Chapter 11: August's Perspective and the Three Craftsmen
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 17-28 Month III: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 3rd month, 17th to 28th Day
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Under the Shadows of the Ancient Trees
The forest in the pre-dawn hours held a quality of silence that August had learned to treasure during his years in Lonelywoods. It was not true silence, of course. The nocturnal creatures were concluding their nightly activities while the diurnal ones were beginning to stir. Leaves rustled in gentle breezes. Water trickled through distant streams. The forest breathed with life even in these transitional moments between darkness and light.
August moved through this environment with the practiced ease of someone who had spent thousands of hours hunting in these woods. His footfalls made no sound despite the undergrowth. His breathing remained controlled and shallow. His presence seemed to dissolve into the forest itself, becoming just another shadow among the trees. It was a skill he had developed through desperate necessity in those first terrifying months after the original village's destruction, refined through years of hunting beasts that could kill him with casual ease if they detected his approach.
He had volunteered for this hunt several days ago, recognizing that he needed time away from the constant demands of village administration. The successful negotiations with the Empire had resolved the immediate existential crisis, but they had also created new pressures and responsibilities. The observation period loomed on the horizon, requiring careful preparation and strategic planning. The Council meetings never seemed to end. The construction projects demanded oversight. The military training required his personal attention.
Sometimes August felt like he was drowning in responsibilities, pulled in a dozen directions simultaneously by people who all had legitimate needs and reasonable expectations. He was only 16 years old, still technically an adolescent by the standards of most cultures, yet he carried the weight of an entire community's survival on his shoulders.
So he had escaped into the forest, seeking solitude and the simple clarity of the hunt. Here, the complications of politics and diplomacy did not matter. Here, success or failure was measured in clean terms: did you bring down your prey or did you return empty-handed? There was purity in that simplicity that August craved like a drowning man craves air.
The memory of his first hunts surfaced unbidden as he stalked through the undergrowth. He had been ten years old, alone in a forest that had suddenly become hostile territory after being the safe environment of his childhood. He had salvaged the old chief's basic bow from the ruins of the village, the weapon miraculously intact despite the destruction around it. That bow had become his lifeline, the tool that allowed him to eat when scavenging the village's hidden cellars was no longer sufficient.
His father's teachings about trap construction had saved his life more times than he could count. Simple snares for rabbiets and other small game, constructed from materials the forest provided freely. His mother's extensive knowledge of edible plants and herbs had prevented him from poisoning himself during those desperate early days when he was learning which forest offerings were safe and which were deadly.
His first successful hunt of a Boarat, a tusked forest pig that stood nearly as tall as his ten-year-old self, remained vivid in his memory despite the years that had passed. The terror of facing an animal that could easily kill him if the shot went wrong. The desperate focus required to place the arrow perfectly. The overwhelming relief when the beast fell and he knew he would eat well for days.
So much had changed since then, yet the fundamental skills remained the same.
A subtle rustling in the grass ahead brought August back to the present moment with sharp focus. His enhanced senses, refined by years of experience and augmented by his Personal System, picked up details that normal humans would have missed. The pattern of movement. The slight compression of vegetation. The almost imperceptible displacement of air.
A Cowdaer. The local hunters called them "Meadow Moooo-se" in rough translation, massive herbivores that combined features of cattle and deer in proportions that seemed impossible but somehow worked. They were incredibly rare in this region of Lonelywoods, skittish creatures with preternatural speed that allowed them to vanish into dense forest at the first hint of danger. The village hunters had reported seeing signs of Cowdaers returning to the area this year, but actually bringing one down required skill and luck in equal measure.
August's mind immediately began calculating. A full-grown Cowdaer would provide almost ten tons of premium meat, enough to feed the celebration he had been planning for tonight. The hide would be valuable for leather work. The antlers could be carved into tools or decorative pieces. Nothing would be wasted.
But more than the practical considerations, August felt a hunter's pride at the opportunity to take such challenging prey. It would be a test of his skills, a validation that he had not gone soft from spending too much time in village administration and not enough time in the forest that had forged him.
He began stalking the Cowdaer with patient precision, moving when it grazed and freezing when it raised its head to scan for threats. The approach took nearly an hour, advancing meter by meter, always staying downwind, always maintaining cover. The beast was massive, easily 10 meters at the shoulder, with antlers that spread another three meters across. Those antlers could impale a human with casual ease if the animal decided to charge.
