Chapter 9: Approval
Personal System Calendar: Year 00014, Day 1-28, Month IV: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6858, 1st to 28th day of the 4th Month
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Aetherwing's Rare Break
The days came and went by quickly, and now it was the fourth month of the year. Their first harvest had already come and gone, it was quick and plentiful the way harvests in this forest had always been, the granaries were filling faster than anyone outside the village would believe possible from a single planting cycle.
The most awesome surprise at least for August was probably Aetherwing's unannounced return to the village. He now sat atop his nest now with Sylpharael beside him, the two of them tending a third clutch of eggs, taking turns keeping the cold mountain air off the shells while the other stretched cramped wings against the morning sky. He came and went the way he always did, gone for weeks at a time, sometimes longer, and his return this time was simply to rest. He had spent the better part of the last few years helping the northern reaches of Lonelywood Forest recover from the war with Shadowfen, guiding displaced beast lords to temporary territory, overseeing the slow work of healing land that had been scorched down to nothing but ash and broken stone. The forest had mended itself given the time that had passed. What it needed from him in the meantime was his guidance and strong presence, someone with enough authority to keep order while the land caught up to the peace that had been declared over it. By now the northern region had recovered roughly seventy percent of the twenty percent that had been destroyed. Saplings stood where ancient growth once towered. Not the same forest yet. But it was slowly becoming one again.
He could leave for these long stretches because August and the humans under him had proven themselves capable stewards of their corner of his domain. Along with Rexy, they managed what amounted to his own pocket within a much larger territory that he still ruled over completely. In the early years he had only ever stayed at the village a few days at a time before duty called him elsewhere. Now, with the north finally showing stability and Shadowfen Forest showing no signs of movement, he could afford to stay longer.
It was time to see what his ward had been up to.
He arrived before the sun rose, when the world was at its most still. August was still asleep, so Aetherwing settled at the edge of his perch and looked down at the village below. It had grown. He could feel it in the auras drifting up from the rooftops and the streets, new ones he didn't recognize, some of them carrying real strength behind them, and far more people in total than he remembered from his last extended visit. Lanterns still burned in a few windows. Smoke rose thin and steady from the bakeries that started their ovens before anyone else woke. Beyond the walls he could make out the shapes of the dwarven mining operation already at work on the mountain face, small fires lit at the tunnel entrances against the early chill.
He didn't know exactly how to feel about all of it. Pride, certainly, watching what had grown from a handful of frightened survivors years ago. But also something quieter, harder to name, the particular feeling of watching something you helped raise become large enough that it no longer needed you the way it once had.
He waited, because he knew August would rise before almost anyone else in the village did.
The moment came. August stirred and felt the familiar pull of a presence he hadn't felt in weeks, and then a voice settled into his mind the way it always did, clear and unmistakable.
"It has been a while, August."
"Master, it indeed has been a while. I take it your work in the north is finished?"
"For now. The north is stable enough to allow me this refuge, the numbers the beast lords lost in the war have mostly recovered, and those who migrated elsewhere have returned. Shadowfen hasn't moved. So I allowed myself a break."
"I see. Then all is well. How are you, Master? Have your injuries healed?"
"Mostly. Ninety-eight percent, by my own estimate. Though I feel stronger than before in a way I didn't expect. Your power has spoken to me again, after I accepted the role of Guardian Beast of the Northern Region. It seems my own strength has risen with it. At least double what it was."
"It does seem like you've grown even more powerful than before, Master. That's a good thing, isn't it?"
August already knew the answer from his own panel. Aetherwing's stats had doubled without his level changing at all, the same way August's own growth sometimes worked outside the bounds of conventional leveling. It must have been the weight of carrying two roles at once, being a Guardian Beast bonded to August and a Forest Guardian Beast of the entire northern region has its own weighted benefits that would surely pay dividends in the future. August had no idea if other beasts could have ever experienced anything similar. This was the first time he'd seen it happen to someone other than himself, and it told him something he hadn't fully considered before. Whatever his Personal System did to the world around him, it didn't stop at his own skin.
There was something else waiting in his settlement panel too, something new he hadn't seen before. Separate from the defensive buffs, separate from the farm buffs. A buff applied across the entire settlement itself.
He almost laughed. What was next, a buff for the whole territory? Surely not right? Right?
