The return to camp was marked by a sense of solitude that I hadn't realised I was craving. The sun, high and unrelenting, had done its work well, drying my clothes and warming my skin, a natural remedy to the chill of the lagoon's embrace. As I navigated through the tent's flap, the absence of Paul was a silent relief. It afforded me a moment of privacy, a chance to collect my thoughts and steel myself for whatever lay ahead.

Glancing down at my boardshorts, their vibrant hue seemed almost defiant against the backdrop of Clivilius's desolate landscape. They bore no trace of my earlier descent into the lagoon's depths—a small but significant victory in maintaining the façade of normalcy. Nevertheless, driven by a need for caution, I quickly changed into a fresh pair, erasing any lingering evidence of my moment of surrender to the lagoon's mysterious waters.

With Paul presumably still busy at the Drop Zone, I found myself alone under the shade of the canopy. It was a brief respite from the sun's scrutiny, a moment to gather my thoughts and brace for the afternoon’s heat. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for the inevitable return to the sun's domain.

The walk to the Drop Zone was a meditative experience, each step kicking up small clouds of dust that caught the light in a dance of particles. There was a simplicity to it, a rhythm that felt almost therapeutic. My shoes, the architects of these miniature disturbances, seemed to connect me to the moment in a way that was both grounding and liberating.

As I journeyed, the weight of recent events seemed to lift slightly, allowing a childlike sense of wonder to take its place. My mind, usually a battleground of thoughts and worries, drifted aimlessly, touching on thoughts only to let them go as quickly as they came. It was an unusual state for me, this acceptance of mental drift, this lack of urgency to direct or control my thoughts.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to simply be—to exist in the moment without the constant pressure to analyse, plan, or resist. It was a freeing sensation, a release from the internal strife that had become my constant companion.

As I neared the Drop Zone, the glare of the sun forced me to narrow my eyes, scanning the horizon for any sign of activity. My gaze settled on a solitary figure seated in the dust, a small distance away from a conspicuously large, rectangular box. It was Paul, his attention so intensely fixed on the object that he seemed to be in another world entirely. What is Paul doing? The question formed in my mind as I observed his stillness, a curiosity bubbling within me. Could he be in some sort of trance? The thought seemed almost plausible given the unwavering focus he exhibited towards the box.

A chuckle escaped me as the scene before me became clearer, and I realised the truth of the situation. Paul wasn't caught in any mystical reverie; he was simply zoned out, lost in thought or perhaps overwhelmed by the vastness of our predicament. It was a sight I was familiar with, having seen Luke in similar states of detachment, where the world around him faded into the background, leaving him adrift in his own thoughts.

"Hey! You actually going to do anything with that besides stare at it all day?" I called out, a hint of amusement in my voice. My words, light and teasing, were designed to snap Paul back to the present. I couldn't help but let out another soft chuckle as Paul jolted at the sound of my voice, the sudden intrusion into his solitude making him jump.

Turning rapidly, Paul's body twisted to face me as his eyes widened in surprise. "Umm. I'm not really sure," he admitted, his response tinged with uncertainty.

I stepped closer, curiosity drawing me towards the contents of the Drop Zone that had captivated Paul. "It's a lot of stuff," I remarked, my voice laced with a calm surprise as my gaze drifted over the assortment before us. Large bags of cement, a variety of garden tools, and a conspicuous big red tool trolley painted a picture of ambitious plans. It was a tangible representation of Luke's, and now Paul's, efforts to carve out some semblance of settlement in this strange new place. The realisation that I was genuinely impressed by their initiative caught me off guard.

My attention finally settled on the box that had ensnared Paul's focus. The image on its side, depicting a large, green shed, made the reason for Paul's fascination immediately apparent. No wonder Paul's perplexed, the thought crossed my mind, understanding his reaction to the ambitious project symbolised by the box.

"What?" The question slipped out as I noticed Paul's gaze had shifted to me, his expression one of inquiry mixed with a hint of concern.

Paul's response was almost reflexive, his eyes blinking rapidly before he attempted to steer the conversation towards neutral ground. "So, how was your walk?" he inquired, trying to infuse a sense of casualness into the moment.

