Chapter 27.1: Return Home with The New Population (1)
Year 0008, Month VIII-X: The Imperium
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Year 0008, Month IX, Day 36 (Personal System Calendar) / Year 6854, Day 8, Month IX (Imperial Calendar): The Two Separating Groups
The first light of dawn broke over the temporary encampment as August and Team One rose according to their disciplined routine. Today marked a significant divergence the twenty-nine refugees that had chosen to forge their own path rather than accept sanctuary in an unknown place that these people were trying to bring the others to (Maya Village), which was never revealed to any of them. Before the groups parted ways, the team needed to provide one final meal and ensure these individuals had adequate supplies for their journey.
While August, Erik, and Bren departed on an early hunt to secure fresh meat, the rest of Team One organized the distribution of supplies. The twenty-nine departing refugees would receive pre-packed rations, medicinal supplies crafted by Aunt Theresa and those of the support group, extra clothing salvaged from the bandits' cache which they got from their travels before, bedrolls, blankets, and basic weapons enough to give them a fighting chance at survival.
It was charity, yes, but calculated charity. If any of these people survived to reach civilization, they would carry stories of kindness shown in their darkest hour, especially considering it was inside of the Great Forest. Goodwill, August understood, was a form of investment.
As the hunters returned with their kills and breakfast preparations began, August gathered the departing group for final instructions. Among them, he noticed a middle-aged merchant named Deral Moss who'd been vocal about maintaining independence. The man's pride was written in every line of his weathered face he'd once owned a successful textile business before the beast's rampage in the town he was in destroyed everything. Accepting charity from a sixteen-year-old clearly rankled him, even as he accepted the supplies.
"Listen carefully," August said, his tone neither warm nor cold simply factual. "You'll remain relatively safe from beast attacks as long as you stay within our domain's boundaries. I've marked your map" (a crude map they'd made of their territorial domain) "with the safest route. The flora, however, is another matter entirely. By now, you should have learned which plants are safe and which are lethal. Don't test your luck with anything unfamiliar."
"We're not children," Deral muttered, loud enough to be heard. Several of his group nodded agreement.
August continued as if he hadn't heard his scornful reply. They had already done their best for these people. Yet some still remained arrogantly stuck with their inflated egos. Erik stepped forward, adding his own observations about territorial markers and predator signs. Betty contributed practical advice about fire management and water sources, while Angeline demonstrated basic wound care one final time.
The information flowed steadily, though August noticed the glazed expressions on several faces. These people were exhausted, their injuries barely healed despite Theresa's potent medicines. They needed more time to recover, but something pride, fear, or perhaps just the need to feel in control of their own fate drove them onward.
Among the departing group, a pregnant woman named Elise stood with her hand protectively over her slightly swollen belly. Her husband Tomlin had his arm around her shoulders, whispering reassurances August couldn't hear. She was perhaps four months along not showing much yet, but enough that the journey ahead would be dangerous. Angeline had tried to convince them to stay, emphasizing the risks, but they'd refused.
"We've survived this long without anyone's help in the forbidden forests," Tomlin had said firmly. "We'll make it to a proper civilization where our child can be born among decent folk, not outlaws hiding from the Empire."
August could only sigh internally. So this is how these people actually decided how they would go on with their lives. Then so be it, what an ungrateful bunch. Well, that was past him. It was true that they were somewhat beyond the laws of the kingdoms in this regard. So he made no further comments.
After the warm morning meal, Team One began dismantling the temporary camp with practiced efficiency. Everything disappeared into their spatial magical storage pouches and bags which August provided for each member of Team One, an act that still drew wide-eyed stares from the refugees despite having witnessed it multiple times.
"Unnatural," Deral muttered to his companions. "Magic like that... there's a reason the Empire regulates it."
Most of the magic users, magical tool makers of the empire were regulated properly, and it was a continent-wide rule that even allied kingdoms abided by. Because they knew the dangers of magic and how powerful it was when wielded for another cause other than good. But August and the rest did not follow such rules; they were beyond the norms, they were beyond the laws that bound most of human civilization well, at least for now.
The departing group received their allocated supplies: dried meats, hardtack, water skins, medicinal salves, and basic travel gear.
"This is goodbye, then," Manford Ned said, speaking for those remaining with August. The woodsman had positioned himself as informal leader of the staying group, though not without some quiet grumbling from others who'd hoped for that role.
