Ashar stood on the balcony of the stronghold's newly constructed tower, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the land. It had been months since the battle with Gorn, and while their victory was celebrated, the aftermath weighed heavily on Ashar's mind. The stronghold, still incomplete in many places, was bustling with activity. But beneath the surface of success, the cracks were beginning to show.
Rylah approached, her footsteps quiet but determined. "Thinking about the next move?" she asked, leaning against the stone wall beside him.
Ashar's fingers clenched the railing, his knuckles turning white. "Always. But sometimes, I wonder if we're moving fast enough. The Orcs will retaliate, and I need to be ready."
Rylah studied him, her eyes narrowing. "We've been making progress. The men and women you've trained—they're ready for whatever comes next. You've built a foundation, Ashar. A strong one."
He shook his head, frustration building. "That's the problem. I've built a foundation, but not enough people are behind me. And the ones who are? They follow me because they have no other choice. I'm their king, but I'm still... just a man with a crown."
Rylah's voice softened. "You're more than that. You've earned their loyalty, Ashar. Don't doubt that."
But Ashar's mind was far from reassured. The responsibility that came with leadership was suffocating. Every decision felt like it would tip the scales of the war—one wrong move, and everything could crumble. As a former slave, the weight of ruling over others was both a gift and a curse.
He turned to face her, his expression hardening. "The Orcs have been quiet for too long. They're plotting something. And I—" He paused, wrestling with his words. "I can't just sit here waiting for them to come. If we don't strike first, we'll be buried under their boot once again."
Rylah met his gaze, her brow furrowing. "Ashar, you're not alone in this. You've gathered allies—more than just fighters. The human villages, the ones willing to stand with us—they're key to this."
He exhaled sharply, looking out again at the horizon. "But they're hesitant. The Orcs might be ruthless, but some of these villages don't trust me. They still see me as a former slave, not a leader. And I can't blame them. I was one of them."
"Trust is something we earn, not demand," Rylah replied. "And you're earning it. One step at a time."
Ashar fell silent, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. The memory of his life as a slave, the suffering, the cruelty of the Orcs—it gnawed at him. He would never forget what they had done to his people. But as he looked around, seeing the faces of those who had followed him out of the ashes of captivity, Ashar began to realize that vengeance was no longer just about killing Orcs. It was about liberating his people and securing a future where they could stand on their own.
But the question remained—how far was he willing to go to achieve that future? How many would he sacrifice in the name of revenge? And what kind of leader did he want to be?
"Have you heard anything from the Orc factions?" Ashar asked, breaking the silence.
Rylah's face tightened. "There's been movement. Gorn's death stirred something in their ranks. I've heard whispers—there's a power struggle, but no clear leader has emerged yet."
Ashar clenched his fists. "I can use that. If the Orcs are divided, now is the time to strike. I'll need to speak with the village leaders. We can't waste any more time."
He turned, striding back into the stronghold. The air inside was thick with the hum of activity—workers, blacksmiths, and soldiers all moving with purpose. Ashar felt the pull of leadership once again. It was a heavy mantle, but it was his to bear.
As he entered the war room, the village leaders were already assembled. Their faces were a mixture of hope and doubt, the kind of expression that only comes from knowing what's at stake but not fully understanding how to win the battle.
"Gather round," Ashar called, his voice firm. "We've spent too much time preparing. It's time to act."
The room fell silent. Rylah entered behind him, taking her place at the table. Ashar surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over each leader—village elders, former slaves, and those who had taken up arms. The tension in the room was palpable, but Ashar knew this was the moment.
"We've heard the Orcs are divided," he began. "And we're going to exploit that. I've gathered enough intelligence to know that their leadership is in turmoil. If we strike now, we can throw them into disarray and cripple their forces before they even have the chance to retaliate."
One of the village leaders, an older man with a weathered face, spoke up. "And you think the villages will follow this plan? The Orcs are powerful, Ashar. They've always been stronger. We're not prepared for full-scale war."
Ashar's gaze hardened. "We're not just fighting them. We're fighting for our freedom. I know it's dangerous, but we've been living in fear for too long. If we don't act, we'll never be free."
Another leader, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, nodded. "He's right. The Orcs have kept us in chains for years. If we don't take the fight to them, we'll die as slaves."
Ashar looked around the table, meeting each leader's gaze. "I need you all to trust me. We have the chance to strike first, to force them to retreat. But we must be swift. We hit their weak points, exploit their divisions, and keep them off balance. If we succeed, they'll be too scattered to mount a coordinated counterattack."
Rylah stepped forward, her voice steady. "The villages can't just sit idle either. We need supplies, reinforcements, and we need them fast. We'll need to spread word of our strike, rally support."
Ashar turned his attention back to the table. "We don't have time for hesitation. This is our moment. Prepare your people. We strike at dawn."
The leaders exchanged looks, the weight of Ashar's words sinking in. There was no turning back now.