Side Story 3.6: The Village's Changes - Red Peerce POV
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Days Before Formal Village Council Inauguration
The evening wind carried the scent of pine and distant cooking fires as Red Peerce stood atop the Zone 1 wall, hands resting on the rough-hewn timber he'd helped raise alongside his fellow villagers. The sun dipped toward the western horizon, painting the endless canopy of the Lonelywoods in shades of amber and crimson. From this vantage point, he could see the entire original village—the manor houses arranged in careful rows, the communal spaces where children played, the gardens that fed them all, and the people who'd become his new family.
Tomorrow, he will formally assume the role of Village Chief.
The thought still felt surreal, almost absurd. Red Peerce, a hunter by trade, thrust into the highest administrative position in Maya Village. He'd never imagined such a path for himself. Leadership, yes—he'd led hunting parties back in his original village hundreds of kilometers from here, coordinating small teams through dangerous terrain and unpredictable prey. But that was tactical leadership, immediate and concrete. This? This was something else entirely.
"You're thinking too much again," came a familiar voice. Theresa, his wife, approached with her characteristic quiet grace, carrying two wooden cups of warm herbal tea. "I can see the weight settling on your shoulders from across the village."
Red accepted the cup gratefully, wrapping his weathered hands around its warmth. "Tomorrow changes everything."
"Tomorrow formalizes what you've already been doing for months," Theresa corrected gently, standing beside him and surveying their home. "You've been acting as village chief in all but name since August stepped down. The ceremony just makes it official."
"That's what worries me." Red took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle him. "I'm a hunter, Theresa. I track beasts, read weather patterns, and coordinate small teams. I know how to read beast behavior and anticipate their movements. But administering a village? Managing resources, resolving disputes, making decisions that affect hundreds of lives? That requires skills I was never trained for."
"You have the skills that matter most," Theresa said firmly. "You're calm under pressure. Patient when patience is needed. Decisive when action is required. You observe before acting. You listen before speaking. These are the qualities that matter in leadership, Red. The administrative details? Those can be learned. The character? That's already there."
Red wanted to believe her, but doubt gnawed at him. "August was twelve, even younger when he led this village through its darkest days. Twelve years old, and he held everyone together after his, this village's massacre. He made decisions that kept us, as the new people alive when any misstep could have killed us all. And here I am, a grown man, terrified of a role a child handled with more grace than I probably ever will."
"August wasn't a normal child," Theresa reminded him. "He never was. That boy carried burdens that would have crushed most adults. The fact that he survived it, that he kept the village alive through it—that's extraordinary. But it also broke something in him, Red. You saw it. We all saw it."
Red nodded slowly, memory pulling him back to darker times.
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The Weight August Carried
It had been Year 0002 when they'd first encountered August Finn—though "encountered" seemed too gentle a word for that fateful meeting. Red, Theresa, Jonathan Ross, Christopher Harti, and the two siblings Adam and Isabel were fleeing from the clutches of that bastard Rommel when they had stumbled into the forest near Maya Village's territory. They had met August and the rest—Jonathan's own child Angeline included—in the forest, which had saved them from their doom as the Grimfangs had surrounded them.
They'd expected death. Instead, they'd found a group of masked individuals who called on their knowledge of the forest to lure the beasts' attention away from them.
The massacre had already occurred a year or so before their first meeting. Twenty-one founding families, generations of accumulated knowledge and community, were wiped out in a single night of violence—although August recounted three families who had left the village beforehand, their status unknown even to him. Imperial soldiers had raided the illegal settlement, and what they hadn't killed, they'd burned. The bodies had already been buried—small graves in neat rows that spoke of a child trying desperately to honor the dead with whatever dignity he could manage.
August had been alone for the first few months until a cold and hungry Angeline appeared. He had found her almost completely frozen in the abandoned house he had converted earlier as a warehouse for most of the useful miscellaneous things the village still had. The winter cold had already settled, and he nourished her back to health. Then he wasn't utterly alone anymore. A nine-year-old boy, surrounded by the graves of everyone he'd ever known, in a village that by all rights should have been his tomb as well.