Several of the departing refugees lingered, hesitation written across their faces. One woman clutched her supply pack with white-knuckled intensity, her gaze flickering between August and the forest beyond.
"It's not too late to change your minds," Adam Peerce offered quietly. "No shame in choosing safety over pride."
"No shame in having dignity either," Deral shot back. "Some of us prefer earning our keep rather than becoming charity cases for a boy playing hero."
The insult hung in the air. Adam's hand moved toward his weapon, but August raised a hand to stop him.
"You've made your choice," August said evenly. "Safe travels."
But the twenty-nine had made their decision, however uncertain some appeared. With final nods and mumbled thanks and in Deral's case, a curt nod and no thanks at all they departed, following the route Erik had marked.
August watched them go, his expression neutral. Among the eighty-one remaining, he noticed mixed reactions. Some looked relieved. Others appeared troubled, perhaps questioning their own choice. A few watched the departing group with something like envy the freedom to make their own decisions versus the safety of accepting help.
"Will they make it?" Isabel asked softly, standing beside her brother Adam.
"Some might," August replied honestly. "The pregnant woman probably won't. Not without proper care."
Isabel paled at his bluntness, but August saw no point in false comfort.
"Erik, have Rexy assign a peripheral watch. I want status updates, but don't interfere unless they're dying."
Erik nodded, his eyes glazing slightly as he communicated telepathically with his bonded Grimfang. "Done. Rexy's assigned three scouts to shadow them at a distance."
---
Their Own Departure: Mired by the Trauma of Refugees
The remaining eighty-one refugees presented a stark contrast to those who'd departed but not the unified, grateful mass August might have hoped for. Rest, food, and Theresa's medicines had worked remarkable transformations on their physical condition, but emotional recovery proved more complicated.
As Team One completed their packing, August observed the refugees organizing themselves with varying degrees of cooperation. Manford Ned had emerged as their informal leader during the journey a stabilizing presence who'd maintained morale during their darkest hours. But leadership in crisis didn't automatically translate to leadership in recovery.
A younger man named Petyr Vilenski, perhaps twenty-five, clearly resented Manford's assumption of authority. He'd been a merchant's assistant before the beast attack that wrecked the village they were trading at, and he carried himself with the self-importance of someone who'd once had proximity to power. He gathered a small cluster of similarly young refugees around himself, speaking just loudly enough to be heard.
"Easy for a woodsman to lead in the forest," Petyr said. "But what does he know about village life? About trade and commerce? We shouldn't just follow whoever shouts loudest."
Manford, to his credit, didn't rise to the bait. His wife Esmerelda moved among the group, offering encouragement and practical assistance, but August noticed her movements were calculated she carefully avoided Petyr's cluster, focusing instead on the elderly, the injured, and the children.
Esmerelda's mother, whom everyone called Gran Miri, sat on a fallen log dispensing wisdom and reassurance to those who sought it. But not everyone did. A middle-aged woman named Renna Mirin kept her distance, muttering darkly about "old women who think they know everything."
The three Ned children one young adult, Torin (fourteen), and two children Kessa (eleven), and little Jem (five) helped distribute water, but their presence created its own tensions. Several refugee children, traumatized by their ordeal, reacted poorly to the Ned children's relative confidence and good health.
"Why do they get to act normal?" a ten-year-old refugee girl whispered to her mother. "Why aren't they scared?"
"All right, everyone," August called out, his voice carrying easily across the clearing, even with his beastly mask that seemed to muffle his natural voice, altering it with some magic so that it would be heard by the many. "We're moving out. Now, unlike before, those who stayed here will learn of our destination. The journey to Maya Village will take ten to twelve days on foot. We'll maintain a steady pace with regular rest breaks. Stay together, follow instructions, and don't wander off. Questions?"
A younger man not Petyr, but one of his group raised his hand tentatively. "Will there be... more of those beasts? The big wolves?"
August gestured toward the tree line where massive shapes moved in the shadows. Several refugees gasped as Rexy and her pack emerged fully into view, the alpha female's scarred muzzle from her own training and intelligent eyes radiating controlled power. Beside her, her mate and their eight younger Grimfangs her domesticated pups, juvenile size around five feet on all fours waited with disciplined patience.
The reaction was immediate and chaotic.
Three refugees fainted outright. Two more stumbled backward, nearly collapsing before their companions caught them. Petyr's face went white, his earlier bravado evaporating instantly. Renna screamed an actual scream of terror before clapping her hand over her mouth.
