Commander Ryker stood before the summer palace, his expression unreadable as the wind stirred the ivy clinging to the decrepit walls. His soldiers and the orphans waited behind him, silent and expectant. It would have been easy—so easy—to draft another letter to the king, detailing the state of disrepair and demanding immediate action.
But Ryker knew better. The king was a man of pragmatism, not pity. Complaints would fall on deaf ears, and requests for resources would go unanswered.
"Not worth the ink," Ryker muttered to himself.
He turned to face the ragtag group. "This is it," he barked. "Your new home. It's not perfect, and it's not easy, but neither is life. If you're still breathing by the time we're done here, you'll thank this place for making you stronger. Now, stop gawking and get to work."
---
Ryker wasted no time dividing tasks. His soldiers paired off with the older orphans to inspect the structure, clearing debris and taking note of anything salvageable. The younger children were tasked with clearing weeds and gathering firewood under supervision.
Together, they began transforming the crumbling palace into something resembling livability.
The main hall became a hive of activity. Dust swirled in the air as broken furniture was dragged out, cracked tiles were pried loose, and piles of rubble were moved to make room for sleeping quarters. Some of the children muttered complaints, but a sharp glare from Ryker quickly silenced them.
"Do you think the king's enemies will care if you're tired?" Ryker growled at a boy who had paused to rest. "They'll gut you the moment you show weakness. Now move."
The boy scrambled to his feet, and Ryker's gaze swept over the rest of the group. Most of the orphans had learned not to test him. All but one.
The silent girl 'Mukt', her face streaked with dirt and sweat, met his eyes briefly before returning to her task. She moved with a quiet determination that set her apart from the others, hauling broken beams twice her weight without complaint.
"She works like she has something to prove," Ryker thought.
---
The palace revealed its secrets reluctantly. Every door they forced open seemed to lead to another room full of decay—a storage room filled with moldy crates, a library where books had rotted away to little more than pulp.
The kitchens were perhaps the most disheartening discovery. What had once been a grand space, capable of feeding dozens, was now a cavern of rusted pots, broken stoves, and rat-infested corners.
"We'll have to make do with open fires for now," Ryker told his lieutenant. "Get the men to set up a temporary cooking station outside. And tell them to keep an eye on the grain stores—we can't afford any more losses."
Water was another issue. The palace had once relied on a sophisticated system of aqueducts and cisterns, but years of neglect had left the system in ruins. The soldiers and orphans spent an entire day hauling water from the nearby river, grumbling under the weight of heavy buckets.
"This is pointless," one of the older boys muttered under his breath. "The place is falling apart."
Ryker's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Then let it fall apart on your head. Or fix it. Your choice."
The boy lowered his gaze and fell silent, but Ryker's words carried further than intended. The others redoubled their efforts, spurred on by the commander's harsh pragmatism.
---
As the days wore on, the orphans began to settle into a rhythm. The older children took on leadership roles, organizing the younger ones and distributing tasks. Ryker watched them closely, his critical eye assessing who showed potential and who struggled to keep up.
Mukttemerged as an unspoken leader. Though she never spoke, her actions inspired others to follow her lead. When she cleared a room, others joined her. When she hauled water, others worked harder to match her pace.
Ryker noticed the subtle shift and made a mental note.
"She doesn't need words to lead," he thought. "That's rare."
---
By the end of the first week, the palace began to show signs of life. The main hall had been cleared of debris and now served as a communal sleeping area. The grounds, once choked with weeds, were gradually being tamed.
The orphans adapted to their new routine, their complaints dwindling as exhaustion took hold. For the first time, some of them began to see the potential in their surroundings.
One evening, as the group gathered around the fire, Ryker stood to address them.
"You've done well," he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. "This place may never be a palace again, but it will be ours. Every stone you move, every beam you raise, makes it stronger. And the stronger it becomes, the stronger you become."
He let his words hang in the air, watching as they sank in. Then he turned and strode into the darkness, leaving the firelight and murmurs behind.
---
As Ryker walked the perimeter, he allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. This place, broken and battered as it was, held potential. It could forge these children into something formidable—if they survived.
His thought focused on the children, he lingered on one in particular, Mukt's image etched into his mind like a question waiting to be answered.
"She'll either rise to lead them or tear them apart," he mused. "And either way, she'll be useful."
The moon hung low over the summer palace, casting long shadows across the grounds. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, the work continued. And Ryker, for all his gruff demeanor, found himself almost… hopeful.
---