August reached his chosen position, a slight elevation that provided clear sight lines while keeping him concealed behind a fallen log. He nocked an arrow to his bowstring with movements so practiced they required no conscious thought. The weapon was one he had crafted himself (system) years ago, a recurve design that combined human engineering with subtle system magical reinforcement. It was capable of launching arrows with force that exceeded what the physical materials should allow.
The key was using minimal magic. Too much power and the arrow would obliterate the meat and hide, defeating the purpose of the hunt. Too little and the shot might not penetrate cleanly, causing the animal to suffer unnecessarily and potentially escape wounded into the forest. August had learned through hard experience exactly how much enhancement to apply, finding the precise balance between effective killing power and preservation of the carcass.
He drew the bow smoothly, his muscles moving with trained efficiency. His breathing slowed to near-stillness. His heartbeat became background noise that his mind filtered out. The world narrowed to the arrow's tip, the Cowdaer's vital zone, and the invisible line connecting them.
The Cowdaer shifted position, its head coming into perfect alignment with August's aim. Brain shot. Instant death, no suffering, clean harvest. The ethical choice.
August released.
The arrow flew with supernatural precision, its tip enhanced with just enough wind magic to eliminate air resistance without adding excessive force. It crossed the thirty meters between hunter and prey in less than a second, striking exactly where August had aimed. The Cowdaer's brain ceased functioning instantly, its massive body collapsing with a thunderous impact that sent small animals fleeing in all directions.
August approached the fallen beast with respect, kneeling beside it to offer a brief prayer of thanks. It was a ritual he had maintained since his earliest hunts, acknowledging the life that had been taken to sustain others. The Cowdaer had lived free in the forest, had died quickly and painlessly, and would now provide nourishment for the community that had given August purpose beyond mere survival.
He began the process of field dressing, working with practiced efficiency to preserve the meat and hide. The work took time, requiring careful attention to anatomy and technique, but August found it meditative. There was satisfaction in doing skilled work with his hands, in creating value through direct effort rather than through management and delegation.
By the time he finished, full dawn had broken across the forest. August secured the massive carcass with rope and hoisted it onto his shoulders with strength that belied his relatively lean frame. The Personal System's physical enhancements made carrying loads that should have required multiple people a manageable burden, though still not comfortable.
He began the long walk back to Maya Village, deliberately taking his time to enjoy the morning forest. These moments of solitude were precious, and August suspected they would become increasingly rare as the observation period approached. The Imperial assessors would demand much of his attention, requiring him to be diplomat, administrator, and representative of everything Maya Village had become.
But for now, in these quiet hours, he could simply be a hunter returning home with his kill.
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Morning Reflections
August's route back to the village took him through territory he had not previously explored in detail. The village's claimed lands extended far beyond the original settlement's boundaries, encompassing hundreds of square kilometers of forest that contained countless secrets waiting to be discovered. He had been so focused on immediate survival and development that he had neglected simple exploration, and now he was being reminded of how much remained unknown about their domain.
The two mountains that bracketed Maya Village rose in the distance, their peaks hidden by morning mist. From ground level, their true scale became apparent in ways that the usual village perspective did not convey. These were ancient geological formations, rising hundreds of meters above the forest floor, their slopes steep enough to challenge even experienced climbers. And they stretched far beyond Maya's borders, extending deep into territories that no one from the village had systematically explored.
What secrets did those mountains hold? Were there others caves that might serve as emergency shelters or storage facilities? Were there mineral deposits that could support expanded metalworking operations? Were there passes that could provide unexpected access routes that enemies might exploit?
August made a mental note to organize exploration expeditions once the observation period concluded. The village needed to understand its territory thoroughly, to map every feature and identify both opportunities and vulnerabilities. That kind of comprehensive reconnaissance would require dedicated teams working for months, but it was necessary if Maya Village intended to survive long-term.
The walk gave August time to reflect on how far the community had come since those desperate early days when it had been just him and Angeline, two survivors trying to rebuild something from ashes and memory. The village now housed over 750 people, a population that would have seemed impossible to sustain just a few years ago. The integration of beast folk, the arrival of refugee families, the successful trade operations, the military reorganization, all of it had happened so quickly that August sometimes struggled to process the magnitude of what they had accomplished.