After spring came, they realized he also had to bury Angeline's mother next to his parents and sister. It must have gnawed at him. And then a few years later, Christopher also died. They realized August must have buried more people close to him than they ever could in their combined lifetimes.
Most children would have died within days. Starvation, dehydration, wild beasts, simple despair—any of a hundred deaths waited for a lone child in the Great Forest. But August Finn was not most children.
He'd survived. Somehow, impossibly, he'd survived. And when Red's desperate group had arrived, wounded and starving from many days of perilous travel, August had saved them too, just like he'd saved Angeline, Erik, Betty, and Bren. He had compassion, even if he wasn't yet the person they would come to know. They knew something was fundamentally wrong with August. No child should have experienced such harshness, he had been thrust into a reality he never wished or asked for at such an early age. He was a ticking time bomb who had managed to bottle everything deep within—for now.
The boy had shared his supplies, offered them shelter in his own house—the house his family had lived in—and tended their wounds with medicines salvaged from the village stores. He'd been calm, eerily calm, moving through tasks with mechanical precision that spoke of someone operating on pure survival instinct.
It was only later, after they'd recovered enough to understand the full scope of what had happened, that they'd realized the truth: August Finn had kept himself alive through sheer force of will, and he'd extended that same stubborn refusal to die to everyone who entered his sphere of protection.
"He was always going to be a leader," Red said quietly, the memory sharp despite the years. "Even at nine. Even drowning in trauma. He led because someone had to, and he was the only one left who knew how this village worked."
"And it nearly destroyed him," Theresa added, her voice heavy with old pain. "Watching him try to be what everyone needed—a leader, a symbol, a source of strength—when he should have been allowed to be a child processing impossible grief... It was heartbreaking."
Red remembered those early years with crystal clarity. August, age ten to twelve, making decisions about food rationing, security protocols, and survival strategies. Organizing work parties. Settling disputes. Planning for the future. All while carrying the weight of being the sole survivor, the living memorial to two hundred years of village history.
The boy had held himself together through sheer discipline and necessity. But cracks had appeared. Red had seen them—the moments when August would stand at the graves, silent and motionless for hours. The nights when he'd wake screaming from nightmares he never discussed. The way his hands would shake when making decisions that affected lives, terrified that one wrong choice would lead to more death.
And then Christopher died.
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The Breaking Point
Year 0003. Christopher—not a founding family member but an early refugee who came with Red and his group, who'd become one of August's closest friends, almost a big brother—killed during an ambush by Corvus Syndicate bloodhounds. The attack had been meant to eliminate Cornick Sandeval, the former Corvus captain who'd found sanctuary in Maya Village. Christopher had died protecting the village, defending a former enemy who'd sought redemption.
Red closed his eyes, remembering. August had been twelve by then, already bearing scars no child should carry. Christopher's death had been the final weight on an already overburdened soul.
August had blamed himself. As party leader, as the one who'd accepted Sandeval into the village despite the risks, as the one who'd organized the defense—he'd taken full responsibility for Christopher's death. The guilt had been crushing.
That was when August had stepped down from formal leadership.
The words August actually spoke that day had been brief, almost clinical: *"In this meeting, I am officially stepping down from the role I've been given. A new kind of leadership needs to be established, and the chosen leader will guide our village into whatever future awaits us."*
But what Red and the others heard—what they understood beneath those measured words—was a child screaming in pain. A boy who'd buried too many people, carried too much responsibility, made too many impossible choices. The formal declaration was controlled, but the anguish behind it was deafening to those who knew him.
It had been the most mature decision Red had ever witnessed—recognizing his own limitations, asking for help, admitting he needed space to heal. But it had also left a void.
Someone had to lead. The village couldn't function without administrative coordination. And while they'd established informal leadership structures, they needed something more formal, more stable.
That's when August had approached Red. The night prior to the official declaration at the graves, Red had already known that August chose him instead of Jonathan, his friend. August must have made his decision even back then.
"You should be Village Chief, Uncle Red," August had said simply. "You have the temperament for it. You're calm, thoughtful, fair. People trust you. You're a natural mediator. And unlike me, you actually chose to be here. You chose this life, this village. That matters."
