The wind howled through the mountains, and Ashar stood at the edge of the stronghold, gazing out over the horizon. The cold bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the decision he had made. The peace he had won by uniting the first village was fragile, a thread hanging by a single strand. Other villages had yet to agree, and time was running out. The Orcs would not wait.
"You've been out here a while," Rylah's voice cut through the stillness, and Ashar turned to see her approach. "Worried about the others?"
He didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to watch the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. It wasn't just the weather that troubled him—it was the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Every moment felt like it could be his last.
"I'm not worried," Ashar finally said, his voice thick with the weight of responsibility. "But I know I can't do this alone. If the other villages don't join us, we'll be fighting a losing battle. We need their support, and not just for food and weapons. We need their fighters."
Rylah stepped closer, her brow furrowed. "You're right. The odds are stacked against us, and you're asking for a lot. Some of these villages don't even know what to think about you, Ashar. You're an outsider to them. What happens if they don't join?"
"I can't afford to think about that," Ashar said, his voice steady but tense. "We have to make them see what's at stake. The Orcs won't stop until they've crushed every last one of us. If we don't unite now, we'll fall one by one. I'm not going to let that happen."
Rylah's eyes softened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she looked toward the road leading out of the stronghold, as if expecting someone to come. "The next village will be more difficult. It's larger, more established. They'll be harder to sway."
Ashar nodded. He had heard rumors about the next village—a place of power and wealth, where the leaders were known for their self-interest and greed. They were the kind of people who only cared about their own survival, and he wasn't sure how they would respond to a plea for help.
"We'll make them see reason," Ashar said, determination returning to his voice. "If they want to survive, they'll have no choice but to join us."
***
The road to Blackstone was long, winding through thick forests and over rocky hills. Ashar had gathered a small group of his most trusted fighters, Rylah among them. The rest of the stronghold was busy with preparations—building defenses, training soldiers, and making sure the stronghold could withstand the Orcs' inevitable assault.
Blackstone was a strategic location—perched on a plateau overlooking a wide valley, it was well-fortified and difficult to attack. It was also wealthy, known for its trade routes and rich farmlands. The people of Blackstone had never been enslaved by the Orcs, and for that reason, they viewed Ashar's struggle with suspicion. The villagers there had their own problems—problems that they believed were more pressing than the war with the Orcs.
"I've heard the stories," one of Ashar's fighters, Kess, said as they marched along the road. "The people of Blackstone are proud. They'll never kneel to anyone. They don't care about our fight."
"They'll care when the Orcs come knocking," Ashar replied, his gaze fixed ahead. "This isn't about kneeling. This is about survival."
The journey took several days, and as they neared Blackstone, Ashar's thoughts turned darker. The village was known for its wealth, but Ashar couldn't shake the feeling that they would face more resistance than he was ready for. His plea for help could easily be rejected, and if that happened, they would be left with fewer options. The tension weighed heavily on him.
Rylah broke the silence, sensing his unease. "You're thinking too much," she said, her voice quiet. "We've come this far. They'll join us. They have to."
Ashar shot her a glance. "It's not that simple, Rylah. Blackstone isn't like the other villages. They've never faced the kind of horrors we have. They don't understand what the Orcs are capable of."
"They will," she said, her voice firm. "Once they see it for themselves. You've always said that our strength comes from showing others what we've been through."
Ashar wasn't convinced, but he didn't argue. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He had come this far, and he would not let his doubts hinder him now.
***
When they finally reached Blackstone, Ashar was greeted with wary eyes and guarded expressions. The town's walls loomed large, and Ashar could feel the weight of the village's history pressing down on him. Blackstone wasn't just a village—it was a symbol of defiance. For generations, they had withstood every attack, every threat, and they were proud of it.
The guards at the gate gave them a hard look but allowed them entry. Ashar was led to the heart of the village, where the leaders gathered in a grand hall. The room was filled with the smell of burning wood and the hum of quiet conversation. There were a dozen or so men and women seated around a large wooden table, all with their eyes fixed on Ashar as he entered.
"You're the one who's been stirring up trouble," one of the men said. His voice was gruff, his eyes hard. "Ashar, was it? The man who claims to have survived the Orcs' wrath."
"That's right," Ashar said, his voice calm but forceful. "And I've come to offer you an alliance. The Orcs are coming, and they won't stop until they've wiped out every human they can find."
The room fell silent, and Ashar could feel the weight of their judgment on him. Some of them exchanged looks, while others simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
"We've fought the Orcs," Ashar said, his voice unwavering. "And we won. But we can't do it alone. We need your help. We need your fighters, your supplies, and your strength. If we don't stand together, the Orcs will crush us."
One of the women at the table, a tall figure with dark hair and piercing eyes, leaned forward. "You speak of war as though it's a simple matter. We have our own concerns, Ashar. Our people are safe here. What makes you think we should risk everything on your promise of victory?"
Ashar clenched his fists, feeling the weight of their doubt. "Because if we don't unite, we'll all fall. The Orcs will come for everyone, and there won't be anyone left to defend this place."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "And if we do join you? What do we get out of this?"
Ashar met her gaze, his expression unwavering. "Survival. Nothing more, nothing less. We have a chance to fight back. But only if we stand together."
For a long moment, the room was silent. Then, one by one, the leaders nodded, their expressions a mixture of wariness and reluctant agreement.
"We'll join you," the woman said, her voice soft but firm. "But this better not be another empty promise, Ashar. If we fight, we fight to win."
"I understand," Ashar said, a sense of relief flooding through him. "Victory is ours."