4338.205 · July 24, 2018 AD
Cardboard and Conviction
Two thousand dollars bought the tents. Sweat and stubbornness will carry them through. Box after box, Luke hauls his impulsive purchase across the threshold between worlds—cardboard edges biting into palms, muscles burning, the final box refusing to yield without a fight. But each load that lands in the ochre dust is more than cargo. It is declaration. It is foundation. The solitary wanderer is becoming something else entirely: a builder.
The tents have arrived. Joel's delivery sits in the living room like an accusation of ambition—a mountain of boxes that seemed so reasonable on a glowing screen and now demand to be reckoned with. Luke does not hesitate. One by one, he drags them through the portal, each crossing a small ceremony of commitment.
The work is brutal. Cardboard scrapes against carpet; the thin blue straps cut into his fingers; sweat drips and muscles scream. The final box—the largest, the heaviest—refuses to cooperate, wedging in doorways, mocking his exhaustion. But Luke will not leave it behind. Inch by stubborn inch, he wrestles it through.
When the last crate thuds into the dust of Clivilius, something shifts. The haphazard pile of boxes is no longer chaos—it is potential. Canvas waiting to become shelter. Solitude preparing to become community. Luke stands amid his labour, chest heaving, and understands: he is no longer merely exploring this world. He is claiming it.
The portal closes. Henri and Duke tumble free from confinement. And as their joy fills the house, Luke feels the truth settle into his bones: the era of walking alone has ended. What comes next will require more than one pair of hands.