"Fine," I replied succinctly.

"Find anything interesting?" he prodded further.

"Mmm, not really," came my noncommittal answer. The lagoon, with its unnerving yet cathartic embrace, wasn't something I was going to discuss.

The silence that followed was familiar, neither uncomfortable nor pressing. "The lagoon is nice," I ventured after a moment, offering a piece of my experience without revealing the turmoil it had momentarily eased.

"It is," Paul agreed, his nod a simple acknowledgment of the lagoon's tranquil allure.

Our conversation tapered off into silence once again, a silence that had become a comfortable aspect of our interaction. My gaze returned to the box and then swept over the Drop Zone, now cluttered with boxes of varying sizes, each a promise of labour and adaptation. It looks like a lot of work, the realisation dawned on me, contemplating the effort required to transform these materials into something meaningful. The enormity of the task ahead was not lost on me, yet in this moment, surrounded by the tangible evidence of Luke and Paul’s attempts to persevere, there was a sense of determination that felt almost invigorating.

"So..." Paul's voice trailed off, a hint of pride mixed with uncertainty as he gestured towards the array of materials and tools scattered around us. "This is pretty much everything from the first list that I gave Luke."

Hearing this, my initial surprise morphed into genuine admiration. My eyebrow raised, a silent acknowledgment of their efforts. "Really? You've both actually done a really good job." The words were out before I fully registered the depth of my own approval.

Paul chuckled, a sound that seemed to carry both relief and a bit of self-mockery. "You sound surprised."

"Well," I confessed, my gaze sweeping over the Drop Zone—a tangible manifestation of Luke and Paul's determination to make the best of our situation. "You've managed to get us all this stuff, but do you actually know what to do with any of it? Guessing from the way you've been staring at the picture on the box for so long, I'd guess you've got no clue."

Caught off guard, Paul's response was a mix of hesitation and reluctant acceptance of his limitations. "Umm... well..." he stammered, before finally conceding with a sheepish admission, "No, not really."

Figured, my mind commented dryly. He's just as not-so-handy as his brother. Yet, despite the realisation of our collective inexperience, there was something almost comical about our predicament.

"But really, how hard can it be to put a few sheds together?" Paul mused aloud, his optimism undeterred by the daunting task ahead.

His question prompted me to take a closer look at the shed's picture, considering my own skills—or lack thereof—in such projects. I've cut and laid tiles, wallpapered several walls, and built some very rustic stone steps. But a shed? The complexity of the task suddenly felt all too real.

"I think we're a bit fucked," I stated, the blunt honesty of the assessment hanging heavily between us. Paul's loud groan cut through my thoughts.

"But..." I continued, pausing to gather my thoughts and perhaps offer a glimmer of hope amidst our shared apprehension. "But I do know that before we can start working on the shed, we need to pour the concrete foundations." It was a small piece of knowledge, but in that moment, it felt like a crucial first step.

"Of course," Paul's response was quick, filled with a newfound determination as he pushed himself up to stand. His eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and naivety. "Let's get this started then," he declared, a clear eagerness in his tone that was both endearing and slightly alarming.

"Hang on a sec," I interjected, my hand reaching out to grasp Paul's arm just as he made a move towards the first bag of cement. There was an urgency in my voice, a need to pause and reassess before diving headlong into what could potentially be a disastrous endeavour.

"What?" Paul's confusion was evident, his head tilting slightly as he awaited my next words.

"Have you ever actually laid concrete before?"

Paul's response was a shake of the head, an admission of inexperience that didn't bode well for our plans. "No."

With a sigh, I pushed past him, taking the initiative to grab the first bag of cement myself. Turning it over, I scrutinised the instructions on the back, a sinking feeling in my stomach. We really are fucked, I thought, the realisation hitting me hard. Yet, I was acutely aware of Paul's gaze on me, filled with expectation and trust. Foolish? Most likely. But for now, I accepted the role I had unwittingly assumed.

"What's it say?" Paul's impatience broke through my thoughts, his voice laced with a hope that I was desperately trying to keep alive.

