Chapter 127: The Fortress Is A Graveyard

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.