A gathering was held in Blackwood Fortress on the eve of the first true blizzard.
It was not grand.
There were no banners, no music, no ceremony—only a cleared patch of ground in the center of the outpost, and a single roaring bonfire that pushed back the biting cold.
The fire was fed with the fat-rich bones of the giant bear.
Under the flames, they crackled and split, grease hissing as it dripped into the blaze. Each burst sent the fire leaping higher—taller than a man—casting flickering light across the fortress and filling the air with the thick, rich scent of roasted meat and smoke.
For the first time in many days, it was warm.
Twelve people.
That was all that remained of Blackwood Fortress.
They sat in a loose circle around the fire, each holding a sharpened wooden stick. At the end of each stick, a piece of bear meat sizzled and browned, fat dripping down in slow, golden streaks.
This was their reward.
Earned with blood.
Paid for in lives.
Children laughed, their faces smeared with grease as they fought over the crispiest bits. Women tore into the meat with unrestrained hunger, chewing, swallowing, even laughing between mouthfuls—relief and pride mixing in their eyes.
For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
Like something normal.
But beneath the warmth, something lingered.
A quiet weight.
Like the shadow behind the firelight.
Goff stood.
He held no meat—only a crude earthen bowl filled with water.
Without a word, he stepped forward and poured it into the flames.
"Ssshhh—"
Steam burst upward, white and fleeting, the fire recoiling with a sharp hiss that sounded almost like a cry.
"This bowl," Goff said, his voice rough as old bark, "is for the sisters who fell beneath the blood moon."
The fire crackled.
"May they find their way home."
He paused, his dim eyes sweeping across the circle.
"And this… is for Tali."
The name hung heavy in the air.
"She fought. She bled. We sit here because she stood there."
His grip tightened slightly around the empty bowl.
"Remember her."
"Tali!"
Linna rose abruptly, grabbed her own bowl, and flung its contents into the fire.
"Respect!"
One by one, the others followed.
Water, melted snow, whatever they held—offered to the flames.
"To the fallen!"
"To our sisters!"
"To those who didn't come back!"
The laughter died.
The fire still burned bright—but its warmth no longer reached as far.
Chewing slowed.
Smiles faded.
Children, sensing the shift, grew quiet and pressed closer to the elders.
They had survived.
But survival had a cost.
A terrible one.
Colin watched in silence.
He did not interrupt.
Grief, if buried too deep, rotted the soul.
It had to be brought into the light—even if it hurt.
He finished his meat without a word.
Cleaned the bone.
Then stood.
He stepped into the firelight.
His shadow stretched long behind him, trembling with every flicker of flame.
All eyes turned to him.
"Is it good?" he asked.
The question caught them off guard.
A few nodded instinctively.
Colin gave a faint smile.
"It is," he said. "The best I've ever had."
He glanced at the meat in their hands.
"It fills your stomach. Reminds you that you're alive."
His gaze lifted slowly.
"It feels good to be alive."
Then—
his expression hardened.
"But do you remember our tribe?"
The words struck like a blade.
Every face froze.
"I remember," Colin continued quietly.
"I remember everything."
His voice trembled—not from weakness, but from something far deeper.
"That night… the moon was red."
His eyes seemed to lose focus, staring into something far beyond the fire.
"The flames… higher than this. Brighter than this."
His hand clenched slowly.
"The sky burned."
"I didn't smell food."
"I smelled flesh."
"Burning flesh."
"I didn't hear laughter."
"I heard screams."
"My uncle. My neighbors."
His jaw tightened.
"Even the man who punched me the day before… screaming while they cut him apart."
"They trampled me."
"They broke my ribs."
"They laughed."
His voice dropped into something cold.
"As if I wasn't even human."
"They dragged our women into the dark."
His breath hitched, just slightly.
"I heard them beg… then cry… then scream… until even the screams stopped."
He stepped forward.
"Tell me."
His eyes burned.
"Have you forgotten?"
"No…" someone whispered.
A woman covered her face, shoulders shaking.
"I haven't forgotten!" Linna snapped, snapping her stick in two without realizing.
The dam broke.
Grief. Rage. Shame.
All of it surged up at once.
Low sobs.
Angry breaths.
Clenched fists.
Colin let it rise.
Let it burn.
Then—
he raised his hand.
Silence returned.
"But we lived," he said.
Calm again.
Steady.
"We crawled out of death."
"We bled. We starved. We ran."
His gaze moved across them.
"But we are still here."
He looked at Goff.
"Because of him."
At Lina.
"Because of her."
Then at Linna and the others.
"And because of you."
"You fought."
"You stood your ground."
"You did not break."
He spread his arms slightly, gesturing to the fire, the walls, the people.
"We have food."
"We have warmth."
"We have a place to sleep."
A pause.
"It feels good, doesn't it?"
Some nodded.
Weak smiles appeared.
Then—
his voice sharpened.
"But is it enough?"
Silence.
"Is this enough?" he pressed. "To hide? To ration scraps? To pray we aren't found?"
"To live like animals waiting for the next storm?"
No one answered.
"Not enough."
His voice thundered.
"Not even close."
"Survival is not our goal."
"It is only the beginning."
"I don't want to crawl anymore."
"I don't want to hide."
"I don't want to live as something waiting to be hunted."
His fist clenched.
"I want a home."
"A real one."
"A fortress no one can break."
"A place where our children can laugh without fear."
His voice burned.
"We become strong."
"Not to prey on others—"
"—but so no one can prey on us again."
Then his tone dropped.
Cold.
Deadly.
"And one day…"
"We will find them."
"Those who burned our homes."
"Who butchered our kin."
"Who treated us like animals."
His eyes blazed.
"And we will make them pay."
"A blood debt…"
He raised his fist.
"…must be repaid in blood."
For a heartbeat—
silence.
Then—
"BLOOD FOR BLOOD!"
Finney roared, slamming his chest.
"Blood for blood!" Linna echoed.
"Blood for blood!!"
The cry spread like wildfire.
Voices rose.
Weapons lifted.
Even the old man struggled to stand, raising a shaking fist.
Children shouted without understanding—but feeling.
The fortress trembled with it.
Not from fear—
but from will.
Colin stood at the center.
Fist raised.
Eyes steady.
"I swear," he said.
"By my blood."
"By the dead who watch us."
"As long as I breathe…"
"I will not break this oath."
He looked at them.
All of them.
"Will you stand with me?"
"Yes!"
"YES!"
Their voices merged into one.
The fire surged upward, sparks exploding into the night sky.
For a moment, it felt as if the darkness itself recoiled.
That night—
they stopped being survivors.
They became something else.
They became Blackwood Fortress.