Ashar stood at the top of the rocky hill, staring out over the village that had once been his prison. The landscape stretched before him, vast and barren, the remains of the village still smoldering from the chaos of the battle. Ashar felt the weight of it all: the freedom they had won, the lives lost, and the responsibility that had now been thrust upon him.
His people were gathered below, tending to the wounded, building makeshift shelters from the remains of the homes they had destroyed. Some were quietly mourning, while others worked with the single-minded determination of people who had just tasted freedom for the first time in their lives.
"How are they?" Rylah's voice broke through his thoughts.
He turned to see her approaching, her face streaked with dirt, but her eyes fierce as ever. In her hands was a crude map, marked with several key locations. She had been organizing their next steps since the battle had ended, assigning roles, making plans for survival.
"They'll survive," Ashar said, his voice low. "But we need to move quickly. The Orcs will come for us soon. They won't leave this place unpunished."
Rylah nodded, looking back toward the survivors. "What's the plan?"
Ashar's gaze hardened as he looked back at the village. The people who had fought beside him were no longer just slaves—they were his responsibility. But before they could truly begin their new lives, they needed something more than freedom. They needed protection. They needed an army.
"We need to build a stronghold," Ashar said, his voice firm. "A place we can defend. A place that will stand against the Orcs when they come."
Rylah raised an eyebrow. "A stronghold? How are we supposed to build something like that? We don't have the resources, and we're still recovering from the fight."
Ashar clenched his fists, the frustration simmering just below the surface. He had expected this response. They had no food, no proper tools, no trained workers. It felt like an impossible task. But they had no choice.
"We'll make do," he said. "We'll start with what we have. We'll gather what resources we can from the surrounding areas, recruit anyone willing to fight, and train them. We can't wait for the Orcs to come. We need to strike first. Guerrilla tactics. Hit them where they least expect it."
Rylah studied him for a moment, her eyes scanning his face. She knew the fire that burned in him. The anger. The desire for vengeance. But she also knew there was more to it than that. Ashar wasn't just fighting to get revenge for his people. He was fighting to ensure they would never be enslaved again.
"You're right," she finally said. "But we're not warriors, Ashar. We're survivors."
Ashar turned, his eyes meeting hers. "We'll become warriors."
***
The days that followed were filled with planning and training. Ashar worked tirelessly, organizing the survivors into groups based on their skills. Some of them were farmers, some craftsmen, and others simply those who had been too weak to fight back when the Orcs had attacked. But even the most broken among them had the will to fight. And that, Ashar knew, was enough to start.
Under Ashar's direction, they began building crude defenses around the remains of the village. They set up barricades, dug trenches, and reinforced the weak walls with whatever they could salvage. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The most important task, however, was to train the survivors. Ashar knew that in a fight against the Orcs, their strength alone would not be enough. They had to be fast, unpredictable, and clever. Guerrilla warfare was their only chance at victory.
Rylah took charge of teaching the survivors how to fight, using weapons that were nothing more than sharpened rocks, farm tools, and stolen Orc spears. She was a natural fighter, her movements fluid and precise as she demonstrated how to strike, defend, and evade.
Ashar's job was to train the men and women in the art of tactics—how to move as a unit, how to ambush, and how to survive when faced with overwhelming odds. It wasn't easy, and progress was slow. The survivors were weak, malnourished, and traumatized by their years of slavery. But with each passing day, Ashar saw small victories—the first time a group of fighters successfully coordinated an ambush, the first time a soldier stood their ground in the face of an attack.
It was working.
But as they trained and fortified their position, Ashar knew that time was running out. The Orcs would soon discover the massacre at the village, and when they did, they would retaliate with the full force of their armies.
"I've been thinking," Rylah said one evening, as they sat around a fire, watching the stars. "What if we made an alliance with the neighboring villages? If we can unite the humans in this area, maybe we'll have a better chance."
Ashar turned toward her, his brow furrowing. "You know how many villages we've already tried to reach. The Orcs have kept them too afraid to act."
"Not all of them," Rylah replied. "There's a village to the east, not far from here. The villagers have been trading with the Orcs, but I've heard rumors they're growing restless. If we can convince them to join us, it might be enough to tip the balance in our favor."
Ashar didn't speak for a long moment. He was hesitant, knowing the risks involved. Convincing another village to join their cause was no small task, and there was no guarantee they would be willing to help.
But he knew they couldn't do it alone. The Orcs would never let them rest, and sooner or later, they would come for them with everything they had.
"We'll send a small group," Ashar said finally. "But we can't afford to show weakness. If we do this, it's all or nothing."
Rylah smiled, her eyes glinting with determination. "I'll lead the group."
***
The journey to the neighboring village was long, and Ashar's heart ached with the weight of the decision. He had just begun to rebuild his people, and now, he was sending them away on a dangerous mission. The tension in the air was palpable as the small group of volunteers made their way toward the east. They moved in secret, careful to avoid any Orc patrols, their every step calculated.
The night before Rylah left, Ashar found her standing by the edge of the stronghold, looking out at the horizon.
"You'll be back," Ashar said quietly.
Rylah turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "I won't fail you. We won't fail."
Ashar nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. He had come to rely on Rylah, not just as a fighter but as someone who understood him. He had no idea what lay ahead for them, but he knew that this was a risk they had to take.
With that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Ashar with the responsibility of leading the survivors and preparing for what was to come.
***
The following days were tense, filled with preparations for the Orcs' inevitable counterattack. Ashar's mind raced as he planned the next steps—how to gather resources, how to train his people faster, how to survive. Every day felt like it could be his last, and the weight of leadership threatened to crush him.
But through it all, one thing remained clear in Ashar's heart: they would not be slaves again. No matter the cost, no matter the enemy, he would see it through.
Their survival depended on it.
And so, as Ashar stood on the edge of the stronghold, looking down at the people who had put their faith in him, he made a vow to himself, to them, and to the memory of his fallen family.
He would not let the Orcs take anything from them ever again.