The northern forest embraced Mike and Trolley with deepening shadows as dusk approached. They had maintained a grueling pace since their escape from Stonebridge, avoiding main roads and settlements where news of their exploits might have preceded them. The Configurator remained secure in its case strapped to Trolley's back, occasionally humming with subdued energy when they passed through areas of natural concentration.

  Mike halted at the crest of a small rise, his enhanced senses detecting movement ahead. He raised a hand, signaling Trolley to freeze. His hammer found its way to his grip without conscious thought, the wood warm against his palm. After thirty seconds of perfect stillness, a family of six-legged deer crossed their path, oblivious to the humans watching from downwind.

  Only when the animals had disappeared into the underbrush did Mike's shoulders relax slightly.

  "We need to make camp soon," he said, voice low despite the apparent solitude. "Pushing through the night risks missing signs of pursuit."

  Trolley nodded, checking her detection array. "No significant energy signatures within range. But that doesn't account for conventional trackers."

  Mike scanned the terrain with practiced efficiency, his Tactical Positioning skill highlighting a small hollow nestled between rocky outcroppings. "There. Defensible position, concealed from three approaches, with clean sight lines to the fourth."

  They set up camp with the precise coordination of a team that had faced danger together repeatedly. No fire—too risky with potential pursuers—but the supplies acquired in Stonebridge included cold rations and insulated bedrolls designed specifically for covert travel. The fading light revealed Trolley's exhaustion as she finally removed the Configurator's case from her back, placing it carefully between them.

  "You should examine it," Mike suggested. "Make sure the swim didn't compromise its integrity."

  Trolley hesitated. "The seals appear intact."

  "Not what I meant." Mike gestured toward the case. "You're its bearer. You should connect with it, like I did with my hammer and Morin with his. The sooner you develop that bond, the more effectively you'll wield it when needed."

  Trolley's fingers traced the metallic clasps with unexpected hesitation, a rare uncertainty crossing her features. "In the Workshop, it felt... alive. Responsive. Here, in the field with potential pursuit behind us—"

  "Here, in the field with potential pursuit behind us, is exactly when you might need it most," Mike finished. "The forest is quiet. We're reasonably secure. If something unexpected happens, I'll handle it while you familiarize yourself with its capabilities."

  She nodded, squaring her shoulders before opening the case with careful precision. The Configurator nestled in its form-fitted recess—metallic components gleaming in the fading light, its modular design suggesting endless possibilities rather than fixed function.

  As Trolley lifted it from the case, the central tool began to transform—components shifting and realigning themselves to better fit her grip, just as they had during their initial acquisition. The block-like module at its base illuminated with geometric patterns that pulsed in rhythm with her breathing.

  "It remembers me," she whispered, a touch of wonder breaking through her usual technical detachment.

  Mike said nothing, allowing her this moment of connection with the ancient Crafter tool. Her expression shifted from wonder to focused concentration as she experimentally adjusted various components, each configuration causing subtle changes in the tool's energy signature.

  "The modularity is extraordinary," Trolley said after several minutes of exploration. "Each attachment fundamentally alters its operational parameters, but the underlying energy matrix remains consistent."

  Mike smiled slightly. Only Trolley would describe a mystical bond with an ancient artifact in terms of operational parameters and energy matrices. Yet her technical approach was precisely what made her the ideal bearer for the Artificer's tool—she understood its foundational principles in ways neither he nor Morin could have grasped.

  "Can you tell what it does?" he asked.

  "Not everything," she admitted, adjusting a particularly intricate component. "But its primary function appears to be interfaces and connections. Where your hammer shapes individual materials and Morin's forges them, this seems designed to integrate disparate components into functional systems."

  "The perfect complement," Mike observed. "Independent capabilities that achieve more when combined."

  Trolley looked up sharply, catching something in his tone. "Like us."

  The simple statement hung between them, carrying implications neither had voiced during their weeks of companionship. Mike found himself nodding, acknowledging the truth of it. When he'd first arrived in this world, he'd been desperate to survive alone long enough to find a way home. Now he was part of something larger—a team, perhaps even the beginning of a genuine Crafter's Guild like the ones described in ancient texts.

  "Get some rest," he said finally. "I'll take first watch."

  As Trolley settled into her bedroll, carefully returning the Configurator to its case, Mike positioned himself against a rock outcropping with clear views of their most vulnerable approach vector. His new spyglass allowed him to scan the distant forest edge regularly, while his enhanced senses monitored the immediate surroundings.

