The fire crackled quietly in the center of the longhouse. Shadows danced across the wooden walls, flickering over faces marked by sweat, scars, and now—sigils. The divine tattoos etched by the gods still hummed faintly beneath their skin, a reminder of power and purpose. But tonight, power was not the question.
Survival was.
Zion sat at the head of the circle, his rust-colored eyes focused on the glowing embers. Around him sat Kael, Thalia, Mikah, Senna, Toren, and Elias—the strongest of his inner circle.
No one spoke yet.
He finally broke the silence.
"Three hundred souls. Wounded. Tired. Starving. Winter at their backs. And no god to guide them."
Kael leaned forward, arms crossed.
"They're not our problem. That's nearly triple our number. We built this place. We planned. They didn't."
Thalia didn't speak. She stared into the fire with an expression unreadable—like a hunter deciding whether to spare a deer with broken legs.
Elias shifted.
"And if we don't help, they'll die. You know that, Zion."
Zion exhaled slowly.
"Even if we do take them in, there are risks," he said. "They don't follow the same beliefs. Their old ways might clash with what we're building. They don't know the gods."
Senna, quiet until now, whispered,
"They might even reject them."
Toren added,
"And if they take more than they give? If they lie to us? Turn on us when food runs low?"
Mikah, youngest but sharpest of them all, frowned.
"You're talking about rebuilding the world. That's not going to happen by leaving people behind."
The silence returned—but this time, it felt heavier.
Zion stood, pacing slowly.
"My grandmother, Mama Odetta… she used to say, 'Mercy without wisdom is a kindness that kills.' If we take them, we take their burdens. If they join us, it must be by covenant, not convenience."
Kael nodded slowly.
"Then test them."
"Test them?" Mikah asked.
Zion's eyes lit with purpose.
"We give them a challenge. Food, shelter, yes—but not for free. They build, they learn, they adapt. And if the gods see fit, they may be chosen too."
Thalia spoke, voice calm and firm.
"What if they don't pass the test?"
Zion looked toward the darkness beyond the longhouse.
"Then they will have to find another path. But we won't turn our backs—not yet."
Outside, the wind stirred the trees.
Far off, in the broken camp of survivors, the cold crept in. Jano shivered as he stared at the moonlit sky, unaware that judgment was coming—not from the heavens, but from the very forest that surrounded them.
Not just survival anymore.
A decision had been made.