But Manford Ned surprised August. The woodsman stood his ground, though his hand instinctively moved toward the axe at his belt. His face showed fear honest, unvarnished fear but he didn't run.
"Everyone, remain calm!" Hiraya called out, moving quickly among the panicking refugees. "They're bonded beasts completely safe! Look at us we're fine!"
"Safe?" Renna's voice came out shrill. "Those things killed my husband! My daughter! Safe?"
The words hung in the air like a curse. Several other refugees began sobbing, traumatic memories clearly triggered by the massive predators. It seemed the beast war that affected other regions had some of the Grimfang clans of the Southern border that invaded the human realms out of the Great Forest Regions.
Erik approached Rexy casually, running his hand along her massive head. The Grimfang responded with a low rumble that might have been contentment, but to the refugees probably sounded like imminent death. Overhead, a shadow passed as Kirpy circled lazily, the Great Peregrine Eagle's distinctive cry echoing across the clearing.
It took nearly two hours not one to restore order. Two hours of patient explanation, demonstration, and in some cases, firm insistence that running away would only get them killed. Renna refused to come within fifty feet of the Grimfangs and had to be positioned at the center of the refugee group. One elderly man simply shut down, sitting motionless until his daughter physically lifted him to his feet.
Even after the explanation about bonded beasts and territorial domains, many refugees kept casting fearful glances at Rexy's pack.
"So we're safe because these lands belong to you now?" Manford asked, his analytical mind piecing together the implications despite his evident discomfort.
"Exactly," August confirmed. "Every beast lord in the northern Lonelywoods knows this territory is under my master Aetherwing's protection and our stewardship. They won't risk conflict by hunting here."
"What about that Aetherwing?" Gran Miri asked shrewdly. "This protector of yours a beast or something else?"
"Bigger beast," Renna muttered darkly. "Just bigger teeth to tear us apart with."
August ignored her. "You'll meet him soon enough. For now, let's focus on getting you home safely."
"Home," Petyr said, the word dripping with skepticism. "You mean your hidden illegal settlement that the Empire would burn to the ground if they knew about it."
"Yes," August said simply. "That home, and they already did, once." August had a change of mood remembering the past, though it couldn't be shown behind the mask. With only those who knew him felt his mood turned sour.
---
Year 0008, Month IX, Day 37 (Personal System Calendar) / Year 6854, Day 9, Month IX (Imperial Calendar): The Journey Home
The march toward Maya Village established its own rhythm within the first day, though "rhythm" made it sound more orderly than reality proved.
Team One took rotating point positions, with August and Erik maintaining overall command. The Grimfang pack ranged ahead and along the flanks, effectively clearing the path of any potential threats though their presence created ongoing anxiety among refugees who couldn't quite accept that the wolves weren't going to eat them.
The refugees, despite their improved condition, struggled with the pace initially. Years of sedentary town life or physically lighter work had left most unprepared for sustained wilderness travel. Blisters formed despite proper footwear. Muscles unaccustomed to constant walking protested painfully.
But the physical challenges paled next to the social ones.
By the second day, clear factions had emerged among the refugees. Manford's group the largest consisted of families with children, the elderly, and those who'd accepted their dependence on August's protection. Petyr's smaller cluster included younger adults who resented that dependence, even as they benefited from it. A third group, loosely organized around Renna, consisted of deeply traumatized individuals whose fear manifested as suspicion and hostility toward everything and everyone.
"Why are they feeding us so well?" Renna asked loudly during the second evening's meal. "What do they want from us? You don't give this much for nothing."
"They're trying to keep us alive," a woman from Manford's group replied tiredly.
"Nobody does anything for free. There's always a price."
The accusation stung, but August understood its source. Renna had lost everything family, home, faith in human decency. Trust wasn't something she could simply rebuild because someone offered her food.
Petyr's resistance took a different form. On the third day, he openly questioned one of Erik's navigation choices.
"Why are we going this way? The straight path is shorter."
"The straight path crosses a territorial boundary," Erik explained patiently. "We'd be challenged by another beast lord's domain."
"Or maybe you're leading us in circles. Keeping us confused so we can't find our way back."
Adam stepped forward, his massive frame intimidating. "You're free to leave anytime."
"See?" Petyr addressed his followers. "Threats. The moment you question them, threats."