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PERSONAL SYSTEM — SETTLEMENT BUFF (NEW)
+15% HEALTH AND MANA INCREASE APPLIED TO ALL RESIDENTS ONLY
+15% HP AND MP REGENERATION APPLIED TO RESIDENTS ONLY
+15% OVERALL ATTACK DAMAGE AND OVERALL DEFENSE WHEN SETTLEMENT IS UNDER SIEGE, APPLICABLE ONLY TO THE DEFENDING PARTY
−15% HEALTH, MANA, ATTACK AND DAMAGE TO ANY INVADING FORCE
+15% INCREASE IN SETTLEMENT FOOD PRODUCTION
+15% VITALITY OF LAND (causes crops and everything that grows within the settlement to be healthier)
A/N: BUFFS SCALE WITH SETTLEMENT TIER. SMALL VILLAGE, MEDIUM, LARGE, AND SO ON. EACH TIER ADDS AN ADDITIONAL 5%.
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He filed it away for now to think on later and turned his attention back to Aetherwing.
There was also that something the village had asked him to bring up, about the proposed road expansion to the west, the one that would cross into territories belonging to other beast lords. But before he could mention it, he realized Aetherwing was already watching him, having noticed the distraction.
"You've grown considerably yourself, child," Aetherwing said. "Far from the boy I first saw nearly killed by a Boarat. You were as reckless as you were brave back then, though that was never a bad thing, at least for you. You've become one of the finest humans I've met…. Hold that thought of yours for a moment. I think it's time we test how far we've both come. A match, just the two of us. Don't you agree?"
August smiled. It seemed Aetherwing wanted to know exactly the same thing August had been wondering about him.
"Of course, Master. Though it sounds like you need someone to test that new strength of yours on. I take it you haven't had the chance yet?"
"Perceptive as ever. Yes, but mostly I simply want to see how far you've come."
They left the settlement together and found a clearing some distance away from the settlement, far enough that nothing else needed to witness what became of it next. The ground there still bore old scars from past sparring sessions, scorched circles and gouges in the earth that the forest hadn't fully reclaimed yet. What happened there stayed between the two of them. It was a light spar by their standards, nothing close to what either of them was actually capable of unleashing, but it told them both what they needed to know about how far the other had come since the last time they had measured themselves against each other. They returned satisfied, August favoring one shoulder slightly and Aetherwing's feathers ruffled in a way that would settle by midday.
August's favorability rating with Aetherwing climbed by another star, six now where it had been five, ★★★★★★.
With the spar done, August finally got to the matter of the road. Aetherwing told him he would raise it with the other beast lords and see what could be arranged, though the final decision wasn't his to make alone. He could mediate. He couldn't override thirty-three independent rulers who each held their own opinion of humans. Most of the beasts in the northern realm had come to see the village favorably, especially after the defense against Shadowfen, but there would always be outliers who saw humans as nothing more than another source of meat. Whether they would agree to let humans cross their territory for a new road, or whether the northern approach would remain the only viable entrance, was a question that would take time to answer.
August understood the patience required here better than most. Beasts didn't move on human timelines, and trying to rush a council of thirty-three Beast Lords toward consensus would accomplish nothing except making them dig in further. He'd learned that lesson early, watching Aetherwing handle disputes among his own kind long before any of it concerned the village directly. Some things simply took the time they took.
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New Arrivals, New Choices
With Aetherwing back, the newer residents of the village had started seeing him fly overhead some mornings, a sight that did nothing for the nerves of people who had arrived only weeks ago already terrified of everything around them. A few of the older residents had taken to pointing him out casually when he passed, the way someone might mention a familiar bird in their garden, which only seemed to unsettle the newcomers further. It would take time before that kind of casualness rubbed off on them too.
At the immigration office, the Arwenian refugees who chose to pursue residency were walked through their options. Temporary resident status came with a shorter vetting process but required finding employment and housing on your own. Worker status took longer to convert into full residency but guaranteed work and is provided with a home immediately. And for those who simply couldn't adjust, the village would help them find somewhere else entirely, with introductions and support to make the transition as painless as possible. Nobody was forced to stay if the fit wasn't right, and nobody was shamed for admitting it wasn't.
August's appearance at the camp weeks earlier hadn't been an accident. It had been, in part, a test. If a person couldn't handle the sight of one Mighty Peregrine Eagle landing nearby, they were unlikely to survive their first proper look at the village itself.
Maya wasn't the only destination on offer anymore either. Tagkarit, the village's fishing and logging settlement, was expanding its own population intake. It offered fewer amenities than the main village, no theater nights at the tavern, no easy access to Master Ben's lectures or the larger marketplace, but it had its own appeal. Cheaper prices, more open land, room to design a home the way you wanted it rather than fitting into whatever standard layout the village had available, and enough distance from Maya proper that some people simply preferred the quiet. For a family that wanted space more than they wanted convenience, it was a real option and not a consolation prize.