"I'm just a hunter," Red had protested.
"Uncle, you're more than that. You've always been more than that. You just haven't realized it yet."
And now, years later, standing on the wall with his wife beside him and the formal inauguration scheduled for tomorrow, Red still wondered if August had been right.
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Growth Through Adversity
"Tell me about the kids," Red said, changing the subject from his own doubts. "How is Adam handling things?"
Theresa's expression softened—the universal look of a mother thinking about her children. "He's grown so much. Sometimes I look at him and barely recognize the boy we brought here. Team One has been good for him, even with all the danger. Having purpose, being part of something important—it's shaped him into someone strong."
"And Isabel?"
"She's found her place too. The training, the magic study with Master Ben, being part of the elite unit—she's thriving, Red. Both our children are thriving in ways they never could have in our old village."
"How about little Griz and Hela?" Red asked his wife about their two new children, born during the village's baby boom.
"Both doing mischievous things around the house," Theresa chuckled, as if she remembered how they always bothered everyone with their cute antics.
Red nodded slowly. It was true. Adam and Isabel, now young adults, had become integral parts of Team One, Maya Village's elite combat unit. They'd trained alongside August and the others, mastering skills Red had never dreamed his children would possess. Combat, magic, tactics, leadership—they'd grown from refugee children into formidable defenders of their new home.
"August pushed them," Red mused. "Pushed all of them. Erik, Betty, Bren, Angeline. Even Milo, despite joining later. He saw potential in them and demanded they reach it."
"He gave them what he never had," Theresa observed. "Structure. Training. Guidance. A path to follow. August had to figure everything out alone. He made sure they didn't have to."
The sound of laughter drifted up from below—Team One, gathered around one of the communal fire pits, sharing a meal and stories. Red could see them from his vantage point: Adam's broad shoulders and easy grin, Isabel's graceful movements as she helped serve food, Erik's animated gestures as he recounted some story, Betty and Angeline's shared laughter at something Bren had said.
They looked like normal young people. Happy, even. It was easy to forget they were the village's deadliest fighters, responsible for security and defense against threats that would terrify most adults.
"They deserve to be children sometimes," Red said quietly. "Even if they can't ever really be children again."
"None of the children here can truly be children," Theresa agreed sadly. "Not in a place like this, where survival depends on everyone contributing. But at least they have moments. Joy, friendship, laughter. That's more than August had at their age."
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The Migrants and the New Beginning
The true transformation of Maya Village had begun in Year 0004, when August and the rest of the children had returned from their almost one-year journey into the wider world, accompanied by Andy Shoor and bringing news of potential migrants through sparse contact with his master Aetherwing, which the beast then relayed to them as to their whereabouts.
Red remembered the day August had proposed the idea—recruiting refugee families to join the village, bringing in skilled workers to revitalize the dying settlement. It had been ambitious, perhaps crazy. But August had learned much during his travels about the world beyond the Great Forest, about the kingdoms' politics and the refugee crisis plaguing the northern regions which they traveled to.
"There are families out there desperate for safety," August had explained to the gathered villagers. "Skilled workers—farmers, hunters, craftsmen—who've lost everything to war, banditry, or simple bad luck. They need a home. We need people. It's a natural match."
"But can we trust them?" someone had asked. "Strangers in our village, learning our secrets, knowing our location?"
"We were strangers once," Red had replied. "Theresa, Jonathan, all of us who came after the massacre—we were strangers. And you trusted us. We proved worthy of that trust. These families deserve the same chance."
It had been Red who'd cast the deciding vote in favor of August's plan, trusting the boy's judgment even when his own uncertainty ran deep.
And August had been right.
The fifteen families who'd all arrived with him as a caravan of one hundred-plus people, all of them willingly wanting to take a chance at a new life in a frontier more dangerous than what they had encountered, but seeing August and Team One managing to protect them in their journey here—the trust naturally came with it. The agricultural specialists, the hunting experts, the construction families had transformed Maya Village from a dying ember into a thriving flame. The Greenfields brought revolutionary farming techniques. The Archers provided hunting expertise that expanded their food supply. The Stonehammers, Carpenters, and Masons literally rebuilt the village, expanding walls and constructing proper infrastructure.
