Towering gantry cranes stood over the harbor, and concrete piers connected the land to the sea.
Cargo ships of various models were moored at the docks, along with salvage vessels. Workers in lightweight exoskeletons moved back and forth beside them.
This was Settlement No. 1 on the Death Coast.
It was also where the Alliance's Burning Corps had landed during the Battle of the Torch.
Although that war had taken place only last year, it felt as though a very, very long time had passed.
There were no longer any traces of war along the coast, and most of those active on shore were survivors trying to make a living, not soldiers carrying rifles.
These people came from all sorts of backgrounds.
Some were wastelanders from the eastern provinces, some were refugees from the Boro Province, some were islanders from the southern seas, while others were Velanders from the western side of the continent or followers of the Spirit of the Sand Sea from the Sunset Province.
What differed was not only their identities, but also their reasons for coming here.
Some had come to escape the pursuit of mutants, raiders, and farm owners in the wasteland. Some were fleeing distant wars, plagues, and hunger. Others hoped to seize the opportunity presented by rebuilding the space elevator, strike it rich, and follow the Alliance into the stars.
Every face walking here was full of stories, just like his own after losing a huge sum of money not long ago.
Henke could not help feeling a faint stir in his heart.
Before coming here, he had worried that things might be terrible. Instead, the reality had exceeded his expectations.
This place might become a new beginning...
Assuming nothing unexpected happened.
Standing beside Henke, Arman was also looking at the flourishing urban