And yet they remained vulnerable. The negotiations with the Empire had bought them time and legitimacy, but at the cost of surrendering their invisibility. Once Imperial observers arrived, Maya Village would be known to the greater world. Mapped. Assessed. Catalogued. They would lose the protection of obscurity that had shielded them through their most vulnerable developmental phases.
Was that trade worth it? August honestly did not know. The alternative had been continuing to hide while the Empire slowly pieced together evidence of their existence through trade patterns and investigative work. That path would have eventually led to discovery anyway, probably under worse circumstances than controlled negotiation. At least this way, they had some agency in how they were perceived.
But the uncertainty gnawed at him. What if the observers decided Maya represented an unacceptable threat despite all their efforts to demonstrate value? What if Imperial policy shifted and they were suddenly reclassified from acceptable risk to priority target? What if someone in the Imperial hierarchy decided that the precedent of allowing settlements in the Great Forests was too dangerous to permit regardless of Maya's specific situation?
August pushed those thoughts aside with deliberate effort. Worrying about contingencies he could not control was pointless. Better to focus on what he could influence: how Maya Village presented itself during the observation period, how they demonstrated both capability and restraint, how they proved themselves worthy of preservation.
Tonight's celebration would be part of that larger effort, a conscious choice to show the community that their leaders recognized and appreciated everything they had accomplished together. Morale mattered. Hope mattered. The belief that their sacrifices and struggles had meaning beyond mere survival mattered enormously.
So they would feast on premium meat that August had harvested personally. They would acknowledge the progress they had made. They would strengthen the bonds between humans and beast folk that made Maya Village unique. And they would face the coming challenges together, with courage born of shared purpose rather than fear born of isolation.
August's path intersected with several Grimfang wolves conducting their own patrols through the forest. The wolves had become such familiar presences around the village that most residents no longer registered them as potentially dangerous predators. Rexy's pack had grown to over 200 members, all of them bound to the village through the combination of Erik's unique connection to Rexy and the wolves' pragmatic recognition that cooperation with humans provided benefits that compensated for loss of absolute independence.
August stopped to greet several of the wolves, offering the scratches behind ears and belly rubs that they had come to expect from humans who knew them personally. It was remarkable how quickly these wild predators had adapted to semi-domestication, or perhaps more accurately, to mutualistic partnership with the village. They were not pets, not truly tame in any conventional sense, but they were allies and had become friends to many villagers.
He wondered if Rexy had somehow communicated to the pack that accepting human affection was politically valuable, creating social bonds that reinforced the practical benefits of cooperation. Or perhaps the wolves simply enjoyed being petted, their pragmatic natures recognizing that pleasure was pleasure regardless of its source.
Either way, the relationship between Maya Village and the Grimfang pack represented another unique feature that the Imperial observers would surely notice. Alliance with powerful beasts was not uncommon in the abstract, but the level of integration and casual interaction that characterized this relationship exceeded normal examples by significant margin.
August continued his journey as the morning sun climbed higher, finally approaching Maya Village's gates after nearly twenty-four hours away from home. The guards recognized him immediately despite the massive carcass obscuring much of his form, and they opened the gates with efficiency that spoke to professional discipline.
He entered the village to find it bustling with activity, everyone engaged in the countless tasks that kept a community of this size functioning. Children ran through the streets in mixed human and beast folk groups, their laughter echoing off the buildings. Adults called greetings as they went about their work. The construction teams were already laboring on various projects despite the early hour.
It was home, imperfect and chaotic and beautiful in its diversity and energy.
August allowed himself a rare moment of pure contentment, breathing in the atmosphere of the community he had helped create, before the demands of leadership reasserted themselves and pulled him back into the endless cycle of decisions and responsibilities.
But first, he needed to prepare a feast worthy of everything Maya Village had accomplished. Tonight, they will celebrate. Tomorrow, they will continue preparing for the challenges ahead.
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The Three Craftsmen
While August had been hunting in the southern territories, another crucial development had been unfolding. The three skilled craftsmen that Helga Martin had recruited in Gremory had spent their first few days in Maya Village experiencing a sequence of reactions ranging from shock to wonder to firm conviction that they had made the right decision in accepting employment in this unusual settlement.
Anvel Ironhide was the eldest of the three, a Class III - Master Blacksmith whose skills with forge and hammer had earned him recognition throughout the Kingdom of Ogind. He was short by human standards, barely reaching 160 centimeters, but built like the metal he worked with, compact muscle and callused hands that reflected decades of physical labor. His demeanor was stoic bordering on taciturn, the kind of man who communicated more through the quality of his work than through words.
