Charlie remembered the conversation vividly, even years later. He'd been eleven and a half, old enough to notice when things didn't feel right, when the world around him started shifting in ways the adults didn't talk about but couldn't hide. It had been about a month since his father started cultivating, and though the changes weren't dramatic, they were there. His father's words felt heavier, his movements more deliberate, and his presence more commanding.
It was late afternoon when his father called him over, the sun dipping low and painting the settlement in long, golden shadows. Charlie had been helping reset traps near the outer wall, his hands dusty and scraped when his father's voice cut through the air. "Charlie," he called. "Come with me."
His father didn't wait for an answer, just turned and walked toward the treeline. Charlie hesitated for a moment, wiping his hands on his shirt before following. There was something in his father's tone that set his stomach twisting—a seriousness that wasn't new, but sharper than usual.
When they stopped, his father leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his gaze distant. For a moment, he didn't speak, and Charlie stood still, waiting.
"Son," his father finally said, his voice calm but firm, "we need to talk. Just us."
Charlie nodded, his throat tight. His father wasn't angry—it never felt like anger—but there was a weight in his voice that made Charlie brace himself.
"This settlement is our home," his father began, looking out past Charlie, toward the woods. "Everything we've built, everything we've worked for—it's here. But the world outside these walls is changing, faster than most people realize. And faster than the council wants to admit."
Charlie frowned. He'd overheard pieces of the council's meetings, the endless back-and-forth about food stores, defenses, and what the Pillar meant for them. It had always felt like noise, something for adults to worry about. But hearing his father speak now made it feel real.
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked carefully.
His father sighed, rubbing a hand across his beard. "The council… they mean well. But they're afraid. Afraid of making the wrong decision, afraid of upsetting people, afraid of moving too quickly. And while they argue, the world is moving forward. The warlord's men? They're already cultivating. The beasts? They're getting stronger. And the message from the Pillar? That wasn't just a warning—it was a challenge. A test. One we can't afford to fail."
Charlie's thoughts raced, trying to piece together what his father was saying. He'd always known his father to act when others hesitated. But this sounded different—bigger, heavier.
"What are you going to do?" he asked quietly.
His father straightened, his eyes steady. "I'm going to lead," he said simply.
Charlie blinked. "Lead? You mean… you're going to take over?"
His father nodded. "I'm going to do what's necessary. The council isn't making the choices we need. They don't see what's coming, and they won't act fast enough to keep us safe. Someone has to. Not for power, not for control, but because this settlement needs someone willing to take the risk."
Charlie hesitated, unsure of what to say. He admired his father—always had. But the idea of him stepping in and taking control felt… strange.
"Will it work?" Charlie asked, his voice cautious.
His father smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. "It has to," he said. "There's no other choice. The world outside these walls doesn't care about debates or hesitation. If we don't act now, we won't survive."
Charlie nodded, though the knot in his stomach hadn't eased. He wanted to believe his father, to trust that what he was doing was right. But there was a quiet unease in the back of his mind, a feeling he didn't have the words for yet.
Years later, looking back on that conversation, Charlie understood why. His father hadn't been wrong about the danger or the urgency. But good intentions didn't always lead to good outcomes. His father's choices had shaped the settlement's future, but they'd come at a cost. At eleven and a half, Charlie hadn't been able to see it. But as an adult, the memory still lingered, sharper than any scar.