"Not much," I admitted, the instructions offering little comfort. "It only explains how to mix the concrete. But I am pretty sure we need to prep the ground first." The words were spoken with a confidence I didn't feel, a façade of knowledge in the face of our glaring ignorance.

"Oh," Paul's reaction was subdued as he turned to survey the tools and materials scattered around us. Then, with a spark of optimism, he suggested, "We can use the pickaxe to dig the foundation hole." The suggestion was made with a hopeful tone, a clutch at straws in an attempt to find a starting point.

"Now you just sound like you're throwing words together," I couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of our situation momentarily lightening the mood.

"Yeah. I kinda am," Paul conceded, his broad smile infectious. He moved to pick up the pickaxe, his movements lacking any real sense of purpose. "We may as well give it a try," he said, brandishing the pickaxe with an enthusiasm that was both reckless and heartening.

Standing there, watching Paul wave the pickaxe around with misplaced confidence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of trepidation and camaraderie. We were out of our depth, yet there was something about facing this challenge together, about attempting the impossible, that felt incredibly human. In the vast, unforgiving expanse of Clivilius, we were about to embark on a project that was likely doomed from the start. Yet, in that moment, it didn't matter. Paul was determined to try, to make this alien place a little more like home, one misguided step at a time.

"You'd better let me do the digging," I suggested to Paul, narrowly avoiding another of his enthusiastic but hazardous swings with the pickaxe. I managed to pry it from his grasp, half-joking about his current state. "You're already crippled," I pointed out, nodding towards his injured foot, trying to keep the mood light despite the circumstances.

As we stood on the edge of the Drop Zone, contemplating our next move, the vastness of our surroundings became even more apparent. "Where do you want it?" I asked, ready to get started but keen on ensuring Paul felt involved in the decision-making process.

Paul joined me, casting his gaze over the landscape, contemplating the possibilities. "We could put the sheds anywhere, really," he mused, the freedom of choice in such an expansive place seeming both liberating and daunting.

I pressed him for more practical considerations. "Think, Paul. It has to be practical," I urged, recognising the importance of planning but wanting to ensure Paul took ownership of our strategies. Deep down, I knew guiding us through the construction was my role, yet I was adamant that Paul's input lead our decisions on location.

Paul paused, weighing his options before finally speaking up. "Well... If they were near the Drop Zone, we wouldn't need to carry items too far." He paused, thinking through the logistics, then continued, "Oh, yes, but then we'd still need to carry stuff to the campsite, which is where it'd most likely be required." I could see the wheels turning in his head as he talked himself through the options. "... near the campsite, someone would need to move stuff there initially, but it would be closer and easier access for everyone else."

"Everyone else?" I couldn't help but interject, my thoughts momentarily breaking free from their frustrated loop. There's only two of us here. Paul's grand visions of building a new civilisation seemed both endearing and a little concerning in their ambition. And I'm really not sure that I like it.

Determined, Paul made his decision. "We're building the sheds near the campsite," he declared with a newfound confidence.

"Okay then," I acquiesced. I grabbed the shovel and began the trek back to camp, dragging the tools behind me, a tangible sign of my commitment to this new plan.

"I'll grab the cement," Paul's voice reached me from the Drop Zone, his tone eager and filled with purpose. Despite my reservations about the scale of Paul's vision, there was no denying the sense of partnership that these moments of collaboration fostered. As we set about laying the foundations for our future in Clivilius, I couldn't help but wonder what other challenges—and perhaps opportunities—lay ahead.

Swinging the pickaxe with all the force I could muster, the tool easily cut through the layer of dust before striking the ground beneath with a resonant crack. The impact sent a jolt of searing pain across my chest, a stark reminder of the injury hidden beneath my clothes. Bracing myself for another swing, the sharp ache reminded me of my current physical limitations.

"Wait!" Paul's voice pierced through my focus, halting my motion.

Grateful for the interruption, though I wouldn't readily admit it, I paused and turned to face him, lowering the pickaxe slightly. "What?" I asked, a hint of irritation mixed with relief colouring my tone.

