After the Smoke
After the devastating night assault that ravaged parts of the Northeast, Eirindale had yet to fully recover. The thick fog that once shrouded the eastern forest had lifted, but tension still lingered in the air. Several homes lay in ashes, children's cries mingled with hurried footsteps as villagers rushed to evacuate the wounded. From the east, black birds took flight from the ruins—carrying fragments of messages few could decipher. Yet Azfaran had begun linking the signs to Iskhalin.
Staring at the sky shadowed by winged silhouettes, Azfaran murmured, his tone low and grave. "Those birds... they're messengers. It cannot be mere coincidence. Iskhalin. They're behind this, I'm sure."
There was no official declaration, but scattered clues pointed toward the eastern kingdom. In the era of Sharrfan, Iskhalin had become known for its elusive tactics, barely understood by the people of the valley. Messenger birds discovered near the border bore silver talons and rings engraved with the Iskhalin crest, deepening suspicion.
Yet amidst the chaos, a new spirit was rising. The external threat had compelled the allied villages to unite. Without coercion or strict command, people from settlements around Mt. Gedi began pooling their resources. There was no formal treaty, but all knew—without swift coordination, they would fall one by one.
Maeron, voice steady with urgency, stood beside Azfaran. "We can't survive if we keep living in fear. They'll return, stronger. We need to act, now."
Azfaran looked to his friend, weighing the truth in his words. With a calm determination, he responded, "Then we build from the core, and reach outward, step by step."
Though doubt lingered within, his voice held conviction.
The Foundation of Infrastructure
The first step was education. Amidst the rubble, parents and youths erected simple buildings from wood and clay. A small school emerged in the heart of Eirindale. Cramped and incomplete, it nonetheless became a hub for young minds eager to understand the land beneath their feet.
One of the young teachers approached Azfaran, concern clouding his expression. "Azfaran, are we truly ready to teach them about the outside world? They know nothing of the threats we face."
Azfaran, often seen at the front of the class, answered with steady resolve. "They'll learn—sooner than we think. We're not just teaching them to survive. We're preparing them to shape the future."
The core subjects were not reading and arithmetic as in large cities. Instead, the focus lay on geography, navigation, and the basics of agricultural and defensive technology. Azfaran was frequently seen lecturing about regional maps, which were now being charted by hand. On the school's main wall, a large map was drawn in charcoal:
Norsveld to the north, snow-covered and famed for its fierce hunting clans.
Sotherfell to the south, also partly snowy, fertile but vulnerable to outside invasion.
Iskhalin to the east, once peaceful and prosperous until the tyrant King Shaffran seized power.
Almerya to the west, coastal and skilled in trade and diplomacy.
Levaria to the southwest, dense with ancient forests, mystical and home to secluded settlers.
Serenhal, south of central Eirindale—a neutral land, peace-loving but slow to respond to threats.
And at the heart of the north stood Eirindale, nestled near Mt. Gedi, a fertile land now striving to rise.
One day, a young student stepped forward, hesitation in his voice. "Azfaran, can we truly defeat them if they come? What should we do?"
Azfaran met his eyes, a gentle resolve in his tone. "Victory won't come from strength alone. We endure because of spirit. That's what will make us strong."
Not far from the school, a safe zone was being built. A simple wooden fort formed a circle around the main living quarters and activity center. Guard towers and sentry posts, though modest, were enough to delay sudden assaults.
For the wounded, an emergency medical center arose, fashioned from large tents. Several young women were trained in first aid, using medicinal herbs planted the previous season. Behind the medical tents stood a resource depot. This storage housed food supplies, clean water, and essential logistics, protected by wooden barricades and guarded by spear-wielding youths.
Yet these efforts were not without difficulty. Limited materials and manpower meant the fort could only safeguard Eirindale's core. Outlying areas remained exposed, and some smaller villages still lacked adequate protection.
A young sentry voiced his concern to Azfaran. "If they strike sooner than we expect, will we be ready?"
Azfaran faced him with calm assurance. "We will. Because we stand together. This is more than just a fort. It's our home—and we will defend it."
Social Reform and Governance
Mere survival wasn't enough. To truly live on, Eirindale needed direction. In a large gathering held in the emergency hall, elders from the five allied villages assembled. There, Azfaran introduced the idea of a unified command system.
With measured conviction, he addressed the room. "We cannot move forward alone. We need structure—to survive, and to face greater threats."
The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Silence fell until one finally spoke, voice thick with caution.
"But Azfaran... who shall lead? Who will we entrust with all our lives?"
Azfaran met his gaze with unwavering steadiness. "I do not ask to lead. But if you need me, I will stand at the front—not for power, but for all of us."
The elders lowered their heads in thought. At last, they agreed to follow Azfaran's proposal.
A three-tier command system was established: village leaders (the elders), local military commanders, and civilian liaisons. This ensured efficient communication and distributed responsibility. In designing this administrative structure, Maeron—Azfaran's closest ally and advisor—played a key role in ensuring it remained simple and comprehensible for all.
Later, Maeron approached Azfaran, determination in his stride. "We will move forward. We must be strong. We must be resolute."
Azfaran returned the gaze, his face marked by resolve. "We're not fighting for ourselves alone. This is about Eirindale's future—for our families. We will rise, Maeron."
Twilight Over Eirindale
Time passed, and slowly Eirindale transformed from a cluster of fractured villages into a single, cohesive entity. It wasn't yet called a kingdom, but the bonds formed between the settlements were no longer temporary. Trust deepened. They defended one another, shared harvests, and exchanged labor freely.
Azfaran, once known merely as a thinker and quiet speaker, was now respected as a leader. He had never asked for power, yet his presence became essential in every council, in every decision. The elders turned to him for guidance, and the people began to see him as the cornerstone of their shared struggle.
As the sun set behind the Gedi mountains, a small, tattered banner fluttered atop the main wooden tower. It was not a flag of war, nor a symbol of royalty, but a mark that they had survived one more day—and were ready to face the next, united more than ever before.