Zone Two inside the main village was nearing its comfortable maximum, the kind of crowded that wasn't dangerous but was starting to mean longer waits at the bathhouses and tighter scheduling at the communal kitchens. Zone Four was still under construction, its walls about ninety-five percent complete, farmland already being tilled even as homes and other infrastructure waited their turn behind it. It would be some time before Zone Four could absorb a significant population, but the groundwork was there and it was moving steadily.
In the immigration office's own assessment, becoming a worker was the strongest option available right now. The village was growing fast enough that there was no shortage of jobs, and being recommended directly by the village's own administration practically guaranteed placement. Temporary residency moved faster on paper, but came with no guarantee of finding work right away. The village's prices looked cheap on the surface, but that was only true when measured against a citizen's daily wage. Food here actually ran at least twenty-five percent higher than what an equivalent village outside the forest would charge, and other goods closer to thirty percent higher. For someone earning citizen wages, that difference barely registered. For someone without it yet, the same prices hit a lot harder. Becoming a citizen was, financially speaking, simply the better deal.
The village hadn't designed this to discourage anyone. For temporary residents, the village was willing to provide a daily stipend to cover basic living costs while they searched for work. Workers needed nothing of the sort, since housing and employment were already built into their contract. After two years of satisfactory service, a worker could apply for full residency.
Andy and Marcus had proposed something additional for temporary residents who needed more than just a daily stipend. A loan system, structured like a bank, sized to the daily wages temporary residents and workers actually earned. The smallest loan came to sixty local gold coins at three percent monthly interest. A middle tier ran one hundred twenty local gold coins at four percent. The largest came to one hundred eighty local gold coins at five percent. Repayment didn't begin until the borrower found work, deducted automatically from their wages once they reported employment to the administration. The borrower could decide how much of their earnings went toward repayment each month, though the immigration office generally advised paying only what was comfortable, since there were still other expenses to manage.
There was a catch, and the immigration office made sure everyone understood it clearly before signing. Anyone who took a loan and failed to secure employment within two to three months would be bound by the terms of a magical contract into forced labor until the full debt, principal and interest, was repaid. It wasn't slavery in the strict sense. They would keep their freedom in every way except the freedom to simply walk away from the debt. It was a warning more than a threat, a reminder that the opportunity being offered was real, but it came with the expectation that it would actually be used. Andy in particular had insisted on making the terms explicit rather than burying them in language nobody would read carefully. If someone was going to take the village's money, they deserved to know exactly what happened if they didn't hold up their end.
Of the refugees who arrived, thirty-five percent chose the worker route outright. Two years felt manageable given the wages and the affordable cost of living. The remaining sixty-five percent took temporary resident status, though only about seventy percent of that group actually needed loans. The rest had savings, some honestly earned, some taken from those who hadn't survived the road. Nobody judged them harshly for it. The dead had no further use for coins.
Most of them found work and housing within weeks. The commercial district had room for hands willing to work, the farms always needed more bodies during planting season, and the construction crews on Zone Four were perpetually short of laborers. For most of the recent arrivals, the transition went about as smoothly as anyone could have hoped.
Most of them.
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The Fools of Coins
There were two exceptions. Marie Hors and Derek Lorns had each taken out the largest available loan, one hundred eighty local gold coins, the equivalent of roughly three months of expected income for someone at the temporary resident wage tier. They had spent every bit of it on food, fine clothing, and the most comfortable rooms the local taverns offered, all without lifting a finger toward finding actual employment. Other refugees from the same camp had watched them do it, watched the two of them eat well while everyone else around them filled out applications and walked the commercial district asking after open positions, and said nothing about it at the time. There wasn't much to say. Everyone made their own choices about how to spend a fresh start.
When the immigration office finally pulled their file, the numbers were not kind to them. Their wages, once they were eventually forced into work, would land around one and a half local gold coins a day, well below even the lowest standard rate, a deliberate penalty built into the forced labor terms. Their monthly interest, given their default on the original terms, climbed to fifteen percent. Thirty percent of their wages would go straight to loan repayment, with another ten percent lost to the standard village tax. What remained came to roughly fourteen and a half local gold coins a month each, which meant a projected eleven months of forced labor before either of them was cleared of their debt.
They still had a month left in their grace period to find work voluntarily and avoid all of it. Maya's Travelling Mercantile, which handled the loan administration, reported that neither of them showed any sign of using it, for its actual intention, to find work.
