The system held for three weeks. The Duboises, immersed in their new roles, began to lose the frantic, hunted look in their eyes. Liana, while still silent, could often be found sitting in a sunlit corner of the courtyard, her sketchbook in her lap, her hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes as she mapped the layout of the inner bailey. The rhythm of work—stone, steel, and soil—became the heartbeat of Avalon.
It was a brittle peace, and it shattered one afternoon with the arrival of a new group.
This was not a frightened family in a beat-up sedan. This was a band of a dozen people, mostly men, arriving on foot with the grim, determined gait of those who had already learned to walk through a broken world. They were led by a hulking man with a thick beard and a shotgun slung over his shoulder. They stopped just outside the main gate, their eyes scanning the walls, the scaffolding, the signs of industry, with a calculating hunger.
Rex was on the wall in moments, his longbow held loosely but visibly in one hand. Kaelen, hearing the commotion, emerged from her forge, a heavy hammer in her grip, her face smudged and fierce. Jean and Luc picked up their own heavy mason's hammers, moving to flank the gate.
"State your business," Rex called down, his voice echoing off the stone, flat and devoid of welcome.
The bearded leader looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Heard there was a place here. A place with food. With walls. We're looking to come in."
"The terms are the same for everyone," Rex replied. "You surrender your weapons at the gate. You work. You obey. This is my land, and my law is absolute."
The leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Your law? We've had enough of laws, boy. The world's gone to shit. The new law is the strong take what they need." He hefted his shotgun. "We're strong. And we're hungry. So how about you open this pretty gate and we talk about sharing."
Rex didn't blink. "This is your only warning. Turn around and leave."
The man's smirk vanished, replaced by a snarl. He raised his shotgun, not at Rex, but towards the sky, and fired a single, deafening blast. The report echoed like a thunderclap, shocking the quiet afternoon. From the infirmary, a faint cry was heard—Liana's.
The message was clear: intimidation.
It was the wrong move.
In one fluid, practiced motion, Rex nocked an arrow, drew the yew bow to its full anchor, and loosed. There was no dramatic twang, just a sharp thwip of air being parted.
The arrow buried itself in the stock of the man's shotgun, a hand's breadth from his fingers, the impact tearing the weapon from his grasp and sending it clattering to the ground. The man stared at his empty, stinging hand in stunned disbelief.
"Your strength is an illusion," Rex's voice cut through the ringing silence, colder than stone. "My next arrow finds your throat. Your choice."
For a tense moment, violence hung in the balance. The men behind their leader shifted, their hands on their own crude weapons, looking from their disarmed leader to the implacable archer on the wall. They saw Kaelen, a vengeful spirit of the forge, ready to fight. They saw the two burly stonemasons, their tools now weapons.
The calculus of power had shifted.
The bearded man, clutching his numbed hand, glared up at Rex with pure, unadulterated hatred. But he was not a fool. "This isn't over," he spat.
"Leave now," Rex commanded, nocking another arrow, "or it ends here for all of you."
Cursing, the man retrieved his damaged shotgun, and with a final, venomous look, he turned and led his group back down the road, melting into the tree line.
The moment they were gone, the tension broke. Rex let out a slow breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had won without bloodshed, but it had been a close thing. Too close.
He turned to find everyone staring at him. The Duboises were pale with terror. Jean Delahaye looked grimly satisfied. But it was Kaelen's gaze he met—a look of fierce, unqualified approval. And Elara's, from the doorway of the infirmary—a look of relief, but also of deep, newfound fear.
He had defended them. He had proven his law was more than words. But he had also shown them the brutal reality of the world at their gates, and the brutal efficiency required to keep it out.
The first test of their defenses was over. Avalon had held. But the price of its safety was now clear to all: it was paid for with the unwavering, deadly will of the man they called Lord.