The settlement was still crude, with its fences hastily constructed and its structures cobbled together from salvaged ship parts and newly felled timber. Yet, amidst the fresh foundations and the faint scent of sawdust, there was life. Families bustled to set up homes, fishermen repaired their nets, and hunters ventured cautiously into the surrounding forests.

  Emmet watched the activity from a small rise near the center of the settlement, his spear planted firmly in the ground beside him. The wind carried with it the scent of salt and earth, a reminder of the blend of hope and harsh reality that defined their new life.

  “Looks like progress,” Tabitha said as she joined him, her cloak trailing slightly in the breeze. She handed him a small loaf of bread—still rough and unsalted, but better than the rations they’d endured on the ship.

  “Progress,” Emmet echoed, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “But it’s fragile. A single attack could undo everything.”

  Tabitha nodded. “We’ve seen that before. Too many times.”

  As the settlement grew, so too did the divide among the survivors. While most were focused on rebuilding, a smaller, more vocal group burned with anger and a thirst for vengeance. They gathered at night, their whispered conversations laced with frustration and determination.

  Emmet wasn’t surprised when one of their unofficial leaders, a wiry man named Brannan, approached him. Brannan’s face was lined with scars, his eyes sharp and unyielding.

  “We can’t just sit here,” Brannan said, his voice low but insistent. “Marcus and his kind destroyed our home. They’ll come for us again if we don’t strike first.”

  Emmet met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “And what do you propose? Marching back with barely trained fighters and a handful of supplies?”

  Brannan’s jaw tightened. “We’ll do what we have to. You’re a fighter, Emmet. You know as well as I do that this isn’t over. We can’t just hide.”

  Emmet sighed, gripping the shaft of his spear tightly. “We’re not hiding. We’re rebuilding. That’s the only way we’ll survive in the long run.”

  Brannan’s voice rose slightly, frustration seeping into his tone. “And what happens when they find us again? Do you think they’ll give us the time to fortify this place?”

  Emmet studied him for a long moment before speaking. “You’re right about one thing—this isn’t over. But rushing into another fight will only get more of us killed. If you want revenge, plan it. Train for it. But don’t jeopardize the people who are counting on us to lead.”

  Brannan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded grudgingly. “Fine. But don’t expect us to wait forever.”

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  Behind closed doors, Emmet met with Tabitha, Doramm, and a few of the settlement’s other key figures.

  “They’re restless,” Tabitha said, pacing the room. “And Brannan isn’t the only one. There’s a growing number who feel the same way.”

  Emmet leaned against the table, his fingers tracing the map they had begun to sketch of their new land. “I know. And I don’t blame them. But we can’t afford to lose focus. Revenge doesn’t build walls or feed families.”

  Doramm stood silently by the door, his armor faintly reflecting the lamplight. When he finally spoke, his voice was as cold and resonant as ever. “Vengeance is a weapon best wielded with precision. Let them temper their anger into strength, but do not let it consume them.”

  Tabitha stopped pacing and turned to Emmet. “What do you want to do?”

  “We let them plan,” Emmet said after a moment. “Let them train. But we make it clear that their actions won’t compromise the settlement. If they want to fight, they’ll do it on our terms.”

  Over the following weeks, Brannan’s group began to organize more openly, their training sessions held on the outskirts of the settlement. Emmet made a point of watching from time to time, offering advice when asked but otherwise staying out of their way.

  Brannan’s recruits were rough, many of them barely able to swing a blade without stumbling. But their determination was undeniable, and under his guidance, they began to show signs of improvement.

  Meanwhile, Emmet focused on fortifying the settlement. With Tabitha’s magic and the talents of the other budding spellcasters, they reinforced the walls and devised rudimentary wards to alert them to potential threats. Doramm oversaw the construction of watchtowers, his silent presence a constant reminder of the stakes they faced.

  One evening, Emmet found himself sitting by the fire, staring into the flames. The settlement was quiet, the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the murmur of wind through the trees.

  “You’re worried,” Tabitha said as she joined him, her voice soft.

  “I always am,” Emmet admitted. “I keep thinking about Haven’s Reach. How quickly it all fell apart.”

  Tabitha sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap. “This place isn’t Haven’s Reach. It’s smaller, younger. But it has something Haven’s Reach didn’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You,” she said simply. “You’ve learned from your mistakes. You’re leading with caution, not just hope. That makes a difference.”

  Emmet’s gaze flicked to her, then back to the fire. “I don’t feel like much of a leader. Half the time, I’m just reacting to what’s in front of me.”

  Tabitha smiled faintly. “That’s what leading is. It’s not about knowing all the answers—it’s about moving forward, even when you don’t have them.”

  As the days turned into weeks, the settlement began to take on the shape of a true community. Gardens sprouted where barren ground had once been, children played in the shadow of watchtowers, and the tension that had gripped the survivors since their arrival began to ease.

  But Emmet knew the peace was fragile. The Crown’s Wrath was still out there, and Marcus Azkalin was not the type to leave unfinished business.

  Late one night, as the settlement slept, Emmet stood at the edge of the camp, his spear resting against his shoulder. The ocean stretched out before him, the moon casting its light across the waves.

  “We’ll be ready,” he murmured to himself, the words more of a promise than a statement. “When the time comes, we’ll be ready.”

  Behind him, the faint glow of Tabitha’s wards flickered in the darkness, a silent sentinel against the threats that lay beyond the horizon.