CHAPTER 38: THE FOUNDATIONS

The air was heavy with heat and smells. The large tent I had erected at the center of the camp trapped both the moisture of the canvas and the scents of freshly scraped parchment.

The ink I used to draw my plans stained my fingers, leaving dark smudges on the map spread out before me. Sketches piled up on the corners of the table: road plans, irrigation channels, mines... It was still messy, hastily scribbled, but in my mind each line was already taking shape.

Around me, a dozen young people. Two or three from each clan, boys and girls, none older than twenty-five winters. Their eyes flicked from my ink-stained hands to my lips, as if they feared missing a single syllable. They weren’t scholars yet... but they would become so.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the creak of the canvas and the crackling of embers in a brazier at the back. Finally, one of them spoke.

— Lord Sora... why choose the young? asked Thomas, a tall dark-haired youth with messy hair, one of the Ivory Fangs. Some elders know the land and its customs better.

I lifted my eyes to him. His still-youthful features carried a rare frankness: he spoke not out of provocation, but out of genuine concern.

I let a brief silence pass, taking the time to set down my pen and wipe my hand on an already blackened cloth.

— Because this world is changing, I answered. The elders know how to survive yesterday... but not how to build tomorrow. You will carry that knowledge. You will be the roots of a tree that does not yet exist.

A few murmurs ran through the young ones. Some lowered their eyes, others straightened, stung with pride.

To my left, a tall red-haired girl leaned slightly forward. She was from the Blazing Sands clan. Her delicate hands clutched her knees, nervous, but her gaze shone.

— And if we fail? she asked. If we’re not strong enough?

I held her gaze. Her name was Mira, I remembered: Sae herself had recommended her to me.

— Then I will burn your failures with you, I said plainly. But if you succeed, your names will live on when those of the elders are already erased from the stones.

A shiver ran through the tent. This was not a light promise — but both a threat and an oath.

I placed both hands on the table; the maps had crumpled under the pressure of my fingers.

— Look. Here... the Split Spine. It’s the key. The water resting there will feed the entire valley. We will dig canals, carve lines in the rock to irrigate the lands. Not for a single clan. Not for a single chief. For all.

Heads bent. Some frowned, unable to imagine what I meant. Others, like Thomas, seemed fascinated, their eyes fixed on my sketches.

A thin boy from the Red Rocks clan timidly raised his hand. His black hair stuck to his forehead, and he seemed uneasy about daring to speak.

— But... if the water is shared, who decides its use? What if one clan takes more than the others?

I smiled despite myself. At least he asked the right questions.

— You. You all. The Council of Seven. Each clan will have its voice. No more, no less. That is the order I want to build.

A murmur of astonishment ran through the ranks. The word "council" sounded new in their mouths, like a seed planted in still-virgin soil.

I looked at them one by one, their young faces anxious, eager as well. And despite the fatigue, despite the weight of what I had been tracing alone through endless nights, a spark passed through me. For the first time, it was no longer just my scribbled maps shaping a future... it was them.

— Look here, I said, tapping the flat of my hand on the Split Spine. It’s not just a stream. It’s an artery. From here, we will draw the water that will feed the entire valley.

The young ones leaned over the map. In their minds, I knew, it remained abstract. So I painted them a picture.

— Imagine trenches, wide and straight, dug by hundreds of arms. Carriers transporting water to reservoirs, then redistributed to the fields. Not your lands alone will thrive, but all of them. No more hunger from one clan to another. No more disputes over a well.

A heavy silence fell, until a voice rose. Meyra, the scholar from the Abyss clan. Her short black hair framed a sharp, severe face.

— But why feed beyond our needs? she asked, narrowing her eyes. If we have enough, why waste?

I stared at her for a moment, then smiled.

— Because a people who have more than they consume can trade. And a people who feed their neighbors... never lack allies.

A shiver ran through the assembly. I had deliberately emphasized the word allies. They all knew what it meant, in a Gorge where each clan had known only enemies.

I picked up the charcoal and drew several circles on the map, further down in the valley.

