Luke watched as people scrambled to put out what was left of the fire consuming the crops. The air was thick with smoke, desperation, and simmering rage. More than half was gone—burned to ash. While helping stomp out the last flickers of flame, his eyes never left the direction where Bartholomew and his men had disappeared.

That crown... It was clearly a powerful artifact. He had noticed how it reacted on its own, discharging lightning whenever someone got too close.

It's gotta be the reward he got for killing a Midnight Warden, Luke realized.

And with that, a deeper truth settled in. Bartholomew was strong. But... he was also afraid. The other mechanisms of the tutorial hadn't been activated yet. And there was only one reason for that: the Renegades.

If Bartholomew committed his forces to activating them—splitting his army between Bastion and the next fortress—he'd leave himself vulnerable. The Renegades could strike then, while Bastion was weakened.

Self-preservation, dressed up as leadership. A cold war. Both sides fully armed. Both waiting for the other to blink. Luke stared into the dying flames. The crackling turned to smolder, but the fear... the fear still burned. It flickered in the eyes of everyone around him.

The deadline was set: one month to hand over the so-called traitor. Most people knew they wouldn't survive outside the Safe Zone. Not as a group this big. Without structure, it was suicide. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Bartholomew was forcing the Haven to break... either push them into joining the Renegades, or bending them into becoming yet another arm of his war machine. Luke turned away from the ashes and walked toward the hotel.

The lobby was full, but eerily silent. People shuffled around in a daze. Shock hung heavy in the air, thick as smoke. Then he saw them—two kids. A little girl sat in the corner, crying into her knees. Her brother—probably no older than ten—sat next to her, patting her back with trembling hands. It wasn't physical pain. It was the kind of hurt that came from not understanding... from watching your world get torn apart by something too big, too cruel, and too sudden.

Luke looked away. It hit harder than he wanted to admit.

This tutorial...

This is the real enemy.

He headed upstairs. To Angelica's room. One knock. He stepped inside quietly. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at him. He shut the door softly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, saying nothing. He was here to talk about his plan. But for a moment... he just observed.

Allison sat in the corner. Luke still hadn't fully processed her revelation. A Rhiannon. A name tied directly to the World Government. He always knew she had connections to powerful families—but not like this. This... was beyond anything he expected.

Angelica sat on the floor, her eyes distant. Bloodshot. Her right hand was wrapped in bandages, burns peeking through the fabric. Thiara had offered to heal her, but she'd refused. Her other hand gripped a handful of scorched dirt. Ash. Roots. Something once alive. Her brother's axe hung on the wall behind her. Silent. Watching. The whole room was heavy. Suffocating with anger. Grief. Hopelessness.

Until Jonathan finally snapped.

"We've gotta do something!" His voice cracked, caught between fury and despair. "We can't let this keep happening!"

Others nodded. Fists clenched. Teeth grit. Emotions boiling to the surface.

An older man muttered, "They did it... right in front of the kids. Like we were nothing."

Angelica finally spoke. Her voice was hollow.

"It was just half the crops..."

The room went dead silent. Luke followed her gaze, his eyes landing on the pile of ashes in Angelica's hand.

"They only burned half," she said, her voice hollow, almost mechanical. "We can... rebuild."

"Rebuild for how long?" Jonathan's fists clenched tight.

"Listen to me!" Angelica snapped, her voice cracking under the strain of frustration and exhaustion. "This hotel we use? It's not ours. This place belongs to Bartholomew. The Safe Zone is his territory. Oswald made it crystal clear—if any of us retaliate, sabotage, or even breathe wrong… we'll be kicked out before the deadline even hits."

She paced the room, every step weighed down by the crushing reality. Her eyes scanned every face, landing hardest on the angriest ones.

"Do you understand what's actually at stake here?" The rage and fatigue bled into every word.

"You think I should lead these people outside? Out there? Into the wild to die?" Her hand swept toward the window, toward the chaos beyond. "How do you expect us to survive with this many mouths to feed? With kids?" Her voice broke, but she pushed through. "If a baby cries... it could bring a horde. If a kid slips up at the wrong moment... and God help us if it happens when a Midnight Warden is patrolling."

