The arrival of Liana and her parents, the Duboises, changed the atmosphere in Avalon irrevocably. The small, tight-knit group of workers and the lone visionary were now a community, however nascent. And a community, Rex knew, required more than just ad-hoc directives.
That evening, he called a gathering in the great hall. A fire crackled in the massive hearth he had partially restored, pushing back the encroaching chill of the stone and the growing darkness outside. The Delahayes, Isabelle Moreau, Elara, Kaelen (who arrived smelling of smoke and forge, a scowl on her face for being pulled from her work), and the three new, shell-shocked arrivals stood in a semi-circle before him.
Rex stood before the fire, its light dancing on his features, making him look both younger and more ancient. He had changed from his work clothes into a simple, dark tunic, but he had kept his sword belt on, the polished hilt of the longsword a silent, potent symbol of his authority.
"We are no longer just a restoration project," he began, his voice calm but carrying to every corner of the hall. "We are becoming a settlement. And a settlement needs order. It needs laws."
He let the word hang in the firelit air. Jean Delahaye gave a grim nod of approval. Monsieur Dubois looked nervously at his wife.
"There is only one lawgiver here," Rex continued, his gaze sweeping over each of them. "Me. This is not a democracy. It is a stewardship. My word is final. But my word will be just, and it will have a single purpose: the survival and prosperity of everyone within these walls."
He paused, letting the absolute nature of his authority sink in. No one challenged him. In a world falling into chaos, clear, uncompromising leadership was a comfort, not a threat.
"Here is our first law, the only one that truly matters: From each according to their ability, to each according to their need. You will work. Everyone. There are no passengers on this journey. Jean and Luc build our walls. Kaelen forges our tools and our weapons. Elara tends our health. Isabelle plans our future."
He turned his gaze to the Duboises. "Monsieur Dubois, what did you do before?"
The man stammered, "I-I was an accountant."
"Then you will keep our ledgers. You will inventory our supplies, track our resources, and ensure nothing is wasted. Madame Dubois?"
"I was a librarian," she whispered.
"Then you will organize our knowledge. We have books, manuals, schematics. You will create a library, a repository of all the information we need to survive and rebuild."
Finally, his eyes fell on Liana, who was clinging to her mother's arm, her gaze fixed on the floor. "And you, Liana?"
She flinched but didn't look up. Her mother answered for her. "She… she was an art student. She painted."
A flicker of impatience crossed Kaelen's face. Art. A luxury.
But Rex's expression didn't change. "Then you will be our chronicler," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "You will document what we build here. You will draw the plans for the gardens, map the land, and create a record of this place. Your art has a purpose now."
Liana's head lifted a fraction of an inch. It was a small gesture, but it was there.
"The second part of the law," Rex said, his voice hardening again, "is that no one will hoard. No one will want. Food, medicine, tools—they are communal property. They will be distributed fairly. If you see someone struggling, you help them. If you are struggling, you ask for help. Our strength is collective. Is that understood?"
There were murmurs of assent. The rules were simple, harsh, but fair. They created a framework of safety.
"There is one more thing," Rex said, and now his voice carried a cold, sharp edge that made the fire seem to dim. "The safety of this community is paramount. Betrayal, theft, violence against another member… these are capital offenses. The punishment is exile. Or death." He let the final word echo in the stone hall. "I will not allow a cancer to grow within these walls. This is not a negotiation."
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the fire. He had drawn a line in the sand, not with a threat, but with a promise. A promise of protection that was as ruthless as it was reassuring.
He dismissed them then. As the group dispersed, talking in low, serious tones, Kaelen approached him. Her scowl had been replaced by a look of grudging respect.
"Capital offenses?" she said, her voice low. "You don't play around, do you?"
"This isn't a game, Kaelen," he replied, his eyes still on the fire. "The world out there is forgetting rules. In here, we will remember them. We will enforce them. It's the only way."
She nodded, a fierce light in her eyes. "Good." She turned and strode back towards her forge, the sound of her hammer soon ringing out again, an anthem to the new order.
Rex remained by the fire, the weight of the crown he had just fashioned for himself settling onto his brow. He had given them law. He had given them structure. He had given them a reason to feel safe. It was the most important foundation he had laid yet.