The war against Vale was no longer just a battle of swords and men—it had become a war of attrition, a test of patience, strategy, and endurance. The supply raids had weakened him, but not enough. He had adapted, adjusting his patrols and reinforcing key routes. His forces were still disciplined, his grip over his lands firm. If they wanted to break him, they needed to take something he couldn't immediately replace.
Tyrell's scouts returned just before dawn, their faces lined with exhaustion but victorious in their mission. They had spent five days moving through enemy-controlled land, gathering intelligence on Vale's critical supply depots. Alexander studied the maps they had drawn, noting three locations of interest—Stonebridge Outpost, Redhill Storehouse, and the Twin Camps.
Silas traced a finger over Redhill Storehouse. "This is the best target. It's lightly guarded but holds the majority of his food reserves. Taking it out will force Vale to scramble for alternative sources, weakening his frontline troops."
Elias, standing with his arms crossed, nodded. "Then we hit it hard and fast. No extended fights, no unnecessary risks. We strike, burn it down, and disappear before his men know what happened."
Alexander considered the approach. A direct attack on Vale's storehouses would escalate the war, but it was a necessary move. If they only hit supply caravans, he would keep adjusting. Destroying a depot, however, would deal a deeper wound—one that wouldn't heal overnight. He met the eyes of his gathered commanders and made his decision. "We move tomorrow night. No fresh recruits—only experienced fighters. We go in fast and hit hard. Once the fires start, we retreat."
The plan was set. As night fell, Emberhold's warriors prepared for the strike.
While war loomed, the town itself continued to grow. The construction of permanent housing had become a priority, but the sheer amount of stone required for fortifications and structures had slowed progress. Owen had managed to secure a quarry to the southwest, but even with steady labor, the process was inefficient.
Alexander visited the quarry that afternoon, standing on a ridge overlooking the workers below. The process was slow—men using hammers and chisels, breaking stone piece by piece before hauling it to waiting carts. Gareth stood beside him, his arms crossed as he watched the struggle.
"This won't be enough," Gareth muttered. "We need more stone, faster."
Alexander nodded. "Then we make the process more efficient." He knelt and picked up a piece of shattered rock, examining the way it had fractured. "What if we pre-cut the stone before breaking it? Guide the fractures so we don't waste effort?"
Gareth frowned. "How?"
Alexander grabbed a stick and started sketching in the dirt. "Instead of striking randomly, we carve thin grooves along the stone first—controlled fault lines. Then we use wooden wedges soaked in water."
Gareth's eyes widened slightly as he caught on. "The wood swells as it absorbs the water—expanding inside the grooves and splitting the stone naturally. Less brute force, less waste."
"Exactly," Alexander said. "It'll make cutting more precise and require fewer swings to break each block. We don't need to reinvent mining—just make it smarter."
Gareth smirked. "I'll have the masons try it. If it works, we'll double our stone production by next month."
With that, Emberhold's first step toward industrial efficiency was set in motion.
That evening, the people of Emberhold gathered to witness the raising of their first official banner. The town was no longer a loose collection of survivors—it was a community with an identity, a purpose. A tall wooden pole had been erected in the town square, where their colors would fly for the first time.
As the cloth unfurled, murmurs of approval spread through the gathered crowd. A crimson field stretched across the banner, bold and striking, symbolizing the struggles and bloodshed that had built their home. At its center, a black anvil stood, representing the forging of strength through hardship.
Above the anvil, a silver phoenix spread its wings, rising from smoldering embers—a symbol of resilience, of rebirth from destruction. It was a reminder that Emberhold had not simply survived—it had been reforged into something stronger.
Below the anvil, two silver swords pointed downward, a deliberate choice. Unlike most war banners, which depicted swords raised in aggression, these blades symbolized strength through stability, discipline, and defense. Emberhold was not a kingdom seeking conquest—it was a stronghold, a home that would be protected at all costs.
Silas stepped forward, addressing the gathered settlers. "This flag represents what we've built together. From ashes and hardship, we forged a home. Let it be a symbol of our strength and unity."
The banner was hoisted, unfurling as it caught the evening breeze. A cheer erupted from the crowd, not wild or raucous, but steady—like an ember glowing in the dark, promising to grow into something greater.
Elias smirked, nudging Alexander. "Looks good, doesn't it?"
Alexander simply nodded. It was a small step, but an important one.
Now, Emberhold had something to rally behind.
That night, the warriors of Emberhold moved like shadows. Thirty men—no more, no less. They traveled light, making their way through the hills toward Redhill Storehouse. By midnight, they had reached their target.
The storehouse was a simple structure, wooden and unassuming, but filled with Vale's vital supplies. A low palisade surrounded it, with only a dozen guards patrolling the perimeter.
Alexander knelt beside Tyrell, scanning the defenses. "We hit fast. Fire first, then take down anyone trying to stop us."
A moment later, the first arrow soared through the night, its tip wrapped in oil-soaked cloth.
The storehouse ignited instantly.
Guards shouted in alarm, scrambling to put out the flames, but Emberhold's warriors struck from the darkness. Knives flashed, arrows found their marks, and within minutes, the battle was over.
The fire raged, consuming the grain and food supplies. By the time the last ember died, Vale had lost one of his most vital storage sites.
As they slipped back into the night, Elias grinned. "That'll send a message."
Alexander exhaled, watching the glow of the fire fade behind them. One down. More to go.