"That wasn't a threat," Adam said flatly. "That was an observation. You clearly don't trust us. So leave."
"And, go where exactly?You've made us dependent on you, then act surprised when we resent it."
August intervened before the situation escalated. "Your resentment is noted, Petyr. Your distrust is understandable. But we're not having this conversation in the middle of the wilderness. Save your complaints for when we're behind walls, and we'll address them formally."
It wasn't a satisfying resolution for anyone, but it de-escalated the immediate tension.
The refugee children presented their own challenges. Torin Ned, genuinely interested in Erik's beast handling techniques, inadvertently alienated other teenage refugees by demonstrating how much he'd already learned.
"Of course the woodsman's kid picks it up fast," a fifteen-year-old refugee boy muttered. "Some of us aren't forest people."
Torin, hurt by the resentment, withdrew. Manford noticed and spoke quietly with his son that evening, words August couldn't help but hear with his improved body, but which seemed to help.
Kessa's enthusiastic questions about magic to Betty sparked a different problem. A refugee mother pulled her daughter away sharply. "Don't fill her head with that nonsense. Magic is what got us into this mess bandits with magical weapons, mages who could have protected us but didn't. It's not something decent people mess with."
They were those affected by the increase of lawlessness down the southern regions of the Central Sub-Continent of Arkanus, after civil unrest and the beasts that had invaded the Sovereignty of Arwen.
Betty's face showed her hurt, though she tried to hide it.
Young Jem simply enjoyed the adventure, seemingly unbothered by dangers that terrified his elders which created its own issues when other parents wondered why their children couldn't be so resilient. The unspoken question hung in the air: what's wrong with my child that they're still traumatized?
The seamstress Marta Edwards emerged as an unexpected voice of pragmatism on the fourth day. During a rest break, she addressed some of the complaints directly.
"Listen," she said to a group of women who'd been grumbling about the pace. "I lost my shop, my savings, everything I worked twenty years to build. Those people" she gestured at Team One "they didn't have to save us. They didn't have to feed us, heal us, or offer us anything. Did we want to be saved? No. Is it humiliating to be dependent? Yes. Are we going to survive without them? Also no."
"So we should just be grateful?" Renna challenged.
"I'm saying we should be realistic. Grateful comes later, maybe. Right now, I'm just trying to stay alive."
It was a small moment, but August noted it. Marta's blunt practicality had influence among certain refugees those tired of both blind gratitude and constant suspicion.
By the fifth day, they encountered ominous bloodstains, probably from other refugees that also had managed to get this far but were attacked by beasts. The refugees' reactions varied dramatically.
Some froze, traumatic memories clearly surfacing. Others immediately began scavenging through the scattered goods before Team One stopped them. Petyr seized on it as evidence.
"See? This is what happens out here. This is the world you're bringing us into."
"This is what happens outside protected territories," August replied, examining the scene with clinical detachment. "Beast attack, probably three days ago. The refugees fought back see the defensive positioning but they were overwhelmed."
"And you think your walls will keep us safer than these weapons they had with them kept them?"
"Yes," August said simply. "Because our walls are backed by trained fighters, bonded beasts, and eight hundred square kilometers of controlled territory. These refugees clearly had weapons and hope. We have more than that."
"Could those beasts that killed them also come after us?" someone asked nervously a legitimate question.
"No," Erik answered confidently. "We're deep in our territory now. Any of the beasts that are free to roam here are smart enough to survive in these forests, and know better than to hunt here."
The refugees found this oddly comforting the same territorial dominance that made the forest so dangerous for outsiders now protected them. But it also reinforced their dependence, which some, like Petyr, found galling.
---
Year 0008, Month IX, Day 38-46 (Personal System Calendar) / Year 6854, Day 10-18, Month IX (Imperial Calendar): Approaching Home
By the seventh day, Erik's reports about the twenty-nine who'd left had become a regular evening ritual one August initially kept private but which inevitably leaked.
"They're struggling," Erik reported during an evening strategy session. "Moving slower than expected. Three people showing signs of infection now the wounds we treated are reopening because they're not resting enough."
"Will they make it?" Angeline asked softly.
"Too early to tell. They're maybe an eighth of the way to the forest's edge. If they maintain their current pace and nothing else goes wrong, maybe. But nothing else going wrong seems unlikely."
Word of the other group's difficulties spread through the refugees despite efforts at discretion. Reactions varied.
