Tension.
He doesn’t raise his voice, but it carries anyway.
“Any threat that reaches this village will be dealt with,” he says, his tone controlled. “But I will not waste time convincing you of that.”
A few people shift.
Not comfort.
But attention.
“You can prepare,” he continues, his gaze moving over them, steady and unyielding, “or you can hesitate. Only one of those choices keeps you alive.”
Silence settles.
Not easy.
But not breaking.
I step forward again.
“We do this together,” I say.
That’s what holds it.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But alignment.
By the timethe light fades fully, the village is already changing. Movement sharpens into purpose, bodies falling into rhythm as barricades begin to form along the outer edges, wood dragged into place and reinforced with whatever will hold. Watch points take shape, not perfect, but functional. Fires are controlled, contained. Everything shifts toward survival.
And through all of it?—
They’re watching him.
I step up beside Verr as he looks out over the work, his posture still, his attention moving constantly.
“They’re not going to trust you quickly,” I say.
“I don’t need them to,” he replies.
“No,” I agree, watching a group reinforce a barrier along the road. “But you need them to listen.”
He glances at me.
“They are.”
I nod once.
“For now.”
24
VERR
The ground shifts under my weight the moment I step past the outer barricade, the damp earth giving just enough to remind me it isn’t stable, that it won’t hold clean movement if too many bodies press into it at once. The river has pulled back from its banks, leaving behind a slick layer of mud that looks solid until it isn’t, and I angle my foot slightly, testing it before committing my weight.