— Second point. Here, here, and here. Granaries. Not for one clan, but for all. Stores of wheat, dried meat, roots. Enough to survive famines, sieges, harsh winters.

Kael, a broad boy from the Howling Rocks clan, frowned. His muscular arm rested on the table as if trying to press his weight into my idea.

— But in case of war, won’t these reserves be looted? It’s an invitation to pillage.

I leaned toward him, my fingers resting on his drawn circle.

— That’s why they are doubled, hidden, protected. And centralized. What we call vulnerability, I call resilience. If one granary falls, another will hold. If one clan collapses, the others can survive.

I paused, letting them digest it. Some nodded, others kept their faces closed, but all understood at least one thing: I was not dreaming. I was planning.

I leaned against the back of my chair. The acrid smell of burned charcoal mingled with the subtler scent of the youths’ sweat around me. They held their breath. The air vibrated with this strange tension between fear and excitement.

And I already saw the canals spreading, water running through the stone, granaries built of thick bricks, filled with sacks and jars. I saw a people who, for the first time, would survive together.

When the meeting ended, I pushed the map aside with a gesture and stood. The tent flap snapped behind me as I lifted it to exit, and the harsh sunlight made me squint. The scholars followed, hesitant, as if crossing the threshold exposed them to something greater than themselves.

Outside, the panorama spread before us.

Where, just weeks ago, there had been only dust and chaos, the first signs of a new order now appeared. Hundreds of men traced a straight line with picks and levers. Flat stones, torn from the mountain, were already aligned, forming the base of a paved road. A road that would soon connect the clans. Dust rose in acrid clouds, mixed with the foremen’s shouts and the metallic clang of tools.

Further on, huge logs had been planted in the ground, marking the outlines of future warehouses and barracks. One could already see the first rises of stone walls, crude but solid. And at the center, on a natural height, square foundations emerged: the embryo of a fortified city, the heart I wanted to impose on this fractured gorge.

Lioren, a youth from the Mists, stopped dead, crushed by the scope of the vision. His voice, when it rose, betrayed as much fear as skepticism.

— Lord... what if the clans refuse to share their strength?

I looked at him. His eyes searched for a flaw, a doubt. There would be none.

— Then they will quickly understand that their strength alone is nothing against a unified army, I answered, my voice harder than I intended. But...

I took a breath, my fingers tightening on my belt

- if everyone receives more than they contribute, who would dare refuse?

The silence fell for a moment, only broken by the crash of a stone tipping into a trench. The young ones around me watched the workers, the sweat, the dust, the hoarse shouts. These were no longer words on a map. This was real, tangible.

I let my eyes run over the site one last time. The road was born beneath their feet, warehouses anchored to the ground, and the future city already raised its skeleton. All this, in a few days. I heard someone behind me murmur: It’s impossible... Perhaps. But what was impossible yesterday is no longer so today.

We descended further, where the air thickened with dust and heat. The scholars followed in silence, clutching their coats as if the rock itself watched them. Around a freshly carved wall, the steady rumble of pickaxes and the clinking of chains grew sharper.

The gallery opened onto a vast cavity, still raw, where torches fixed in the cracks cast flickering light. Dozens of miners, bare-chested, their skin blackened with soot and streaked with sweat, struck the rock with an almost military precision. Foremen circulated among them, whip in hand, ensuring the rhythm never faltered. The air smelled of heated iron and damp dust, a heavy, almost suffocating scent.

And in the midst of this disciplined chaos, the veins of abyssium glimmered. Dark shards, threaded with silvery and bluish reflections, detached from the stone like fragments of stars torn from the sky. Each piece seemed both light and heavy with invisible force. The young scholars stopped, mouths agape, hypnotized by a spectacle none had ever seen.

Yren, from the Split Spine, was the first to break the silence. His voice echoed in the cavern, almost incongruous amid the hammering of tools.

— Why not sell the abyssium immediately? Our clans would become rich.

