels were cleared of dust. Water lines were checked. A child ran past with a basket of mint cuttings, the leaves bright and sharp-smelling in the cool air.

Aria and Virel stood near the center, packs resting at their feet. They hadn’t asked for a gathering. But word, like resonance, had a way of spreading.

Ibrahim arrived first, wiping grease from his hands with a cloth already stained with years of repairs. Samantha followed, apron still dusted with flour. A pair of co-op messengers, Jae and Ren, came carrying a rolled map and an old compass whose glass had been replaced with a clear shard sliver set in brass.

Others drifted in—neighbors, patrol members, growers, a few older children pretending they were only there to watch.

“I heard a rumor,” Samantha said, folding her arms lightly. “Something about our resident shard listeners going on a field trip.”

“More of a… research visit,” Virel said. “We want to see how far this song carries.”

Aria tapped her watch. It answered with a faint pulse, synced to the shard lines along Virel’s arms.

“We’re not leaving because something’s wrong,” she added. “We’re leaving because something is right—and getting louder. The towers in San Altman are humming. The letters from the co-op talk about echoes in other ridges. If we can understand how all of this connects, it could help everyone.”

Clem projected a small diagram above her wrist—a simple map of their valley, the riverline, and a dotted path toward the distant city. The shard towers were marked as soft points of light.

“Think of it as expanding the network,” Clem said. “With slightly more walking and slightly less comfortable chairs.”

A small ripple of chuckles threaded through the group.

Ibrahim stepped forward, holding a slim wooden case. “Before you go,” he said, “I’d like to ask a favor. From all of you.”

He opened the case to reveal a line of watches—analog, digital, hybrid—each modified with a tiny shard fragment set into the back. The pieces were too small to glow on their own, but Aria could feel a faint tingle when she looked at them.

“I’ve been collecting damaged ones for years,” Ibrahim said. “Old timekeepers, forgotten brands. The shard woke them up when it woke the ridge. I think it wants… witnesses.”

He held up one watch at a time, naming the person he handed it to—Samantha, Jae, Ren, patrol members, growers, even one of the older children. The watches looked mismatched, but together they formed a strange, quiet pattern.

Aria’s chest tightened. “You’re making a—”

“Shard Watch,” Virel finished softly.

Ibrahim nodded. “You two will follow the far signals—toward San Altman, toward whatever is calling. We’ll stay here and listen to the ridge. If it shifts, hums, sings, we’ll log it. We’ll send updates down the riverline.”

Jae unrolled the map, revealing not just roads and canals, but lines added in bright ink—places where odd lights had been seen, where soil had glowed faintly at night, where dreams had come in unfamiliar songs.

“We’ll mark everything,” Jae said. “Every echo. Every pattern. If the shard is weaving something bigger, we’ll help trace the threads from this side.”

Ren tapped the shard-set compass. “And when letters go to San Altman, we’ll tuck copies of the logs into the courier packs. You’ll see what we’re seeing. Maybe… what the shard is seeing through us.”

Samantha stepped close and slipped a small cloth bundle into Aria’s hand. It was heavier than bread, lighter than metal.

“For when the road feels too long,” she said. “And for sharing with whoever you meet.”

Inside, Aria later discovered, were seed packets—mint, beans, and a small hand-drawn note: Plant where it feels like home.

They spent the afternoon in motion that felt both ordinary and immense.

Virel checked each strap and buckle twice. Clem recalibrated his processes for low-signal travel mode, grumbling good-naturedly about minimalist computing. Aria visited the irrigation lines and recorded a fresh baseline reading of the ridge’s hum—soil, water, and sky all reflecting a low, steady chord.

At one point, she found herself alone at the edge of the fields, the ridge rising before her. Wind tugged at her jacket, bringing the faint scent of pine and earth.

“You started all this,” she told the ridge quietly. “By refusing to stay dead.”

The wind shifted, brushing her face with air that felt warmer than it should have been. Her watch vibrated once—no glyph this time, just a simple, steady pulse.

Clem’s voice came through the connection, gentler than usual.

“For the record,” he said, “I don’t think this is just about distance. The shard isn’t only asking ‘how far can I reach?’ It’s asking ‘who will answer with me?’”

Aria watched a hawk curve along the ridge line, riding thermals sparked by uneven ground.

“Then we’ll answer,” she said. “From here, from there, from wherever we’re standing.”

As sunset deepened, the settlement gathered one last time at the square. Not for speeches—just to be there. Lanterns flickered to life, powered by salvaged cells and small shard amplifiers. The light they cast was warm, not harsh.

Aria and Virel stood near the well as Ibrahim finished marking the final entries in a ledger. Each person wearing a watch added their name and the words: Listening from… followed by their usual post—east field, patrol route, bakery, relay tower.

Samantha broke the remaining loaf into pieces and passed them around the circle. No one said “this is a ceremony,” but it felt like one.

When the bread reached Aria, she took a piece and passed the basket to Virel.

“To coming back,” she said.

Virel met her eyes. “To finding more than we expected—and sharing it.”

One of the older children lifted their wrist, the watch face catching lantern light. “To the Shard Watch,” they said, trying to sound casual and missing by just enough to be endearing.

A soft echo of voices answered:

“To the Shard Watch.”

Clem cleared his virtual throat.

“And to the part where I heroically manage our battery levels and keep everyone from walking into ravines while being emotionally overwhelmed by cosmic significance,” he added.

The laughter that followed was exactly the kind Aria loved most—tired, genuine, threaded with affection.

The sky darkened fully. Above the ridge, constellations unfolded in sharp relief, mirrored by faint glows on the shard-set watches around the circle. For a moment, it felt like the ridge, the people, and the distant towers were all part of the same quiet diagram.

Aria felt no sense of leaving instead of staying. Only the feeling of a circle widening to make room.

Tomorrow, she and Virel would step onto the road and follow the riverline toward San Altman. But tonight, standing in the ring of neighbors and soft shardlight, she understood something simple and solid:

Whatever waited out there, they would not be meeting it alone.

The world had already begun watching back.