"I knew they were making a mistake," one woman said with self-righteous satisfaction.
"That could have been us," another whispered to her husband, clearly shaken.
Petyr's group fell quiet, perhaps recognizing how close they'd come to making the same choice.
Only Manford seemed genuinely troubled rather than vindicated. "The pregnant woman Elise she's with them?"
August nodded.
"Gods," Manford breathed. "That's... she shouldn't have gone."
"She made her choice."
"No... her husband made that choice," Adam replied with a bit of a sneer. He had been annoyed with these people ever since they had recovered. If not only for August's care for human decency and the rest including him being the merciful people that they were, he would have left these whiny pieces of shit at the forest beasts' belly! Save for some, like Manford and the rest of his group, which he found respectable. If their vetting would go smoothly he would recommend them as immediate villagers.
"Her husband indeed made it for both of them," Gran Miri interjected sharply. "I saw how that went. He decided. She went along. That's how it is sometimes, especially from where we came from. Most of the women don't have a voice."
The observation hung heavy in the evening air.
On the eighth day, the refugees began noticing subtle changes in their surroundings clearings maintained for hunting camps, trail markers indicating safe paths, even crude defensive positions built into strategic locations.
"This is all yours?" Manford asked, incredulous. "This entire section of forest?"
"Eight hundred and ten square kilometers," August confirmed. "The original village controlled only ten square kilometers a small valley with defensive mountains. But after the Dominion Wars, our territory expanded eightfold."
"Dominion Wars?" Petyr latched onto the term immediately. "You mean you fought others... What, forest kingdoms? Beast lords?"
"Yes."
"And you won."
"Obviously."
"How many people died?"
The question was pointed, accusatory. August met Petyr's gaze steadily. "On our side? None. We're very good at what we do."
"Nobody's that good."
"We had advantages. Tactical superiority. Better equipment. Bonded beasts. And we were defending our home, not conquering someone else's."
Petyr opened his mouth to argue further, but Manford cut him off. "Let it go, Petyr. They won. We're benefiting. That's enough."
The young man subsided, but clearly wasn't satisfied.
By the ninth day, the refugees' physical adaptation had improved dramatically. Blisters had toughened into calluses. Muscles had adjusted to constant movement. Even the older refugees moved with less difficulty.
But social tensions, if anything, had intensified.
A fight broke out between two refugee men over something trivial one had accidentally stepped on the other's bedroll. It escalated quickly, fed by days of stress and resentment and fear. Adam separated them with embarrassing ease, holding each man at arm's length while they struggled uselessly.
"We're one day from the village," August said coldly to the assembled refugees. "One day. If you can't maintain basic discipline for one more day, you're not going to survive the vetting process. So I suggest you figure out how to coexist peacefully for the next twenty-four hours."
The threat worked, mostly because everyone was exhausted.
On the tenth day, they crested a rise and saw it the outer wall of Zone 2, stretching two kilometers in a graceful half-circle beneath the mountain formation. Ten ballista towers stood at regular intervals, their siege weapons visible even at distance.
The refugees stopped en masse, staring in disbelief.
"That's a village?" someone whispered.
"That's a fortress," Manford corrected, his woodsman's eye assessing the defensive architecture. "Those walls would hold against a small army. And those towers... by the gods, those are Class V ballistas. I've seen them in military installations, but never in a civilian settlement."
"Because civilian settlements are legal," Petyr muttered, though even he sounded awed rather than critical.
"Welcome to Maya Village," August said simply. "Let's get you home."
As they approached, August noticed the varied reactions among the refugees. Wonder, yes. Relief, certainly. But also apprehension, suspicion, and in some cases, the dawning realization that they were trading one form of dependence for another.
Renna stared at the walls with something like despair. "We'll never leave, will we? Once we're inside, we're trapped."
"You're free to leave anytime," August said, though he knew it wasn't quite true these people had nowhere else to go.
Gran Miri placed a hand on Renna's arm. "Sometimes being trapped and alive is better than being free but dead, child."
"Sometimes," Renna agreed hollowly. "Sometimes."
---
Year 0008, Month IX, Day 46 (Personal System Calendar) / Year 6854, Day 18, Month IX (Imperial Calendar): Arrival and Reality
The Zone 2 gatehouse guards spotted them a kilometer out. By the time they reached the gates, a welcoming committee had assembled though the reception proved more complicated than Team One had planned.