  His mind turned inevitably to Crafter's Haven and the approaching Zengrid army. Emperor Borgath sending not just warriors but an Inquisitor—the implications were significant. The Zengrids considered their activities threatening enough to commit major imperial resources. It validated their mission while simultaneously escalating the danger to potentially catastrophic levels.

  Twenty-six days. It wasn't much time to transform an ancient ruin into a fortress capable of withstanding imperial siege. But the alternative—abandoning the Haven and everything they'd discovered—was unthinkable. The rings they'd activated, the knowledge they'd uncovered, represented their only chance of closing the Zengrid portals permanently and potentially finding Mike's path home.

  His Fortification Design skill activated almost automatically, visualizing defensive structures overlaid on his mental map of Crafter's Haven. The ancient ruins already contained significant defensive elements—their original builders had designed with protection in mind. But those systems had deteriorated over centuries, and modern siege weaponry would exploit vulnerabilities the original Crafters couldn't have anticipated.

  Mike continued this mental planning throughout his watch, tactical simulations running through his mind as he scanned the darkened forest for physical threats. By the time he woke Trolley for her shift, he had developed the foundational approach for Haven's transformation—an integrated defense system that would maximize their limited resources against superior numbers.

  "Anything?" Trolley asked as she rose, instantly alert despite her brief rest.

  "Quiet," Mike confirmed. "Too quiet, perhaps. The local wildlife should be more active at this hour."

  Trolley nodded, her detection array already in hand as she assumed the watch position. "Four hours, then we move before dawn. The rendezvous point is still eight miles northeast."

  Mike settled into his bedroll, the ancient hammer positioned for immediate access beside him. Sleep claimed him quickly, his body's Efficient Recovery skill accelerating the restoration process far beyond normal human capability.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  When Trolley woke him exactly four hours later, the forest remained draped in pre-dawn darkness. They broke camp with practiced efficiency, leaving minimal evidence of their presence before continuing their journey through the lightening woods.

  "The professor and Kirgen should have exited Stonebridge by now," Trolley observed as they maintained a steady pace through the underbrush. "Academic diplomatic channels would have processed their credentials overnight."

  "Assuming their cover story held," Mike reminded her. "The Zengrids would have connected the professor's escape with our market activities."

  "The Academy protects its own," Trolley replied with surprising confidence. "Even Zengrids hesitate to directly challenge academic autonomy—too many powerful families send their children to the central universities. It's one of the few institutions that maintains genuine independence."

  The morning progressed without incident, the forest gradually thinning as they approached the designated rendezvous point—an ancient stone marker carved with academic symbols, one of many such waypoints established to guide scholarly expeditions through the wilderness. Mike spotted it first, the weathered monolith standing solitary in a small clearing.

  "No sign of them yet," he observed, scanning the surrounding terrain. "We maintain concealed positions until confirmed contact."

  They settled into observation points with overlapping fields of vision, Mike concealed within a dense thicket while Trolley positioned herself among the branches of a sturdy oak. The hours passed slowly, the sun rising to its zenith and beginning its westward descent while they maintained patient vigilance.

  Late afternoon brought the first sign of approach—a subtle disturbance in the undergrowth along the path from Stonebridge. Mike tensed, hammer ready, as three figures emerged into the clearing. Professor Linden led, her academic robes exchanged for practical traveling attire, followed by Kirgen and a third individual Mike didn't recognize—a slender figure in a hooded cloak who moved with distinctive elven grace.

  "Three approaching," Mike whispered into the communication crystal. "The professor, Kirgen, and an unknown third. Elven, based on movement patterns."

  "Confirmed," Trolley replied. "No additional signatures detected. Approach pattern appears authentic rather than coerced."

  Mike watched as the professor reached the marker stone, running her hand along its carved surface in what appeared to be a predetermined signal. The sequence matched what they had arranged—three passes, palm flat, followed by two with fingertips only.

  "Authentication confirmed," he decided, emerging from concealment with hammer still ready but not raised. "Professor. Kirgen. Your journey was successful, I see."

  Professor Linden turned toward him with a thin smile. "Stonebridge is in quite the uproar over your extraction methods. The Zengrids have formally accused the Academy of harboring fugitives and abetting escape of a diplomatic prisoner."