Within three full years, Maya Village had gone from a settlement of desperate survivors to a genuine, functioning community.
"He did it," Red said with quiet awe. "A twelve-year-old boy saw what needed to be done and made it happen. Recruited families, convinced them to come to an illegal settlement in the Great Forest, integrated them into the community, and created something stable and growing."
"And then he has now officially handed leadership to you," Theresa pointed out. "Because he knew you'd maintain what he'd built while he continued growing in his own way."
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The Complexity of Sandeval's Redemption
The movement below caught Red's attention. Cornick Sandeval, the former Corvus Syndicate captain, was helping repair one of the communal garden fences, working alongside Aldric Greenfield. The two men laughed at some shared joke, tools in hand, comfortable in each other's company.
It still amazed Red sometimes—how completely Sandeval had integrated into village life. The man's past was dark, no question. As a captain in the Corvus Syndicate's slave trading operation, he'd been complicit in horrors Red could barely imagine. But he'd also been trapped, forced into service by an organization that killed those who tried to leave.
"I never wanted this life," Sandeval had confessed during his early days in the village, speaking to Red, August, and a few others. "I joined what I thought was a legitimate mercantile company—Zargos Mercantile. Good reputation, charitable works, fair trade. But that was just the front. Behind it lay the Corvus Syndicate, one of the darkest organizations in the underworld."
He'd been forced to participate in slave trading operations, threatened with death if he refused. And when he'd finally tried to retire after years of service, they'd given him one "final mission"—transporting a slave caravan through the Great Forest, a job specifically designed to get him killed by forest beasts, eliminating a potential liability who knew too many syndicate secrets.
The caravan had included Andy Shoor, Donna Campbell, Hiraya, and Adarna—all now valued village members. When Grimfangs attacked the caravan, the slaves had escaped. Sandeval, blamed for the failure, had fled for his life, eventually finding Maya Village's summer house where they were expanding it.
The Corvus Syndicate had sent bloodhounds to finish him. The resulting battle had cost Christopher his life but had also forged Sandeval's redemption. The man had helped alongside the villagers, no questions asked when they needed additional hands the most, after they lost Christopher along with August and Andy's departure, proving his genuine desire to break free from his past.
"Do you ever regret letting him stay?" Theresa asked, following Red's gaze.
"No," Red answered honestly. "Sandeval made terrible choices. He participated in evil. But he was also trapped in a system designed to prevent escape. And when given the chance to choose differently, he did. He's spent years proving himself, earning trust, and contributing to the community. Redemption has to be possible, Theresa. If we don't believe people can change, what hope is there for any of us?"
"August believed in redemption," Theresa noted. "Even at twelve, even after everything he'd lost, he still believed Sandeval deserved a chance. That's remarkable maturity for someone so young."
Red nodded. August's capacity for mercy, even when justice might have demanded otherwise, had shaped village culture in fundamental ways. They were a community of second chances, of people rebuilding lives after catastrophic loss. That philosophy came directly from August's leadership.
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Tomorrow's Ceremony
"Are you ready?" Theresa asked, bringing Red's attention back to the present. "For tomorrow?"
Red took a deep breath, surveying the village one more time. The walls they'd built together. The houses where families slept safely. The gardens and fields that fed them. The people who'd become more than neighbors—true community.
"I'm terrified," he admitted. "But I'm also ready. Not because I think I'm the best person for this role, but because I understand now what August was trying to teach me. Leadership isn't about being the smartest or the most skilled. It's about being steady when others panic. Patient when tempers flare. Fair when biases push toward favoritism. Willing to listen before deciding. Humble enough to admit mistakes."
"And you have all those qualities," Theresa assured him.
"I hope so. Tomorrow, the council will be formally inaugurated. I'll become Village Chief. Jonathan will be officially recognized as Team Three Commander. You'll be Head of the Support Group. Axel Martin as Security Department Head. Andy Shoor as Merchant Group Manager. Master Ben and Aetherwing as honorary council members. August as Supreme Military Commander—though he insists that's only during wartime."
