The night had drawn a circle of firelight in the heart of the settlement.
The flames crackled, painting long shadows across the gathered faces. Around the central pit stood the chosen voices of the new frontier—each faction's representative marked by their own small ring of followers. Beyond them, the rest of the settlers watched, split without words into soldiers and civilians. The line between them was clear as the dirt underfoot.
Moss stood near the edge beside Dole, arms crossed. Neither spoke much. The murmurs from the gathered crowd said more than either needed to.
Rosa stood nearest the fire, her white mage robes reflecting its glow. She was flanked by craftspeople, healers, and tradesmen she'd drawn to her cause. Across from her loomed Kain, his dark armor gleaming faintly, his soldiers lined in disciplined rows. Between them sat Varrin of the Steelhands—older, broad-shouldered, his face marked by years of battle and soot from his forge.
Further down the ring stood two others:
Serra, an alchemical maester whose robes shimmered faintly with infused aether, her followers a mix of scholars, artificers, and curious apprentices drawn to her pursuit of knowledge;
and Thorne, a quiet hunter draped in worn leathers, representing the scattered foragers and scouts who knew the land beyond the campfire's reach.
The fire popped, sending sparks into the air. No one moved until Kain spoke first.
"We're all here because the Empire sent us," he began, voice even but commanding. "That means we still follow structure. Without order, this place will rot before it ever stands. I've already begun organizing patrols and drills. Volunteers—or not—we'll need every able body armed and ready."
His words carried over the crowd like an old command. Some nodded, the soldiers mostly. Others muttered. Rosa waited until he finished before stepping forward.
"Order alone won't feed anyone," she said. "Nor will it heal the sick or build homes. We need to look after each other, not just point weapons. The traders, the craftsmen, the healers—they're not burdens. They're the ones who'll make this place livable."
Kain's expression didn't change. "Without defense, there'll be nothing left to live in."
Before the argument could deepen, Varrin raised a hand. "Enough. You're both right, in parts." His tone was gruff but level, a voice that earned respect without demanding it. "We've all seen what's out there. Those aether beasts didn't care who had a sword or a shovel—they came for all of us. If we want this settlement to last, then every caravan, every work party, needs an armed escort. That means structure, but not chains. Safety, not command."
Rosa inclined her head slightly. "Then maybe you should be the one giving speeches, Varrin."
"Not my talent," he said with a faint smirk. "But someone's got to keep both sides from burning the camp down."
A ripple of uneasy laughter passed through the crowd. Dole leaned toward Moss. "He's got the right of it."
Moss didn't answer. He was watching the people, how they stood—the soldiers shoulder to shoulder, civilians keeping close to their own, each group separated by invisible lines. They all wanted the same thing: to live. But no one agreed on how.
Serra stepped forward next, her voice smooth and measured. "There's more to survival than food and fences. The aether here is unlike anything I've studied. It twists, resonates, almost hums beneath the ground. If we can understand it, maybe even harness it, we could create something more than a refuge. We could build a future beyond what the Empire ever intended."
Kain's gaze sharpened. "You'd risk corruption for the sake of your experiments?"
Serra smiled faintly. "Risk is the heart of discovery. The Empire's magitek was born from the same daring. Out here, free from their oversight, we can refine it—improve it."
Rosa's tone cooled. "Or repeat their mistakes. You remember the aether corruption in the western provinces? The experiments that turned men into beasts?"
Kain's jaw tightened. "Entire battalions lost to what they created. I saw it myself in Ivalice—soldiers who couldn't tell friend from foe once the aether took them."
The murmurs grew tense. Serra's expression faltered for a heartbeat before she steadied it. "That was imperial arrogance, not science. I don't intend to make monsters—I intend to understand what made them."
Rosa folded her arms. "Intentions don't matter when the land itself warps in response. Some lines aren't meant to be crossed again."
Varrin rumbled a low sigh. "Let's hope no one out here gets the chance to prove which of you is right."
Thorne, the hunter, broke the silence after a long pause. "The land gives if you respect it. We don't need the Empire's aid or magitek. There's enough here if we're willing to live with it, not fight against it."
Kain frowned. "Idealism won't fill bellies when the beasts return."
Thorne met his gaze without flinching. "Neither will chains."
The air thickened until Varrin's low chuckle cut through it. "Then we've got our map, don't we? A soldier's order, a healer's heart, a scholar's ambition, and a hunter's instinct. Maybe together, we'll make something that lasts."
For a moment, there was quiet agreement. Then Rosa's voice softened. "The Empire's messengers promised more supplies soon—food, medicine—but only if we send proof of progress. Ore shipments, subjugation reports, anything showing we're stable. So we'll need everyone—builders, scouts, smiths—to make it happen."
Kain nodded once. "Then we start tomorrow. No wasted daylight."
The factions began to break apart, murmuring in low tones as they returned to their fires and tents.
Dole exhaled. "Feels like we just watched the start of something dangerous."
Moss's eyes lingered on the fading firelight. "Maybe. But danger's what is going to build foundations out here."
The flames sank lower, glowing embers catching the shapes of people who would soon define the frontier—each one convinced they were its savior.