Paul approached, his gaze fixed on the crust of earth revealed by my initial strike. "That crust is really firm. Maybe we should just leave it and only move the few feet of dust?" he suggested, his voice carrying an unexpected note of practicality. "I reckon the concrete will set better on that solid ground."

Considering his words, I couldn't help but acknowledge the sense in his suggestion. "That's actually not a bad idea," I conceded, trying to mask the throbbing pain that each movement seemed to exacerbate. My primary concern wasn't the optimal conditions for setting concrete but rather avoiding any further agony from the relentless assault of the pickaxe against the unyielding ground. Paul's suggestion offered an appealing alternative – one that promised less physical strain on my part.

Paul's face brightened with a mix of relief and pride at having his idea accepted. "I'll go get us some water for the concrete mix," he said, eager to contribute further to our makeshift construction project.

"Sure," I responded, setting aside the pickaxe in favour of the shovel. The decision to switch tools was not just a strategic move to accommodate Paul's strategy but also a personal victory. I silently congratulated myself for the foresight of bringing the shovel, appreciating its lighter burden compared to the demanding heft of the pickaxe.

As Paul departed to fetch water, I was left alone with my thoughts, the shovel in hand. The task ahead seemed daunting, yet there was a certain satisfaction in finding ways to adapt to our challenges, to make do with what we had. The pain in my chest served as a constant reminder of our fragile existence, but in moments like this—working side by side, making decisions, and finding solutions—I felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps we could carve out a semblance of a life here, against all impossible odds.

The sun bore down mercilessly, transforming the task at hand into a gruelling ordeal of heat, sweat, and relentless discomfort. Each shovel of dust lifted and each manoeuvre around the solid crust beneath was a testament to the physical toll this endeavour exacted on my body. The sharp, persistent pain in my chest served as a cruel reminder of my vulnerability, yet there was no option but to persevere. After all, in this vast, desolate expanse that Clivilius had marooned us in—this world, or land, or whatever it was—Paul and I could only rely on each other. There were no others to share the burden, no unseen allies to lighten the load.

As I worked, the thought of Clivilius' promise to me lingered in the back of my mind, a cryptic bargain that I hadn't fully understood, much less accepted in full consciousness. The entity had whispered of a new life, a concept that seemed both enticing and elusive under the current circumstances. Had my actions at the lagoon, my moment of unguarded surrender to the lagoon’s waters, sealed this pact? The terms were vague, the outcomes uncertain.

Regardless of the ambiguity surrounding Clivilius' promise, I found within myself a resolve to hold this unseen, omnipresent force accountable. A new life... The words echoed hollowly against the backdrop of our immediate struggle for survival and adaptation. Yet, I clung to them, a flicker of hope—or perhaps defiance—in the face of our isolation and the daunting tasks ahead.

In this moment, as I laboured under the oppressive sun, the concept of a new life granted by Clivilius became a beacon. It didn't matter that the promise was shrouded in mystery, or that I couldn't fathom what shape this new existence might take. What mattered was the commitment to the notion that something beyond our current hardships awaited us, that our efforts here, amidst the dust and sweat and pain, were not in vain.

So, for now at least, I would continue to dig, to plan, to build—grinning and bearing the hardships—because the alternative was to succumb to despair. And if there was any truth to Clivilius' enigmatic offer, I was determined to see it through, to discover what lay beyond the struggle, what new life could possibly emerge from the ashes of our old lives left behind on Earth.

Paul, with the bucket of water now secured beside him, seemed momentarily lost in contemplation as he scrutinised the instructions on the cement mix bag. Observing his prolonged focus, I realised that if I didn't intervene, we'd likely spend the rest of the day under the scorching sun achieving nothing. Motivated by a desire to see tangible progress, I decided to step in.

"I'll pour, you stir," I suggested, taking charge of the situation. Paul nodded, his actions syncing with mine as he carefully poured half of the cement mix into the wheelbarrow. The process felt like one of the few structured activities we had managed to coordinate.

"You finished clearing the dust already?" Paul's question came as he glanced over towards the area designated for the shed.