She slammed her fist onto the table. The sharp crack made several people flinch.

"Get it now?! And it's not just that! The water we drink? Bartholomew practically gives it to us. For years, we've barely scraped enough to pay the damn tribute he demands!" Her chest rose and fell, struggling to steady her voice.

"This place... this so-called Haven... it exists because we accept that it's his. The only reason we're still here is because we keep our heads down. Because we survive."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Until someone shattered it.

"What if letting the Haven fall... is the best solution?"

It was a dagger through the air.

Angelica whipped around, stunned. "What... did you just say?!"

Allison stepped forward, calm. Steady. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips — not smug, not cruel. Just... certain.

"You heard me. Loud and clear."

Her gaze swept the room.

"This Haven has been falling apart for a long time. You're living like parasites under Bastion's table scraps. You live in fear. Trapped. Controlled. One wrong move, and they crush you. You call this survival? This isn't survival. It's a slow death."

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Angelica trembled — from rage, from disbelief.

Jonathan stood up. "I must've heard that wrong—"

"You didn't," Allison cut him off, voice sharp but calm. "I'm just saying what none of you want to admit."

She stepped forward, into the center of the room, commanding every gaze.

"Bastion has water. Infrastructure. Protection. Reinforced walls. Dozens of rooms. Fertile land. They get first picks from the loot caches after every event. They sit behind those walls, protected from raids, from the Wardens, from everything."

She turned in place, meeting every eye.

"And what do we have? This. A patch of dirt and fear. We plant scared. We sleep scared. We raise children scared. This isn't living."

The silence tightened. Her voice softened — but it hit harder than any shout.

"But I have a solution."

She let that sink in. Slowly turning, locking eyes with each person.

"A real way out. Not desperation. Not revenge. A future. A life with dignity. Security. A place where we control our fate."

Jonathan folded his arms, glaring. "And what's this miracle solution, Allison?"

Her answer was sharp. Unshaken.

"Simple," she said. "We conquer our own Safe Zone."

Silence.

Anna was the first to react, sputtering. "You're... what?!"

The room exploded. Voices overlapped — disbelief, anger, laughter, panic. It sounded insane. Impossible. But Allison stood her ground. And not for one second... did she back down.

"My solution is simple," Allison said, her voice firm. "We take our own territory. A place with water, a place strong enough to withstand raids… and more than that—total control over the weekly Reward Event loot chests."

She stepped forward, her eyes sharp, gleaming with conviction. "I'm offering us the chance to build our own military fortress. Our own Bastion."

People exchanged glances, uncertain if what they were hearing was bold strategy… or pure madness. But Luke understood immediately. Because it was exactly what he'd already decided to propose.

"I found the location of one of the mechanisms," he said.

The room fell into stunned silence. Together, Luke and Allison began explaining. Slowly, the tension shifted—confusion giving way to quiet, focused attention. They spoke of the fortress in orc territory. Of their deductions. Of the logic behind the location of the second mechanism. They explained how it made sense of Bartholomew's behavior—why he never encouraged anyone outside his soldiers to search for the mechanisms.

"The risk of him activating it is simple," Luke said. "If Marshall took that fortress, he'd gain access to the loot chests, the potions... and grow stronger. Bartholomew's afraid of that."

"But if it's the Haven that takes control…" Allison stepped in, her voice steady, "then we protect ourselves. With the right planning, the right strength, and everyone contributing, we build something untouchable. And the best part—outside Bastion's reach."

Someone in the back hesitated. "But... what about the Midnight Wardens? The statue's mission mentioned an army. If we activate the mechanisms..."

"The army only shows up after the third mechanism," Allison answered immediately. "We're targeting the second. If—and when—we reach the third... we'll decide that then. Right now, the focus is this one fortress."

The silence that followed was... different. Heavier. But laced with something else. Expectation.

