Alexander stood atop the hill overlooking the settlement he and his people had built with sweat, blood, and sheer determination. The faint glow of lanterns flickered in the twilight, casting long shadows over the dirt pathways, the half-repaired barricades, and the simple but sturdy shelters. A cold breeze carried the scent of charred wood and damp earth, remnants of the battle that had scarred this place.
His heart was heavy with a mix of emotions—anger at the Baron for trying to take everything from them, and sadness for what they had lost. They had won, but it hadn't felt like a true victory. Not with the fallen still fresh in their graves, and the Baron's shadow still looming beyond the treeline.
Standing beside him were Marcus, Elias, Gareth, and Tyrell. Their faces bore the same exhaustion, their expressions grim as they surveyed the damage.
"How long do you think it will take to rebuild everything?" Alexander asked after a moment of silence.
Gareth, his hammer resting on his shoulder, sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Hard to say when we also have to be cautious of another attack. If we focus just on the fortifications, I'd say a week at most. The rest—shelters, storage, proper roads—maybe two, three weeks if we work nonstop."
"I agree," Marcus added, arms crossed. "But we've got another problem. Morale is low. The people are tired, on edge. Some lost friends, others lost what little they had. If we don't do something, they won't work as hard. We can't afford that."
Elias, leaning against a wooden post, smirked. "How about we officially name the village? Give them something to rally behind. It's about time we stopped calling this place just 'the camp.'"
"That might work," Alexander admitted, mulling over the idea. "We can also hold a feast. Open up some of our food supplies, let everyone enjoy themselves for a night. It'll help ease the tension."
Tyrell raised an eyebrow. "A feast? After everything that just happened?"
"Especially after everything that just happened," Alexander said firmly. "If we let fear and exhaustion take hold, we're as good as dead. This isn't just about celebrating—we need to remind everyone why they're here."
A small grin tugged at Elias's lips. "Well, if we're doing this, you better give a speech."
Alexander thought about it, then nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. Alright I want Clara and Jacob in charge of organizing everything. Tyrell, go inform them." Alexander wasn't going to let this opportunity slip, this was his opportunity to officially solidify his position as the leader and also give hope to others.
Tyrell gave a mock salute. "On it."
Alexander turned to Gareth. "Take as many people as you need and focus on reinforcing the defenses. Every weak point, every breach, I want it fixed."
"I'll make sure of it," Gareth said.
Elias and Marcus straightened as Alexander shifted his attention to them. "You two, continue training the militia. The more prepared they are, the fewer graves we'll be digging next time."
Elias let out a low whistle. "It's not easy convincing them to risk their necks."
"Tell them this," Alexander said, voice cold. "If they'd rather go back to living like rats under Baron Valtor, they're welcome to leave."
Tyrell let out a short laugh. "That's one way to put it. Although a little too harsh."
Silas, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Why not include that in your speech? Talk about Valtor's tyranny. Make them feel the weight of what's at stake."
Alexander nodded. "That's also a good idea." He turned to the others. "Alright. We all know what we have to do. Let's get to work."
The Days Leading to the Celebration
The next few days were filled with relentless activity. Though the wounds of battle were still fresh, the people threw themselves into their tasks with renewed purpose, all of them looking forward to the festivities. With the rumors of the village spreading, more survivors began arriving—farmers, hunters, refugees from Baron Valtor's lands—all seeking safety and a chance at a better life. The population swelled to fifty in just a few days.
But Alex and his companions knew better than anyone the Baron was still threatening them, so he continued to send scouts to the village. Although Elias and his 2 new disciples could take care of some of them, sometimes it was just too much to handle so the Baron now had a little information on the village's situation.
Gareth, with a mix of his craftsmanship and the strange ease that came with building in this settlement, managed to get the fortifications repaired faster than expected. He had no idea why, but something about this land made construction almost effortless. He vowed to one day figure out the mystery behind it. Only if he knew it was actually the path of survivor and the construction buffs that was making the impossible, possible.
Meanwhile, Elias and Marcus drilled the new recruits with a level of discipline that made it clear—this wasn't just a simple camp anymore. It was starting to become a proper village.
The feast, too, came together at an impressive pace. The settlers gathered firewood, prepared meals, and even found the time to set up decorations around the village center. By sunset on the final day, the preparations were complete.
The Night of Festivities
The air was crisp, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifting through the settlement. The small torches around the village cast a golden glow against the darkening sky, illuminating the eager faces of the gathered settlers. All of the waiting around the bonfire.
Alexander stood near a fire, arms crossed, watching as the people slowly settled in. Conversations were hushed, expectant. A village without a name wasn't a true village. It was time to change that.
Clara approached with a torch in hand. "Alexander, you should be the one to light it."
He took the torch from her and turned to face the crowd.
As he spoke, his voice carried over the clearing, steady and unwavering. "Everyone, me lighting this bonfire isn't just about fire. It's not just an old tradition. This represents something in all of us—the hope for something better. I know that some of you came here out of desperation, others out of choice, and some of you… didn't even get to choose at all. But no matter how you got here, this place is now your home. This fire isn't just light in the dark—it's a symbol of what we're building here. A future. A home. A promise that we will never kneel to tyrants again."
The flames danced in his eyes as he raised the torch high. "Some might think my words are nothing but ambition. But I swear to you, they are not empty promises. It won't happen overnight, and it won't be easy. But we will build something here. We will fight. We will grow. We will carve our own future."
He took a breath, letting the words settle. The crowd was hanging onto every syllable.
"The first step to securing that future is defeating Baron Lucius Valtor. If we don't want to return to the days of suffering under his rule, we must fight together. If you're willing to stand by me—if you're ready to fight for something greater than yourself—then fight alongside me!"
A roar of voices echoed through the clearing.
"Hurrahhh! Let's fight the Baron!"
"Freedom tastes better than scraps!"
"We fight for ourselves! For each other!"
Alexander turned back to the bonfire, his voice steady. "And from this day forward, we shall have a name worthy of our fight. This village will be called Emberhold."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and then—cheers.
"Emberhold! Emberhold!" The name carried through the night like a battle cry.
Alexander let the fire consume the torch before tossing it into the pile. The flames roared to life, climbing high into the night sky.
"From now on," he continued, "November 1st will be Emberhold's foundation day! Every year, we will celebrate this moment—the night we became more than just survivors. The night we became something greater."
The cheer that followed was deafening.
The festivities began. Laughter and music filled the air. People drank, ate, danced, and, for the first time in a long while, they forgot their fears.
Alexander sat at the edge of the celebration, watching the people of Emberhold with a rare, genuine smile.
This was only the beginning.
They had built something worth fighting for.
And fight they would.