Harold Sean, Anvel's senior apprentice, was a Class - IV Expert-level Weaponsmith and Armorsmith whose talents specialized in combat equipment. He was taller and leaner than his master, with the quick hands and sharp eyes that characterized someone who worked with precision rather than raw strength. His specialty was creating weapons that balanced multiple requirements: effective lethality, durability under combat stress, and aesthetic appeal that marked quality craftsmanship.
Anitha Tayylor, the third member of the group, specialized in general tools rather than weapons or decorative pieces. She was a Class III - Expert-level craftsperson whose work encompassed everything from farming implements to construction tools to the countless small items that made daily life functional. Her skills were perhaps less flashy than her colleagues', but they were equally essential for a growing settlement that needed reliable equipment for everything from agriculture to carpentry.
Their journey to Maya Village had been an experience that challenged everything they thought they knew about travel and distance. Helga Martin had met with them in Gremory, presenting her recruiting offer with the practical directness that characterized the former noble family. The wages were generous, the housing would be provided, the work would be steady rather than dependent on irregular commissions. It was an attractive offer, but the location had given them pause.
A village deep in Lonelywood's Great Forest? That sounded like either certain death or an elaborate deception designed to lure them into slavery or worse.
But Helga had been insistent that they at least visit before making final decisions. And the transportation that they joined for that visit had been nothing short of legendary.
Peregrine Eagles. Divine-tier beasts that existed only in legends and ancient histories, creatures of such power and majesty that seeing them felt like witnessing myth made manifest. And they were not just observing these magnificent beasts from a distance. They were flying on them (technically inside the wagon), they were carried thousands of kilometers in mere hours rather than the weeks to months that conventional travel would require.
The experience had been simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Harold later admitted that he had spent the first hour of flight convinced he was about to die, then spent the second hour disappointed that the journey could not last longer. Anitha had been more pragmatic, using the aerial perspective to observe the forest's layout and noting potential resource extraction points with the systematic attention to detail that characterized her work.
Anvel had said little during the flight, but his eyes had never stopped moving, cataloging everything he observed and processing implications with the methodical thoroughness that had made him a master of his craft.
When they finally arrived at Maya Village, landing in a clearing inside the walls drawing a rather large attention by arriving at what seemed to be the village square on giant eagles, all three craftsmen had experienced the same sequence of reactions.
First, confusion. This was supposed to be a village? It looked more like a small town, with walls that suggested military consideration in their design, buildings that showed architectural sophistication beyond what isolated settlements typically achieved, and infrastructure that spoke to careful planning rather than haphazard growth.
Second, disbelief. There were beast folk here. Not hidden or segregated or merely tolerated, but integrated into the community in ways that defied conventional wisdom about human-beast folk relations. Children of both species played together in the streets. Work crews mixed humans and beast folk without apparent friction. New housing specifically designed for beast folk was under active construction.
Third, growing wonder as they observed more details. The guards all wore quality equipment, not the mismatched scraps that most village militias made do with. The buildings showed both functionality and aesthetic consideration, suggesting craftspeople who took pride in their work. The greenery integrated throughout the settlement spoke to deliberate planning rather than random placement. The main road was wide enough for a merchant's wagon to pass and it was well-maintained.
And most surprisingly, the atmosphere. There was energy here, a sense of purpose and community cohesion that the craftsmen had rarely encountered in more established settlements. People greeted each other warmly regardless of species. Workers moved with efficiency that suggested clear organization rather than chaos. Children ran free but under obvious supervision, protected rather than neglected.
By the end of their first day, all three craftsmen had reached the same conclusion: this was a place worth staying. Not just for the generous wages or the steady work, though those factors certainly mattered. But because Maya Village represented something genuinely unusual, a community that had succeeded where conventional wisdom said it should have failed.
They returned to Gremory with Helga's expedition, informed their families of their decision, and began the process of relocating their lives to an isolated forest settlement that most people would consider suicidal to inhabit.
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The Relocation Expedition
The logistics of moving three skilled craftsmen and their families to Maya Village required careful planning. Jonathan Ross, who had been feeling trapped in the village after months without visiting another place, volunteered to lead the escort. His wife Michelle had been agitating to check on her embroidery business in Gremory, making the expedition serve multiple purposes simultaneously.
