The morning sun filtered through the canopy, golden and soft. For the first time, the survivors saw the full shape of the village—clean paths, orderly huts, the sacred grounds, and the smoke of steady fires. It wasn't just survival.
It was structure.
Zion stood before the gathered crowd of over 500—his own tribe and the survivors. At his side, Kael stood tall with crossed arms. Thalia's sharp eyes swept over the crowd. Mikah fidgeted with a sketch of something new in his hands.
Zion raised a hand, and silence spread like fire through dry grass.
"Before you build with your hands, you must build with your minds," he began. "This is not your old tribe. This is something new. If you wish to stay, you will live by these Laws of the Living."
He unrolled a thick piece of bark etched with symbols.
The Laws of the Living:
The Clean Keep Breathing – You must wash your hands before meals, after touching waste, and when blood is on your skin.
Dry is Life – Wet clothes invite sickness. If soaked, change immediately or hang dry. No exceptions.
Build with Others or Sleep with None – All must contribute. Shelter, food, defense. Laziness is death. Selfishness is exile.
No Fire Burns Alone – No hoarding of food, blankets, or tools. What is earned is shared by need.
Beast or Brother – Animals are not only to be hunted. Some will be tamed, fed, and bred—for milk, for warmth, for life.
The Ground Remembers – Waste goes in latrines, not rivers. Water is life.
Every Voice Matters, Every Rule Binds – Speak your truth, but obey the laws.
Kael stepped forward, voice like iron.
"You break these, you don't get a warning—you get a judgment. And no one, not even the blood of Zion, escapes that."
Whispers moved through the crowd like nervous wind.
Thalia watched them, feeling their fear—and their relief. Structure gave peace. Protection. Even to those who had lost everything.
Then Mikah stepped up, holding a woven chart.
"I'll teach you how to make new homes. Better ones—cool in summer, warm in winter. With roofs that don't leak." He grinned. "And I'm working on a bathhouse. You'll thank me later."
Laughter flickered, cautiously. But it caught.
Zion pointed to the open field where logs had already been stacked.
"Today, you'll be divided into groups. Builders. Foragers. Animal keepers. Watchers. Cleaners. Teachers. Everyone has a role. There's no shame in work—only in hiding from it."
Then, he stepped closer to the crowd, voice dropping.
"We don't live because the gods will it. We live because we earn it. And only those willing to build the tribe may stay."
That day, for the first time, the camp buzzed not with hunger—but with hope.
Men chopped wood with purpose. Children ran with buckets of water. Women and elders taught others how to weave, cook, and clean. Some fumbled with rope, others wrestled goats into pens.
By nightfall, sweat had replaced silence.
And in the shadows, Zion watched.
"They're trying," Thalia murmured beside him.
"For now," Kael said.
Mikah smiled, tired but bright. "That's how everything starts, right? A little trying. A little fire."
Zion nodded.
One law at a time.
One heartbeat at a time