  "Successfully accused, it would appear," Mike observed dryly, nodding toward their elven companion who had remained slightly apart, face still concealed by the hood.

  "Ah, yes. Allow me to introduce Sylrael of the Eastern Groves," the professor said, gesturing toward the figure. "Academy liaison to the elven territories and, fortunately for us, an old colleague with significant interest in Crafter archaeology."

  The elf lowered his hood, revealing angular features and silver-white hair characteristic of his race, though his eyes held a sharpness that suggested more years than his youthful appearance might indicate.

  "The professor speaks highly of your objectives," Sylrael said, his melodic voice carrying formal precision. "If you truly seek to close the Zengrid portals and halt the corruption's spread, the Eastern Groves wish to provide assistance."

  Mike assessed the newcomer carefully, noting details that suggested more than mere academic affiliation—the way he balanced his weight, the calluses visible on his hands despite elven inclination toward magic over physical combat, the subtle bulges beneath his cloak that likely concealed weapons.

  "Trolley," he called, "situation appears secure. Join us."

  She descended from her perch with practiced agility, the Configurator's case secured across her back. Her detection array remained active, scanning the newcomers with professional thoroughness.

  "The Eastern Groves have maintained the most accurate corruption progression maps for the past century," Professor Linden explained. "Sylrael's people have been documenting the spread patterns and resisting Zengrid incursion since the early manifestations."

  "Our forests were among the first territories to show signs of Ki contamination," the elf confirmed. "We have learned much about containing it, though permanent solutions have eluded us until now."

  Mike exchanged glances with Trolley, a silent communication passing between them. Additional allies would be valuable given the approaching army, but new variables always carried risk.

  "What exactly does the Eastern Groves offer?" Mike asked directly.

  "Knowledge, primarily," Sylrael replied. "Maps of corruption flow that may help identify remaining Crafter sites. Botanical compounds that temporarily neutralize Ki exposure. And perhaps most immediately valuable—scouts who know Imperial troop movements better than any human network."

  "And in exchange?" Trolley questioned, her voice carrying appropriate skepticism.

  "Access to whatever Crafter knowledge you recover regarding purification techniques," the elf answered without hesitation. "Our greatest forests are approaching critical corruption thresholds. Within a decade, territories that have been elven lands for millennia will become uninhabitable."

  The straightforward answer carried the ring of truth. Mike nodded slightly, making his decision. "We welcome your assistance, Sylrael of the Eastern Groves. Our immediate concern is reaching Crafter's Haven before Imperial forces arrive. The professor indicates we have approximately twenty-six days before a major assault."

  "Twenty-five now," Kirgen corrected. "And according to information Sylrael shared during our journey, the Imperial forces have already begun gathering at their forward base in the foothills."

  "Then we move immediately," Mike decided. "The direct route back to Haven would take four days at standard pace."

  "Three if we utilize the elven passages," Sylrael offered. "My people maintain hidden routes that bypass the most corrupted territories. They would shave a day from your journey at minimum."

  "Accepted," Mike confirmed. "We'll need every hour for preparations once we reach Haven."

  As they gathered their equipment and prepared to depart, Professor Linden approached Mike directly, her academic reserve giving way to practical concern.

  "These Imperial forces," she said quietly, "they're unlike anything you've encountered previously. Not just greater numbers, but specialized units designed specifically for Crafter technology neutralization. The Inquisitor alone represents a threat level beyond conventional Zengrid warlocks."

  "We'll adapt," Mike replied simply. "We have three active rings now, potentially a fourth once we integrate the Configurator with its chest at Haven. And with your knowledge of Crafter sites—"

  "It may not be enough," she interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically urgent. "I've studied the historical records of the original Crafter-Zengrid conflicts. Even with all seven disciplines active, the ancient Crafters were eventually forced to withdraw from direct confrontation."

  Mike considered this sobering assessment with the pragmatic calculation that had kept him alive since his arrival in this world. "We don't need to defeat the entire Empire," he said finally. "Just hold one location long enough to activate the necessary systems. The rings, the tools—they're keys to something larger, something the Zengrids fear enough to commit Imperial resources."

  The professor studied him with renewed interest, scholarly analysis focusing on his hammer and the woodworking ring visible on his finger. "You've developed theories about the Crafter network's true purpose."