Milo Stone joined as security, along with Helga Martin who needed to finalize the recruitment arrangements. Helga's daughter Freya and her cousin Solveig, both young women who had been confined to village life for extended periods, saw the journey as an opportunity for shopping and social interaction that the isolated settlement could not provide.
The Security Division contributed seven members to form a proper escort squad: one squad leader, four versatile combatants, and two support specialists. It was a standard village security structure, designed to handle most threats while remaining mobile enough for rapid deployment.
The expedition departed on the night of Day 17, flying under cover of darkness aboard "Geli", one of Maya's Deluxe Medium-Type Wagons enchanted for aerial transport. The six-legged draft horse that normally pulled the wagon remained stored in its storage compartment during flight, to be deployed only after landing when conventional travel became necessary.
The flight took several hours, crossing a distance that would have required weeks of ground travel. The aerial route avoided roads, checkpoints, and all the complications that came with moving through populated territories where questions might be asked and attention drawn. They landed in a clearing nearly a kilometer from Maya's Traveler's Cove, approaching the waystation by normal travel to avoid drawing attention.
Esmay and her family were surprised but delighted to see their employers return so soon after the previous expedition. They prepared accommodations for fourteen people with the efficient hospitality that had made the Cove successful, asking no questions about why such a large group had appeared with so little notice.
The journey into Gremory the following morning proceeded smoothly. The craftsmen's families had been prepared by their menfolk and were ready to relocate quickly. They packed essential belongings, sold or stored furniture and equipment that could not be easily transported, and settled their affairs in the city with remarkable efficiency.
The wages offered by Maya Village made the decision straightforward from an economic perspective. Anvel and his colleagues had been earning perhaps five Imperial Silver Coins per month through commission work in Gremory, sometimes dropping to as little as two silver coins during slow periods. Maya Village offered ten silver coins guaranteed monthly salary plus commission on work produced. The difference was substantial enough to overcome most hesitations about relocating to a remote forest settlement.
More importantly, Maya Village offered something that commission work in Gremory could not: steady employment with guaranteed income rather than the feast-or-famine cycle that characterized craft work in competitive urban markets. The peace of mind that came with economic security was worth considerable sacrifice in terms of convenience and access to city amenities.
The expedition spent three days in Gremory conducting business. Michelle inspected her embroidery shop and met with employees who had continued operating during her absence. Jonathan was also tasked with handling financial transactions related to Maya's Traveling Mercantile operations. Helga completed final paperwork for the craftsmen's relocation. And the Security Division members enjoyed their brief leave, spending their accumulated wages on personal items and gifts for family members who had not been able to join the expedition.
By the time they returned to Maya's Traveler's Cove on the evening of Day 20, the expedition had grown from fourteen to thirty people. The craftsmen's families added sixteen new residents: spouses, children, elderly parents, and in one case a sister who had no other family and did not want to remain alone in Gremory.
This expansion brought additional complications. More people meant more supplies to transport, more logistics to manage, more mouths to feed upon arrival. But it also meant more human capital, more skilled labor, more population growth for a village that could absorb new residents as fast as housing could be constructed.
The return flight was more crowded and less comfortable than the outbound journey, but everyone endured with good spirits. The craftsmen's families had been briefed about what to expect, but seeing Maya Village from the air as they approached for landing still generated gasps of surprise and wonder.
They landed outside the walls after nightfall, maintaining operational security even though the village's location was about to become known to Imperial observers anyway. August himself met them at the gates, having returned from his hunt just hours earlier, and welcomed the new residents personally.
"Welcome to Maya Village," he said simply, his youth surprising those who had not been told that the village's (true) leader was only sixteen years old. "You're joining us at an interesting time, as Imperial observers will arrive within the next few weeks to conduct assessment of our settlement. But whatever they ultimately decide, I can promise you that you'll be treated fairly here, compensated for your work, and given the opportunity to build lives worth living. Welcome home."
The new families entered Maya Village tired from travel but cautiously optimistic about their futures. They would face challenges adapting to isolated life and to the multi-species community that characterized the settlement. But they would also discover opportunities that most craftspeople could only dream of: abundant resources, eager customers, and a community that valued skilled work and rewarded it accordingly.
Maya Village continued to grow, one family at a time, building toward a future that remained uncertain but that seemed worth fighting for regardless of how Imperial assessments might ultimately judge them.