The main shelter’s packed, the fire casting long shadows as voices rise, sharp and heated. Gideon slams his fist on a crude vine table, his fellow warriors—scarred, grizzled Ki users—flanking him. “We’re not weak!” he roars, eyes blazing, blood still seeping through his bandaged shoulder. “We’ve held the greys off before—we can do it again!” His table erupts, fists pounding, voices barking, “Yes, fight! Fight!” The air crackles with their raw, desperate energy.

  Mr. Simons stands, his broad frame silencing the room, that Texan drawl steady but heavy. “I hear ya, Gideon—ain’t nobody callin’ us weak. We’ll fight if we gotta, but stayin’ here with enemies on two fronts—greys north, raiders south—that’s folly, plain and simple. We’re exposed. We need a better spot, one we can hold.” He scans the crowd, hands on hips. “Ideas, y’all—where do we go?”

  Chen, Zhang Mei’s military leader, leans forward, staff tapping the dirt. “There’s a large hill I saw on our trek—surrounded on all sides by flat grassland. High ground, clear sightlines. We’d see ‘em comin’—greys or raiders. Easy to defend.” Murmurs ripple through the camp, heads nodding. It’s a solid option.

  A wiry scout from the east group pipes up, voice shaky but clear. “What about the river we forded comin’ north? Deep, fast—natural barrier. We could follow it one way to the coast, set up there, or go the other way, up into the mountains. Either way, it’s safer than here.” More nods, some hesitant. The coast sounds open, the mountains harsh—but both better than this death trap.

  I’m sitting on a bench, hands still tingling from crafting, listening to the debate swirl. My mind’s racing—north, always north, that grey hell. Everyone’s avoiding it, but I can’t. I stand, heart pounding, and blurt, “We go north!” The shelter goes dead quiet, all eyes on me—some shocked, some pissed. Consternation ripples like a wave. Gideon’s scowl deepens; Sophia’s purple gaze narrows.

  “North?” Marcus snaps, his kind eyes hard. “You wanna march into grey territory? That’s suicide, Tim!”

  I swallow, but I don’t back down. “We know how to fight the greys—we’ve done it! They’re fast, synced, but we’ve got numbers now, and we’ve got ether. I’ll craft us shields—good ones, sturdy, ether-infused. We march together, as one, and punch through their lines like an armoured fist!” My voice rises, nerdy passion kicking in. “We can’t keep running—they’ll just hunt us down. We take the fight to them, break their hold, get our people back!”

  Gideon’s scowl shifts—a slow, mean grin spreading. “Hell yeah, glowstick—let’s take it to ‘em!” His warriors roar, “Yes, let’s fight!” slamming the table again, their Ki flaring like a bonfire. Rebecca’s green eyes meet mine, worried but proud; Sophia gives a faint nod, calculating. Pete whoops, lightning crackling in his hands. The camp’s energy shifts—fear turning to fire.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Alright, y’all,” Simons booms, clapping his hands. “We’re doin’ this—north it is. Prep time, now! Scouts, map the route; fighters, gear up; crafters, you’re with Tim—shields, weapons, whatever we need to break through. We move as one!” The shelter erupts into motion, everyone scrambling—fires stoked, spears sharpened, voices barking orders.

  I’m back at my pile, vines and branches waiting, ether humming in my chest. Shields, huh? Time to grind—let’s make ‘em unbreakable.

  The crafting crew’s huddled around my pile, vines, branches, and furs scattered like a chaotic buffet. George scratches his grizzled chin, eyeing the materials. “Shields, Tim—big ones. We’re marchin’ north, straight into grey claws. Gotta protect the front line.” I nod, nerd brain buzzing—Roman legions, baby. “Shield wall,” I say, grinning. “Roman-style—curved, sturdy, painted bold so the greys see us comin’. We arm the front rows with gladius—short swords for stabbin’—plus spears and javelins for the initial volley. Back rows get spears, javelins, and bows for range. We’ll be a damn armoured fist!”

  George’s eyes light up, carpenter instincts kicking in. “Roman shields—oval for the auxiliaries, yeah? We can meld vines and branches for the frame, layer furs for padding, then coat ‘em with ether to harden the surface.” Lila chimes in, quick hands already sorting vines, “And the weapons—bone for gladius tips, vine-wrapped shafts for spears?” Marcus adds, “Bows’ll need sinew strings—got plenty from the last hunt.” The crew’s buzzing now, ideas flying—my imagination, George’s experience, a perfect combo.

  Time to craft—montage mode! We’re a whirlwind: George carves branch frames, his ether glowing as he melds them into wide, curved shields, oval like the Segedunum auxiliaries used. I focus on the surface, weaving vines tight, then layering furs—soft but tough—before pushing ether to harden it, a shimmering blue coat that makes ‘em near unbreakable. Lila’s on weapons, her hands a blur, melding bone into wicked gladius tips, the short swords gleaming with ether-sealed edges, perfect for stabbing like the Romans with their pila and gladius combo. Marcus lashes vine shafts to spearheads, javelins stacking up fast—light but deadly, ready to rain on the greys. The back-row crew crafts bows, sinew strings taut, arrows fletched with leaves, crude but functional. Shields get bold designs—red and blue swirls, painted with sap and ash, a nod to Roman soldiers showing their pride. Days of hard graft pass in a blur—sweat, ether, teamwork!—50 shields, 30 gladii, 60 spears, 40 javelins, 20 bows, and 100 arrows. We’ve come a long way.

  I’m wiping my brow, ether low, when Lila sidles up, her wiry frame brushing mine. “Nice work, chief,” she purrs, voice teasing, eyes glinting. “Didn’t know you had that fire in you—leading us like a proper general.” She’s close, too close, her hand grazing my arm as she hands me a skewer of roasted fish and a leaf-wrapped root. “Luncheon, Tim? You’ve earned it.” My face heats up—stupid blushing—but I nod, following her to a quiet spot by the main fire. We sit on a log, the camp buzzing around us, and she leans in, smirking. “Gotta say, I’m impressed. That confidence… it’s kinda hot.” She winks, taking a bite, and I choke on my fish, coughing as she laughs, her fingers brushing mine. “Don’t die on me now, chief—we’ve got greys to fight.”

  I’m still grinning, heart racing, when Sophia’s voice cuts through the crafting teams chatter, "Scouts report just in— a grey pack moving closer. They’re incoming!” My stomach drops. Today's Lunch is over.