Chapter 58: Shells
"Here!" Astra announced, her voice ringing with triumph as she strode into the heart of the village. The clatter of shells spilled from her arms, cascading into a haphazard pile at her feet.
Sunlight caught the iridescent edges of the shells—fragments of clams, oysters, and scallops in pearly whites, seafoam greens, and muted pinks—scattering prismatic flecks across the dusty ground.
Behind her, the village lay in ruins, splintered wooden beams jutted like broken bones from collapsed huts, the acrid tang of smoke clung to the air, and villagers moved sluggishly through the debris, their faces smudged with ash and exhaustion.
"Shells?" Belk questioned, his gaze filled with skepticism at her logic
Vagnis squinted at the pile, his brows knitting together. "What’re we going to do with shells?" He gestured toward the wreckage, where a child’s tattered doll made of hay laid half-buried under a collapsed roof.
"We need stone, timber—something solid. This?" He kicked a shell, sending it skittering. "This’ll barely patch a crack."
Astra ignored his skepticism, her eyes gleaming as she snatched a wide, shallow bowl carved from porous volcanic rock.
"We’re making concrete," she declared, sweeping the shells into the container. Sylvi, a girl no older than ten with dirt-streaked cheeks, looked on with curious eyes as she walked to her side. crouching beside her, clutching a gnarled stick.
Together, they began crushing the shells, the rhythmic crack-crunch echoing like brittle music. Flecks of calcium sprayed upward, catching the sunlight like glitter.
"Concrete?" Sylvi whispered, pausing to tilt the bowl. The powder inside shimmered, fine as desert sand, as if Astra had bottled starlight.
"Sort of," Astra said, ruffling the girl’s tangled hair. "This is calcium carbonate. Humans used it for centuries—to strengthen soil, build roads, even craft monuments that outlasted empires."