  "Not theories. Observations." Mike adjusted his pack, checking that his axe was secured properly across his back. "Each ring we activate unlocks more of Haven's systems. The Map Chamber showed us locations of other Crafter sites. The structures themselves are waking up after centuries of dormancy."

  "Returning to operational status," Trolley added, joining their conversation. "The Workshop maintained basic functionality for over three thousand years, waiting for authenticated users to return."

  Understanding dawned in the professor's eyes. "You're not just collecting artifacts," she breathed. "You're reactivating the entire Crafter infrastructure. Bringing their defensive network back online."

  "That's our working hypothesis," Mike confirmed. "The question is whether we can activate enough of it before the Imperial forces arrive."

  The group set out northward, Sylrael taking point with his superior knowledge of the terrain while Mike brought up the rear, maintaining vigilance against potential pursuit. The elven paths proved true to Sylrael's description—narrow trails barely visible to untrained eyes, winding through territories that showed corruption influence but remained navigable with proper precautions.

  As they traveled, Mike found his thoughts returning to Sarah and Jeremy with unexpected clarity. Their images had never faded from his memory, but the immediate connection—the visceral ache of separation—had gradually transformed into something different. Not diminished, but changed. His desperation to return home remained, but alongside it had grown the commitment to his companions here, to the mission they shared.

  The builder who had fallen through a portal months ago would never have imagined leading a team against an Imperial army. Yet here he was, planning fortifications and calculating defensive strategies with the same practical approach he'd once applied to construction schedules and material requirements.

  This world had changed him. The game-like system had enhanced his body and skills, yes, but the deeper transformation had come through the connections formed and responsibilities accepted. Somewhere along the way, survival alone had ceased to be sufficient motivation. These people trusted him—not just with their safety, but with the defense of their world against a corrupting force that threatened everything.

  And perhaps, he reflected as they continued their journey through the darkening forest, that was exactly what he needed to find his way home. Not just physical escape from this reality, but the completion of something meaningful within it. The seven Crafter disciplines represented more than just tools and rings—they embodied an approach to reality itself, a framework for understanding and manipulating the connections between worlds.

  His woodworking ring warmed slightly against his finger as if responding to his thoughts. Ahead, Trolley moved with increased confidence, the Configurator's case secured across her back containing the second key they'd recovered. In Crafter's Haven, Morin waited with his Smith's Ring—the third component already activated.

  Four more disciplines remained—Alchemist, Weaver, Glassblower, and Stonemason. Four more tools to recover, four more rings to activate, all while preparing for an Imperial assault that would arrive in just over three weeks.

  The challenge was immense, perhaps impossible. But as the ancient Crafters had understood, the most formidable structures began with a single, precisely placed stone. Everything after that was simply a matter of proper sequence and connections—a builder's approach to an otherwise overwhelming task.

  Step by step. Material by material. One problem solved at a time.

  Night fell fully as they continued their journey, guided by Sylrael's night-adapted vision through paths that would have been impassable in darkness without his assistance. The Eastern Groves had contributed their first tangible aid, and it had proven immediately valuable. Perhaps the alliance would indeed provide the additional resources they needed to face the coming storm.

  Mike checked his mental countdown once more as they established their night camp in a concealed hollow recommended by their elven guide. Twenty-five days until the Imperial forces reached Crafter's Haven. Three days of travel before they reached the Haven themselves. Twenty-two days to transform ancient ruins into an impregnable fortress.

  His hammer rested beside his bedroll, the ancient wood grain catching moonlight in spiral patterns that matched his ring. Not for the first time, he wondered about the original Woodworker who had crafted these tools centuries ago—what challenges they had faced, what wisdom they might offer if communication across time were possible.

  As he settled into the first watch position, scanning the surrounding forest with practiced vigilance, Mike realized that such communication was precisely what the Crafters had achieved through their tools and rings. Each discipline preserved not just techniques but approaches—frameworks for understanding reality that transcended individual lifespans or even civilizations.

  In that sense, he was already in conversation with the ancient Woodworker every time he used the hammer, every time the ring guided his hands toward solutions he might not have discovered alone. The connection worked across centuries just as it now worked across the growing fellowship of ring-bearers—Morin with his Smith's discipline, Trolley with her emerging bond to the Artificer's approach.

  Together, they formed something larger than their individual capabilities. Together, they might just have a chance against an Empire that had spent generations corrupting this world.

  And possibly, just possibly, together they might find Mike's path home.