I will pull the stars from the sky.

I will give her the world.

And here we are, in the green paradise we’ve always dreamed of, her entire life unfurling before her, full of possibility.

Chapter Forty-Five

The days pass.

I sit in countless meetings as part of the Tetrad. We discuss jobs, responsibilities, defense, agriculture, production, water. Relations with the Barrel. Relations with all settlements throughout the wastes. How to utilize the falcons for communication. How to train more falcons. How to extend that communication beyond simple tiles.

The Prime asks me to speak with the Oracle about it.

“Can anyone be taught how to read?” I ask her as I enter the library.

“Good to see you too, Delta of Dead River.”

“It’s Delta the Verity now.”

“So I’ve heard.” She nods at the chair beside her, inviting me in. “And yes. It is simply a matter of learning the Old World symbols, all twenty-six of them, each with their own unique sound. Some of these letters even have multiple sounds, depending on the letter they follow.”

“It sounds confusing.”

She smiles. “At first, perhaps. But once mastered, it is second nature. Here, look.” She drags her twig through the tray of wet earth.

D E L T A

“This is your name,” she says.

“The E was on my brand.” I stare at the strange string of letters that make up my entire existence. I take the stick from her and write E D E N in the dirt. “What does this say?”

“Eden.” She frowns. “What does it mean?”

“Two Es,” I say, ignoring her question. “But they make different sounds.”

“Yes, ee or eh.”

“And that letter that starts my name; it makes a duh sound.”

“D,” the Oracle says, nodding. “This is the start, Delta. With enough practice, you could be reading within a few moons. Writing, too.”

I look at the T in my name, the A. I know their sounds, too, just from knowing how to pronounce my name. Flurries fill my chest.

This can be taught to anyone. To Bay, to all the children in the nursery, to the Prime and the Tetrad and every person in Bedrock. This isn’t for the mythical gods touched. We could all do this. Record our histories. Communicate by written note. I fold the news away to report to the Prime later.

“Can you show me how to write Bay?” I ask the Oracle.

She draws the name in the dirt. It is even more beautiful than mine.

From the ashes of conflict, Bedrock reshapes itself. The Prime renames it Verdant, and a set of new flags fly from the dam wall—pale fabric marked by a symbol for the settlement: a drop of water positioned inside a teardrop-shaped leaf. Blue. Green. Life.