Chapter 20
The morning fog still clung to the camp when Axel stood in the center, watching ten men line up before him.
They ranged in age—some just barely past adolescence, others in their mid-twenties. Not too young to be reckless. Not too old to be stubborn. Just right for molding. For shaping.
Axel had chosen them carefully. He had watched them—how they moved, how they handled tools, how they reacted to danger. None of them were warriors yet. But under his hand, they would become something more.
He walked in front of them slowly, his eyes unreadable.
"You are not soldiers," Axel said, his voice even and cold. "Not yet. But you will be."
He stopped and glanced toward the gate.
"This camp is safe. For now. We have food. Water. A wall. Power soon. But safety is an illusion. One attack. One fire. One wrong choice, and all of this—" he motioned around him— "is gone."
They listened, still and silent.
"I don't need brutes," he continued. "I need machines . I will break you, and if you're worth anything, I'll rebuild you stronger. Smarter. If not, then I wasted my time."
No one spoke. No one dared.
"Training starts now," he said, and just like that, they followed.
Over the next three days, the camp heard the sound of barked orders, fists hitting dirt, bodies collapsing from exhaustion. Axel ran them through drills: combat training, survival lessons, perimeter patrol, and silent kills. He taught them how to move, how to listen, how to see.
And when night came, they were too tired to speak, too sore to question.
On the fourth day, the deep hum of a returning engine echoed from beyond the trees.
The truck rolled into camp, slower than when it left. But it returned, and on its flatbed sat the massive generator—rusted but intact. Jason was already running toward it before the truck even stopped, eyes shining with something close to joy.
Axel met him halfway.
"Yours," Axel said, nodding toward the machine.
Jason grinned. "I'll make it sing."
"I want it on in three days," Axel replied.
Jason clapped his hands together. "I'll do it in two."
The crowd began to gather, watching the engine being unloaded. Hope lingered in their faces. Hope for power. For lights. For warmth.
Axel didn't smile.
He simply turned back to his trainees.
"Back to work."
Because comfort was a trap.
And this world still had teeth.
---
Five days passed since the generator roared to life.
The camp bathed in a dull golden light each evening. For the first time in a long while, people slept under warmth instead of fear. Children laughed. Women hung clothes under the sun. Men helped build stronger shelters. And Axel watched it all from the northern watchtower—silent, calculating.
Then, on the sixth morning, the knock came.
It wasn't loud.
It was the sound of boots.
A single man walked out of the forest, unarmed. Tall, lean, in dirty clothes. His face was half-covered by a scarf, eyes sunken but sharp. He walked calmly toward the gate and stopped, arms raised.
Jason saw him first.
"Axel," Jason called from the wall, eyes tense. "We got a visitor."
Axel stepped out from the command tent, followed by Hank and two of the newly trained men.
They met the stranger at the gate. Axel said nothing at first, just studied him.
"I'm not here to cause trouble," the man said. "Name's Clay. I came to talk."
Axel narrowed his eyes. "You alone?"
"For now."
Clay reached slowly into his coat, pulling out a folded map, and placed it on the ground in front of the gate.
"This place—your camp—it's on someone else's land."
Axel's expression didn't change. "Whose land?"
"A group," Clay said. "Northwest. Forty strong. Armed. They call themselves The Sons of Ash."
A long silence passed.
"You're here as a scout," Axel said flatly.
"Yeah," Clay replied, honest. "They sent me. They don't want war, but they want tribute. Food. Weapons. Gasoline. Or they come take it."
The words stirred the crowd gathering behind the wall. People were whispering, panicking.
Axel bent down and picked up the map.
He opened it.
There, in bold red ink, was a circle around the camp.
And beside it, written in capital letters: TAKE OR BURN.
Axel folded the map and handed it to Hank.
"Put everyone on alert," he said calmly. "Tell the guards to double patrol. No one in or out."
Then he turned to Clay.
"You said forty?" Axel asked.
Clay nodded.
Axel looked him dead in the eye.
"Tell your people they have three days to leave our forest. After that, I come for them."
Clay's eyes widened slightly. "That's a suicide move. You don't even know who you're dealing with."
Axel stepped closer, voice low and deadly.
"I don't care. You knocked. Now I answer."
He nodded toward the gate.
"Let him go."
Clay turned without another word and walked back into the woods.
As the gate closed, Axel stood still for a moment, then turned to his people.
"Three days," he said. "Train. Prepare. Build defenses."
The camp fell into action.
Because now they knew:
This world had remembered them.
And it was coming to collect.
—
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