"It's a good structure," Theresa said. "Distributed leadership, multiple areas of expertise, checks and balances. August designed it well."
"He did. And now I need to make it work."
The sun had fully set now, stars emerging in the darkening sky. Below, lamps and fires began lighting throughout the village, warm spots of illumination against the encroaching darkness. The Great Forest surrounded them, vast and dangerous, but within these walls existed safety, community, purpose.
"Tell me honestly," Red said quietly. "Do you think August is okay? Really okay? He stepped down from leadership, traveled the world, learned and grew. But has he healed from what happened? From losing everyone, from Christopher's death, from all the weight he carried?"
Theresa was silent for a long moment, considering. "I think August is learning to live with his scars. He's not healed—I don't know if someone ever fully heals from that kind of trauma. But he's functional. He's found purpose. He's built something meaningful here. And he's surrounded by people who love him and won't let him shoulder everything alone anymore. That's not healing, exactly, but it's survival. And sometimes survival is enough."
"He's still so young," Red murmured. "Sixteen now. Should be worrying about apprenticeships or romance or what he wants to do with his life. Instead he's Supreme Military Commander, master tactician, bearer of a mysterious Personal System that makes him stronger than any normal human. He's lived three lifetimes worth of responsibility in sixteen years."
"Which is why having you as Village Chief matters," Theresa said firmly. "You can handle the day-to-day, the administration, the routine decisions. August can focus on security and strategy—the things he's genuinely exceptional at—without drowning in the weight of total leadership. That's the gift you're giving him, Red. Permission to be extraordinary in specific ways without having to be everything to everyone."
Red hadn't thought of it that way before. August stepping down from overall leadership wasn't failure or weakness—it was recognition that leadership could be distributed, that no one person had to carry everything.
"I can do that," Red said, feeling something settle in his chest. "I can be the steady hand on daily affairs. I can be the mediator, the administrator, the person who keeps things running smoothly so August and the others can focus on keeping us safe."
"That's exactly what you've been doing already," Theresa reminded him gently. "Tomorrow just makes it official."
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The Future
They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the village settle into its evening rhythm. Children called indoors for bed. Adults finished final tasks before rest. Guards changed shifts on the walls. The ordinary, precious rhythm of a functioning community.
"What do you think the future holds?" Red asked. "For us, for the village?"
"Growth," Theresa answered without hesitation. "More refugees will come—August's journey proved there are people desperate for safety. We'll expand, build more houses, maybe even grow into a proper town someday. The children will grow up, have children of their own. Maya Village will become more than a survivor settlement—it'll become a real home, with history and tradition and hope."
"That's a beautiful vision."
"It's August's vision," Theresa corrected. "He saw it when he was nine years old standing among graves. He saw that death didn't have to be the end. That survivors could rebuild. That from ashes, something new and possibly better could emerge. He's spent years making that vision real. Tomorrow, you become the guardian of that vision. Your job is to nurture it, protect it, and help it grow."
Red felt the weight of that responsibility, but also its rightness. This was what he was meant to do—not hunt game through the forest, though he'd still do that sometimes. But this: stewarding a community, helping it thrive, ensuring the vision August had sacrificed his childhood to build would continue flourishing.
"I won't let him down," Red said quietly. "I won't let any of you down."
"I know you won't," Theresa said, squeezing his hand. "Now come. Tomorrow is a big day, and you need rest. The wall will still be here in the morning."
Red took one last look at Maya Village—his home, his responsibility, his charge. Then he followed his wife down from the wall, through the familiar paths between houses, back to their own home where Adam, Isabel, and their two younger children would already be asleep, where warmth and family waited.
Tomorrow would bring a ceremony and formal recognition. But tonight, he was simply Red Peerce—hunter, husband, father, and soon-to-be Village Chief of a small, illegal, impossible settlement in the Great Forest that somehow, against all odds, had become a place worth protecting.
As he drifted off to sleep beside Theresa, Red's last conscious thought was a prayer: *Guide me. Help me be worthy of the trust they've placed in me. Help me protect what August built from the ashes. Help me lead with wisdom, compassion, and strength.*
Tomorrow, the real work will begin.
But tonight, he rested.