Red Peerce stood at the center, his wife Theresa beside him, both wearing their formal village leadership attire. Behind them, representatives from each of the fifteen families waited patriarchs, matriarchs, and several younger members chosen for their welcoming demeanor.
Master Ben Flameswrath had descended from his tower, his ancient eyes assessing the refugees with interest. The Martin family stood in formal security formation, their professional bearing making clear they were guards rather than greeters.
As the gates opened and the refugees entered, they found themselves surrounded by curious villagers. Children peeked from behind their parents, wide-eyed at the newcomers. But one child, perhaps three years old, pointed at a gaunt refugee woman and asked loudly, "Mama, why does she look like a skeleton?"
The mother hushed her child quickly, mortified, but the damage was done. The refugee woman's face crumpled.
Teenagers studied the newcomers with calculating interest and in some cases, barely concealed recognition, probably from their own experiences. August heard one village teen mutter to another: "We have similar experiences like them before. Is that how we also looked like before?"
The adults offered welcoming smiles and nods. They were enthusiastic to see others who had been saved by the merciful Young Master August. They viewed these newcomers enthusiastically but with some apprehension. They may seem welcoming, but they were also watching these newcomers. They were the ones responsible in the vetting process if these people would be made into full-time villagers. And also it would risk their safety if they had chosen to let a bad apple slide into this rather peaceful village despite it being surrounded by the green untamed murderous forest.
"Welcome to Maya Village," Red Peerce announced, his voice carrying easily across the assembled crowd. "You've survived an ordeal that would have broken most people. You've made a difficult journey to reach this place. And now you're here, safe within our walls."
He paused, noting the tension in both groups. "We don't know yet if this will become your permanent home that depends on decisions and evaluations still to come. But for now, you are our guests. We will feed you, shelter you, and give you time to heal properly."
"Guests," Petyr said quietly to his followers. "Notice he didn't say 'welcome residents' or 'new villagers.' Guests. Temporary."
Theresa stepped forward, her healer's instincts immediately cataloging injuries and conditions. "We've prepared temporary housing for you an open complex with everything you'll need for now. It's not fancy, but it's warm, dry, and secure."
She gestured toward a large, newly constructed building visible in the middle distance. "We built it specifically for you over the past week. Every able-bodied villager contributed to building it. That's how we do things here when someone needs help, everyone contributes."
The refugees stared at the building. Many openly wept after weeks of terror, the simple promise of a proper roof overhead shattered emotional walls they'd built for protection. But others Petyr, Renna, a few more studied it with suspicion.
"One building for all of us?" Renna said. "We're all going to be packed in together?"
"Temporarily," Theresa confirmed. "Until we can build permanent housing for those who stay."
"Who stays," Renna repeated. "And what happens to those who don't?"
"We'll address that tomorrow," August interjected. "For now "
"For now, shut up and be grateful," Petyr finished. "We understand the drill."
Manford Ned, ever practical, asked the question on everyone's mind or at least, asked it more diplomatically than Petyr would have. "What happens next? What do you need from us?"
August stepped forward, his young face serious. "Tomorrow, we'll gather for a formal meeting. We'll explain the rules and expectations for living in Maya Village. We'll assess your skills and determine how you might contribute to our community. We'll begin the vetting process to determine who stays permanently and who might need to find other arrangements."
"Vetting process," someone whispered nervously.
"But tonight?" August continued. "Tonight you rest. You eat. You bathe in warm water for the first time in weeks. You sleep in real beds. You remember what it feels like to be safe, to be treated like a human being. Tomorrow is for business. Tonight is for recovery."
Several refugees practically melted with relief. A few actually did collapse, held up by their companions and quickly assisted by village healers.
The Greenfield family stepped forward, carrying baskets of fresh bread still warm from Beelor Millwright's ovens. "We thought you might be hungry," Aldric Greenfield said with a gentle smile.
As the refugees accepted the bread, the reactions varied. Some cried with gratitude. Others ate mechanically, too exhausted for emotion. Petyr took his bread with a curt nod, no thanks offered.
Renna stared at hers suspiciously before taking a tiny bite, as if checking for poison.
As the crowd began moving toward the temporary housing complex, village families attempted to pair up with refugee groups but it was awkward. Conversation stuttered and died. Cultural differences emerged immediately.
An Archer family child tried to demonstrate his small bow to refugee children, but one refugee mother pulled her son away sharply. "Don't touch that. Weapons aren't toys."
