The wall stood at last.
Three meters tall, one and a half thick, it encircled the clearing before the cave like the embrace of a guardian. Crude, uneven, bound by ropes of vine and sealed with clay but steady. It was a wall forged by will.
For three days they had toiled beneath the burning sun and the cold dawns, cutting trees, dragging logs, digging into the soil until their hands blistered and bled. Men carried timber on their backs, women twisted vines into rope, and children fetched clay from the riverbanks. The old lent wisdom where their bodies failed, and the young offered strength where words fell short.
Now, as the final log was set and the last rope tied, the people of the Flame Tribe stood before their creation in quiet awe.
A murmur passed through them, half disbelief, half pride. "It's done," someone whispered.
"It's really done…" another repeated.
Torya stood a few steps ahead, his gaze tracing the rough outline of the wall. It wasn't grand, nor perfect, but it was alive it carried the warmth and effort of every soul who had touched it.
Elder Varin leaned against his cane nearby, his one good eye gleaming. "Three days of fire and sweat," he said with a gravelly laugh. "I'd forgotten what hard work felt like. Thought my bones had turned to stone."
Rahn, quiet as always, wiped the dust from his bronze axe. "You did more than enough, Elder," he said softly.
Varin grunted. "Bah. If a man's still breathing, he's still useful. Remember that, boy."
Torya smiled faintly at the exchange before calling out, "It's time. Rest your tools and light the fires we'll celebrate tonight."
Cheers erupted, low at first, then swelling into a chorus that echoed through the forest.
As dusk fell, flames sprang to life in the clearing before the cave's mouth. The once-empty ground now glowed in warm orange light, shadows dancing against the rough wooden wall. Meat roasted on spits, the scent of smoke and fat drifting into the air.
Children ran about with laughter that seemed to carry the weight of triumph, while the elders sat close to the fire, their tired faces softened by relief.
Lera, her hair tied with a strip of bark-fiber, helped distribute meat to the workers, her laughter light and infectious. "You should've seen Rahn trying to pull that last log!" she teased, nudging him as she passed. "He nearly rolled down the slope with it!"
"I didn't fall," Rahn muttered, trying and failing to suppress a grin.
"That's because Yoren grabbed your arm," she countered.
Yoren raised his cup of boiled root drink, chuckling. "Aye, and nearly dislocated my shoulder doing it."
Their laughter spread, a ripple of warmth through the cold night air.
Even Elder Saran, who had been quiet most of the evening, joined in. "You all talk like you didn't almost crush me under that log!" he said, shaking his head. "If I hadn't moved, I'd be part of the wall myself."
"Then you'd be the strongest part, old man," someone quipped, earning another round of laughter.
Through it all, Torya sat near the central fire, his face calm but his mind restless. He watched them their joy, their exhaustion, their faces lit by the flame and though his lips curved faintly upward, his thoughts were elsewhere.
He remembered the past three days vividly the rhythm of axes striking wood, the roar of the forge, the red glow in the veins of the smiths' arms. Every strike of hammer to bronze had been more than labor; it was transformation.
And how, when they worked together, the faint crimson shimmer in their eyes the mark of the Bond of Flame had pulsed in unison, spreading strength and determination through them all.
He hadn't told them yet, not entirely. Perhaps it was better this way for now.
Lera noticed his distant stare and approached, sitting beside him. "You're quiet again," she said, leaning slightly toward the fire. "You should be smiling like the rest of them. We built a wall, Chief. We did it."
Torya looked at her and smiled faintly. "You've said that every hour since we finished."
She laughed softly. "Can you blame me? For the first time, we have something that can keep us safe. My little brother said he's not afraid to sleep anymore."
Her words tugged at his heart. He looked toward the cave, where children were already dozing in their mothers' arms, small smiles on their faces.
"Safety," Torya murmured. "It's a strange word for us. I don't think we've ever truly known it."
"But we will now," she said with quiet conviction. "This wall… it means we can start to live, not just survive."
He looked at her, and for a moment, her determination mirrored his own.
"I hope so," he said softly. "But this is only the beginning. The wall protects, yes but it doesn't feed or shelter us from the cold. We'll need to build homes, store food, make tools stronger than bronze."
Lera frowned playfully. "You're thinking too far again."
"Someone has to."
"Then think after you eat." She handed him a wooden plate with roasted meat, still steaming. "You've earned it, Torya."
He accepted it with a nod, his eyes softening. "Thank you, Lera."
She smiled and stood, rejoining the others who had begun singing an old hunting chant. The voices were rough and untrained, yet filled with life.
As the night deepened, the celebration continued.
Varin told stories of his youth of beasts he'd hunted and mistakes he'd barely survived. "Lost this eye to a stag with antlers longer than your arm," he said, tapping the scarred socket with a grin. "But I took its heart in return."
The children gasped, wide-eyed. One boy asked, "Was it as big as a tree?"
Varin chuckled. "No, but it felt like it when it charged."
Nearby, Yoren and a few others played a game of tossing stones into a hollow log. The one who missed had to drink a cup of bitter root water a punishment met with laughter and mock groans.
The wall loomed beyond them, silent and strong, as if listening to their joy.
When the fires began to die down and the laughter faded to murmurs, the tribe slowly drifted into slumber. Mothers carried sleeping children into the cave, elders leaned on each other, and soon only the whisper of the wind and the soft crackle of embers filled the clearing.
Torya remained outside, sitting alone on a flat stone. The night was quiet now, the forest a black sea beyond the wall. He looked upward and stopped.
There, high above the clouds, two moons hung in the sky. One glowed pale silver, the other a soft crimson. Together, they cast their light across the land, bathing the wall and the faces of the sleeping tribe in gentle luminance.
He stared for a long time, breath slow and steady. "Two moons," he murmured. "I never noticed before."
("Because you never looked up long enough,") came Nova's voice, calm and faint within his mind.
Torya exhaled softly. "You're right. I was always too busy looking forward."
("And that is why they follow you.")
He chuckled quietly. "You make it sound heavier than it is."
"Leadership is heavy, Torya. But you carry it well. The Bond of Flame burns strongly tonight. Every heart in your tribe pulses with it. They share your hope."
He leaned back, gazing at the glowing moons. "It's strange. I feel their warmth even now… like the fire inside them calls to mine."
"That is the essence of your talent," Nova replied. "Unity born from struggle. When you lead with fire, they burn beside you."
Silence followed, the kind that settles only when all things are at peace. The wall creaked softly as the night breeze passed through it.
Torya's eyes lingered on the stars. "We've taken the first step," he said. "We've built something that will last."
"And yet, it is only the beginning."
He nodded. "I know. Tomorrow we'll need food, tools, homes…" His voice trailed off as he smiled faintly. "But tonight, at least, they sleep safely."
He stood, glancing one last time toward the cave. The embers glowed dimly at its entrance, their light like scattered hearts still beating in the dark.
"Rest well," he whispered to his people. "You've earned it."
Then he turned back to the twin moons, their light reflected in his red-tinged eyes.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, "we build not just walls… but our future."
And from within him, Nova's voice answered once more, calm and sure:
"The flame of your people has only begun to rise."