I placed my hand on one of the veins, my fingers brushing the stone still warm from the miners’ labor. I felt the energy vibrate under my palm, subtle but undeniable. I took the time to turn to them, fixing each in turn before answering.

— Gold feeds a generation, I said in a calm, almost low tone. Abyssium equips an army. And an army protects the gold for a thousand generations.

I paused, letting my words carve themselves into the ambient clamor. Then I resumed, sharper:

— First we will forge our own weapons. Then trade will follow.

A heavy silence settled behind me. The scholars exchanged uncertain glances. I read in them both fear and a form of excitement they dared not admit. The idea of holding in their hands a metal that defied magic, that resisted nearly everything, shook their certainties.

One bit their lip, another looked away. But none dared to contest. Deep down, they knew I had just laid the foundations not of mere wealth, but of supremacy.

When we left the depths of the earth, daylight blinded me for a moment.

The central plain of the Gorge stretched before us, vast and buzzing with activity. Colorful tents rose in disciplined circles, separated by paths already paved with rough stones. Between them, more massive stone bases rose, promises of warehouses, towers, and walls to come. The smell of sweat and ash mingled with the acrid scent of dust crushed under hooves and boots.

Everywhere, men labored. Some dug, others raised rudimentary frames, while a few steps away, a group trained with spears, Nyss’s sharp shouts echoing like whip cracks. Syra moved among the ranks, adjusting one warrior’s stance, correcting another’s grip, her gaze harsh but measured. Varkash, meanwhile, just shouted, her voice roaring above the tumult, like a hurricane that knew no fatigue.

Further on, Sae held council under an improvised awning, bent over parchments hastily annotated by a scribe. She received messengers from the clans, her low but authoritative voice cutting short any unbalanced negotiation attempts. Kaelira, meanwhile, had taken charge of resource extraction. Already, convoys of dark blocks returned, neatly cut and stacked like black bones. And on the horizon, I knew Raknar watched over the Split Spine, ensuring that the water, the lifeblood of this Gorge, would never be taken back.

I raised my hand to the whole scene, and the scholars, still following me, stopped to contemplate this moving tableau: a disciplined horde becoming a city.

— See, I said, each man spends a week building, a week in his clan, and a week training. They rotate endlessly. Each learns to build, to protect, and to nourish.

I turned to them, my gaze catching Elwen, the scholar from a small clan called Crescent, her clenched jaw betraying a question she finally dared to ask.

— In a year, I continued, every warrior will also be a builder. That’s the difference between a horde and a people.

Elwen inhaled slowly, then asked in a clear but harsh voice:

— And the men, Lord? What place will they have in this order?

Silence fell around us. Even the scholars held their breath, fearing a brutal or condescending answer. I gave a brief smile, but without softness.

— They are no longer dominated, I answered without hesitation. Here, anyone with strength or intelligence will find their place. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. The one who builds, the one who defends, the one who thinks... they belong to this people.

I let a moment pass, then tapped the rough map in front of us with my finger.

— This is the only way for this Gorge to become more than a refuge. It must become a heart. And a heart does not beat with only half of itself.

The scholars exchanged troubled glances. Some nodded, others stayed silent, still hesitant to break centuries-old customs. But I saw, in the eyes of several women present, a new flame — raw, wild, and almost provocative.

Night enveloped the Gorge, but in the distance, the fires did not die. Dozens of red points pierced the darkness, fragile but real traces of a city in the making. One could still hear hammer blows, voices, the creak of wood: the clans were building, together.

I stood on a promontory, eyes fixed on this organized chaos. In my mind, I already saw further: paved roads, disciplined armies, ramparts raised against the world. This was no longer just a valley of clans. It was a beating heart.

In my vision something familiar appeared:

[System – LUST v2.01]

Mission accomplished: Unite the tribes’ gorge.

Reward: +5000 shop points; +4 levels

I exhaled, low:

— It all begins here.

A brief silence, then my jaws clenched.

— And nothing... nothing will be able to stop it.

my eyes darkening with rage.

- Not even you, Aedan!