The Archer child looked hurt. His father placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him away, but August saw the flash of irritation on the man's face.
The Carpenter family attempted to explain how the housing complex had been built so quickly, but got tangled in technical details that the refugees exhausted and overwhelmed couldn't process. The conversation died into uncomfortable silence.
The Harvest family's matriarch tried to discuss the upcoming autumn harvest and the need for extra hands, but came across as already assigning labor to people who hadn't even agreed to stay yet.
"We just got here," one refugee said tiredly. "Can we just... rest? Before we start talking about work?"
The matriarch looked offended but backed off.
Sibus Dino stood near the housing complex, watching the refugees examine his rapid-construction design. A few commented on the clever features the double hearths, the communal layout but others seemed to find fault immediately.
"No privacy," one refugee complained.
"It's temporary," Sibus said flatly.
"How temporary?"
"That depends on how many of you stay and how fast we can build permanent housing. Could be months. Could be longer."
"Months?" The refugee's voice rose. "We're supposed to live on top of each other for months?"
"You're supposed to be grateful you're alive," Sibus said bluntly, then walked away.
August approached him. "That could have gone better."
Sibus grunted. "They're scared, exhausted, and traumatized. Nothing I said would have been right. At least I was honest, and honestly I couldn't care less. I have seen this type of people before, August. They will become a problem if they aren't weeded out properly. They might appear weak and fragile now, but let them recover a bit..." Sibus paused. "I guess you could already tell." His eyes darted to those people he already flagged as not worthy of this village's ideals.
As evening fell, the welcoming feast began but "feast" implied celebration, and the mood was more strained than festive.
The village's communal cooking area produced quantities of food that astonished the refugees roasted Grizzlepig, stewed Woolly Aurochs, fresh vegetables, bread, cheese, and sweet pastries. The refugees ate ravenously at first, then gradually slowed.
But the social integration efforts struggled. Gran Miri found conversation partners among village matriarchs who understood hardship and survival, but even that interaction had awkward moments when their different experiences created incomprehension.
"We are glad, at least you chose to come here," one village matriarch said. "We were also refugees ravaged by war and other things who had similar experiences as yours, yes, but we chose this place willingly, when Young Master August asked us to migrate here. Although it was already after the fact that our previous lives were already lost, we chose to rebuild here."
Gran Miri's eyes sharpened. "You think we chose to be attacked by those beasts? To lose everything?"
"That's not what I meant "
"It's exactly what you meant. You think we're weak because we got caught. You think it couldn't happen to you."
The village matriarch fell silent, not knowing how to respond. It seemed the trauma was still fresh on everyone's minds.
Manford's attempt to discuss woodcraft with Tormund Wildwood and Bran Tracker went better, but even there, tension emerged when the conversation turned to hunting territories and rights.
"So once we're approved," Manford asked carefully, "would we be able to hunt in the expanded territory?"
"Under supervision, initially," Tormund said. "We can't have untested hunters wandering around our carefully managed territories. Besides, the beasts here aren't so friendly. You do know and have seen the legends of this forest yourselves already."
"Managed territories," Manford repeated. "In a forest."
"It's more complicated than you'd think. Beast populations, seasonal movements, breeding cycles "
"I've been hunting for twenty years."
"In different forests. With different rules. Trust me, you'll need training."
Manford's jaw tightened slightly but he nodded. August noted the interaction pride, again. Even someone as reasonable as Manford struggled with the implication that his expertise wasn't immediately transferable.
Esmerelda's conversation with agricultural family women started promisingly but derailed when the topic turned to the village's communal work system.
"Everyone contributes according to their abilities," a Greenfield daughter-in-law explained. "During harvest, everyone who can work does work. During planting, same thing. It's how we survive."
"Everyone?" Esmerelda asked. "Even those with young children?"
"We have communal childcare during peak seasons. At least those below five. The rest who could already help aren't forced but they do tend to volunteer willingly."
"Strangers watching my children?"
"They're not strangers, they're fellow villagers."
"They would be strangers to us."
The conversation grew uncomfortable and eventually died.
The younger refugees' interactions with village youth proved most volatile. Torin Ned found himself in a discussion with teenage village boys about hunting and combat training, but one refugee boy who'd been part of Petyr's group challenged everything.
"So you're all fighters? Everyone here knows combat?"