"Yeah. I think it's as good as it's going to get," I responded, trying to sound more confident in our preparations than I actually felt. My body was a testament to the physical toll of the work; muscles ached in protest, and my skin was coated with a fine layer of dust that seemed to find its way into every crevice. The thought of dealing with any more of that ubiquitous dust was enough to fray the last strands of my patience.

"Great," Paul replied, his attention now fully on the task at hand as he picked up the stirring stick. His response, simple and unassuming, marked the beginning of our next phase of work.

Exhaustion had fully set in by the time we finished with the first ten kilograms of concrete mix. I slumped into the dust, a makeshift seat at the edge of our nascent foundation, while Paul ventured back to the Drop Zone for the next bag. My gaze, heavy and blurred from the pain and fatigue, flitted over the work we had accomplished. It wasn't until Paul's figure reemerged into my field of vision, bag in tow, that I snapped to attention.

"Stop!" The word burst from me with an urgency that made Paul freeze mid-motion, his hands poised to tear into the new bag of concrete mix. "This isn't looking right," I declared, squinting at our handiwork.

"Really?" Paul's query was laced with doubt. To him, our efforts appeared adequate, perhaps even commendable given our lack of expertise.

But I was certain of the misstep. "Nah. It shouldn't be clumping like that. And see how it is seeping into the surrounding dirt," I pointed out, indicating the problematic area that had caught my eye.

"Hmm," Paul hummed, his optimism momentarily clouded by the potential flaw in our execution. Yet, his tone remained hopeful, a testament to his ever-present belief in our ability to overcome.

My own confidence, however, wavered. The mixture's behaviour wasn't aligning with my expectations, though admittedly based on scant knowledge of concrete laying. "We could probably fix it," Paul suggested, his voice buoyed by a resilience I found both admirable and unnerving.

"I dunno," I responded, the doubt in my voice mirroring the uncertainty of our situation. The notion of consulting a more knowledgeable source suddenly seemed the most logical step. "Maybe we should ask Luke to bring us a short how-to guide for laying concrete for a small shed?"

Paul's eyes, surveying the expanse of our endeavour, reflected a concession to reality. "You're probably right," he admitted.

Resigned yet unresolved, I could only offer a conclusion that felt as unsettled as the ground beneath us. "Well..." I started, my gaze drifting across the expansive desert. "I really don’t know what else we can do," I admitted, the words heavy with the acknowledgment of our limitations and the vast, unknown challenges that still lay ahead.

Paul's stomach broke the silence between us with a loud gurgle that almost seemed to echo in the vast emptiness surrounding us. He rubbed his abdomen in a half-hearted attempt to quell the noise, then glanced over with a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd suggest we get something to eat," he said, his voice laced with a hint of resignation. "But even that is a little challenging at the moment."

Feeling the grime caked on my skin and the aches in muscles I didn't know I had, I was all too aware of our grim situation. My chest was a thumping mass of pain, each heartbeat a reminder of the exertion and stress I’d been under. The uncertainty of our food situation loomed large, adding to the weight of our predicament. "Fuck it!" The words burst from me, a raw expression of the frustration that had begun to simmer beneath the surface. In a moment of overwhelming irritation, I threw my hands in the air, surrendering to the impulse to do something, anything, to change our dire circumstances.

"Where are you going?" Paul's voice reached me, tinged with concern and confusion as he came after me.

"To the Drop Zone," I called back, not pausing in my stride. The determination to find food propelled me forward, each step kicking up small clouds of dust that marked my path through the desolate landscape.

"What for?" His question floated to me over the short distance, his steps quickening as he struggled to catch up.

"To look for food," I replied, the words sharp with the edge of desperation. The idea of finding something edible at the Drop Zone was a slim hope, but it was a hope nonetheless. The thought of scavenging for whatever morsel might have been left behind in the heat was not appealing, but the gnawing hunger in my stomach pushed me forward.

Trudging toward the Drop Zone, the dust swirling around my boots, I couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of our situation. Here we were, two figures in a vast, unforgiving landscape, driven by the basic need to eat. The simplicity of the task contrasted sharply with the complexity of our circumstances, and yet, in that moment, finding food felt like the most important mission in the world.