"This... can't be real," someone muttered.

Jonathan shook his head, locking eyes with both of them. "You're absolutely sure about this?"

Allison nodded.

Luke nodded too.

Jonathan turned slowly toward Angelica. "Did you know about this?"

She said nothing.

"She knew," Allison confirmed, her tone gentle, but firm. "In fact… this was the original plan. The first generation of the Haven… isn't that right, Angelica?"

Angelica closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Her voice came out small, shaky.

"I... don't want to talk about it."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her hands trembling. "When I came to this world... it was with my friends. My brother. We tried going to that fortress. But... only two of us came back."

Silence swallowed the room whole.

"I never buried my brother. Or my best friend," she continued. Her voice cracked, heavy with memories. "They all died there."

Her eyes stayed locked on the floor. Her shoulders trembled.

"I'm sorry... I can't help you with this."

She turned slightly, gripping a scorched branch—one of the few remnants from the burned crops—her fingers trembling.

"Just thinking about that place... I can't. I'm sorry."

Without another word, she stepped away, her footsteps heavy. Her hand wiped at her face, but the tears had already escaped.

The heavy silence lingered. But Luke and Allison exchanged a glance. Both of them realized it at the same time. Angelica... had just confirmed it. She didn't mean to. But she did.

The fortress was real. And it was exactly where they believed it was. No matter how confident Allison had sounded. No matter how much Luke trusted his theories—based on everything he'd seen... it was all still speculation. But not anymore. Now, it was certainty.

The first generation of the Haven had indeed gone to that fortress. Angelica had confirmed it with her own words. The place where her brother, and her friends... all died. Luke clenched his fists. One question echoed relentlessly in his mind: What happened in that place?

If a Midnight Warden leaves the fortress for roughly six hours to patrol... what stopped Angelica and the others from activating the mechanism during that window? They had more people. More strength. More experience. And still... they were wiped out.

Damn it. I can't set foot in that place without knowing the answer.

Was it the alarms? The orcs? Or... was there something else?

Luke sank deeper into that spiral until a voice snapped him back.

"So, all we'd need to do is enter the fortress when the Midnight Warden leaves to patrol, right?" Jonathan asked, staring straight at him.

"Yes," Luke answered, firm.

Jonathan's eyes swept the room. Solid. Unshaken.

"I don't give a damn about this war between Bartholomew and Marshall. That's not my problem." He jabbed a finger toward the floor, driving the words in like a nail. "If we capture that fortress, we'll finally have real resources. If the first mechanism's already been activated? Good. If not, we activate the second. That gets us halfway through the mission. After that, it's the third... then the final castle."

He looked at each person in turn, voice hard with conviction. "Does anyone here want to spend years trapped in this cursed place?"

"No!"

The response hit like a physical blow. The walls seemed to vibrate under the weight of it.

Jonathan turned back to Luke and Allison, a grin spreading across his face.

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" His hands opened, inviting the obvious. "Let's go take that damn fortress."

That's when it hit. A shockwave tore through the air, rattling the floor beneath them. The ground trembled. Windows shuddered in their frames. A second blast followed—closer. More violent. Then a third. Furniture shifted. Dust fell from the rafters. Cracks split across the stone. Every head snapped toward the windows.

Outside, columns of black smoke rose into the sky. Explosions flared in every direction. Fires bloomed—spreading fast—turning alleys and streets into blazing mazes. Screams followed. People sprinted toward exits, panic detonating across the Safe Zone like wildfire. The group rushed downstairs, burst through the doors and froze.

Rooftops. Streets. Alleyways. Everywhere the eye could reach—movement. Fast. Relentless. Flooding through gaps in walls. Climbing over shattered buildings.Creatures. Massive. Skittering. Eyes glowing crimson. Jaws opening and closing in rhythm. Serrated mandibles ready to shear through anything in their path. Dozens. No—hundreds.

And amid the smoke, fire, and panic... the truth hit like a hammer. An army. An army of giant ants.

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