"Everyone thirteen and older trains," a village boy confirmed. "It's mandatory."
"Even girls?"
"Especially girls. Isabel Peerce is Team One one of the elite fighters. Betty Snow too. They'd destroy most grown men in a fight."
The refugee boy looked skeptical and vaguely threatened by this information.
Kessa attached herself to a group of village girls who explained the school system and Master Ben's magical testing. But when Kessa mentioned she'd lost many of her friends to the beasts, an awkward silence fell. The village children didn't know how to respond to that level of trauma they too had their own traumatic pasts.
Little Jem ran around with other children his age, and here at least, things worked better. Children played, uncomplicated by adult anxieties.
As the feast wound down and people began retiring to the housing complex, August stood with his core team watching the less-than-smooth integration.
"That could have gone better," Angeline observed, no longer leaning comfortably against his shoulder she'd been busy all evening trying to smooth over social friction.
"Could have gone worse," Erik said pragmatically. "Nobody threw punches. Nobody left. That's something."
"The villagers tried their best," Betty said quietly. "But some of those conversations... The refugees are so defensive, and our people don't quite know how to handle it."
"People are people," Adam said with his usual bluntness. "Everyone thinks they're better than someone. The villagers think they've recovered from their own traumas better. The refugees think they're better than us because we live outside the law. Everybody's got their pride."
"It's going to make integration harder," Bren added. "If both sides can't find common ground."
August remained silent, watching the refugees settle into their temporary home. Through windows, he glimpsed Manford helping organize sleeping arrangements while Esmerelda moved among people offering comfort. Gran Miri sat near one of the hearths with Marta, the two women speaking quietly two pragmatists finding common ground. Petyr's group clustered in one corner, already segregating themselves. Renna sat alone, staring at nothing.
Eighty-one new souls within Maya Village's walls. Some would stay and thrive. Others would stay and struggle. Some might leave when better options appear. A few might never integrate at all.
"Come on," August finally said to his team. "We've got our own homes to return to. Tomorrow starts early, and the real work begins then."
As Team One returned to their currently overpopulated home (August's house), August took one last look at the temporary housing complex. The reality of integration was messier than he'd hoped but not worse than he'd feared. Both sides would need time to adjust the refugees to accept help without resentment, the villagers to offer help without assuming the refugees should simply be grateful for everything.
They would survive this. Some relationships would form naturally. Others would require management. A few would never quite work. But that was the nature of community building not everyone had to like everyone else. They just had to coexist productively.
Tomorrow will bring challenges. But tonight, for the first time in their ordeal, eighty-one refugees slept in proper beds, warm and fed and protected even if some of them lay awake wondering if they'd traded one prison for another.
---
Late Night: Documentation and Reality
Later that night, after the festivities ended and most villagers had retired, August sat in his cramped corner of the overcrowded Finn household. Around him, the sounds of family settling for sleep filtered through thick wooden walls Adam and Isabel's quiet conversation about the refugees ("Some of them looked at us like we're criminals," Isabel whispered. "We are criminals," Adam replied. "Technically, in the eyes of the Empire."), Red and Theresa's murmured planning for tomorrow's meeting ("We need to address the attitude from both sides," Theresa insisted. "Both sides have their issues to work through."), the soft breathing of younger household members already asleep.
August pulled out his Personal System interface and began updating the village census documentation. The arrival of eighty-one refugees required immediate recording, even before their vetting process completed.
But as he opened a new document, he paused. His fingers hovered over the magical interface.
How should he record this? The clinical, bureaucratic assessment he'd originally planned felt inadequate after witnessing the actual arrival. The tensions, the friction, the small failures of connection these mattered as much as the demographic data.
He began typing, deciding to blend both approaches. Document the facts, yes, but also record the reality.
The document would be extensive. He glanced at the time displayed on his Personal System interface it showed Day 46 of his personal calendar, while the Imperial Calendar read Month IX, Day 18. The discrepancy always felt odd, a reminder that his Personal System operated on different principles than the world around him.
He titled the document and began the assessment, knowing this would take most of the night. Tomorrow's orientation meeting depended on having clear documentation of what they were dealing with the promise, the problems, and everything in between.
His fingers moved across the glowing interface as the house settled into sleep around him, twenty-one people breathing in spaces meant for twelve, while outside, eighty-one refugees experienced their first night in Maya Village.
Some things, he knew, could only be understood by writing them down.