The story of what they'd actually done with the money made the rounds quickly. They had eaten well, dressed well, and slept in the nicest beds the village's lodging had to offer, all on borrowed coin, with no apparent plan beyond enjoying it while it lasted. Andy and Marcus were not the kind of men who took that lightly. Whatever else they were, they were merchants first, and merchants did not absorb losses gracefully when the loss had been earned through someone else's laziness.
Word reached August eventually, and from there it climbed further up the chain, far enough that people were now openly discussing whether something could be done before the situation escalated into actual forced labor. Some villagers found the whole thing entertaining in the way a cautionary tale always is. A lesson for anyone else who might consider trying the same thing.
Whether Marie and Derek would come to their senses before the month ran out remained to be seen.
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Proposal
While that situation played out elsewhere, Terrence had business of his own. He had spent the past few weeks since arriving settling into temporary work around the camp's resettlement process, but his mind kept returning to the field guide he carried folded in his coat. He had read it so many times the pages had started to soften at the corners.
He went, somewhat nervously, to the office of the man who functioned as the village's equivalent of a mayor. Red Peerce's office was smaller than Terrence had expected, more workspace than throne room, papers stacked in organized piles across a desk that had clearly seen years of use. Red listened to what he wanted, a position writing and expanding field guides for the forest, and told him something Terrence hadn't expected. The original field guide, the one the camp had distributed months earlier, had been written by August Finn himself, compiled from his own notes and sightings over years of living in and around the forest.
Terrence found this difficult to process. The Supreme Commander of the village's entire military force had also apparently found time to write a survival manual for refugees he hadn't even met yet, refugees who hadn't even existed as a crisis when he presumably started writing it. Red recommended he speak to August directly, which only added to Terrence's confusion about exactly how high August's standing in this village actually went, and why a man with that much responsibility would bother with something so small.
So now Terrence stood in the garden behind the Finn household, where August was pruning plants that belonged mostly to Theressa, with a smaller portion claimed by everyone else in the house who had taken an interest over the years.
"Good morning, sir. Chief Red recommended I speak with you about something," Terrence said.
"Did he?" August didn't look up right away. "Then it must be something only I'd know about. What's your name?"
"Terrence, sir. I wanted to ask about expanding the field guide. I saw a copy of it at the refugee camp. I was hoping there might be a position here for that kind of work."
August thought it over. One of the Thirteen Stooges was already doing rounds through the village's botanical fields, but that wasn't quite the same thing. A different kind of explorer might be useful here.
"I'll need to set up something new for this," August said. "You'll be paired with someone already working in a related field. May Bel-lin is part of the Plant Cultivation Community, who actively goes out to the village and does her own thing but with plants. I'll introduce you to her and the two of you will form the Explorers Squad, officially. You'll work closely with the security department's patrol division as well, since you'll need their protection and their knowledge of the territory. Come back to me once you've worked out a proposal for what you want to tackle first."
Terrence took notes as he listened, pulling a worn sling bag off his shoulder, patched in several places and made from plain cloth that had seen better years. August noticed it and asked him to wait before leaving.
He went inside and came back with a better bag, sturdier and clearly built to carry more than the worn one Terrence had brought, along with a hunting knife carved from beast bone, its edge still holding a faint sheen, and a single local gold coin pressed into Terrence's palm before he could protest.
"Sir, what's this for?" Terrence asked, confused, turning the knife over in his hands.
"A gift. You'll need it for the work ahead. Do you know how to use a knife like that?"
"No, sir, I don't. And this looks expensive, the bag and the coin both."
August set down the shears he'd been using and looked at him properly for the first time since the conversation started, the way a person looks at someone once they've decided the conversation actually matters.
"You need it more than I do. You're part of the recent refugee group, and this is simply a gift, nothing more complicated than that. Nobody had ever come to me wanting to do this kind of work before, build out a proper field guide for the forest. I've kept notes over the years but I rarely get out into the field anymore, not the way I used to. Whatever I find now mostly comes from hunting trips, scraps of observation here and there, written down quickly before I forget them. If you want a head start, just ask. I'll let you copy what I have."
Terrence nearly cried hearing that. It had been a long time since anyone had treated him like his work mattered, like he was something more than a burden someone else had agreed to carry.
"Thank you, sir. I'll take you up on that."
He left shortly after, the new bag slung over his shoulder and the knife tucked carefully inside it.
Angeline had been listening from just inside the kitchen the entire time, leaning against the doorframe with a half-peeled vegetable still in one hand. She came out smiling once Terrence was gone, one hand resting against her belly.
"Did you hear that, little one? Your father is something else, isn't he?"
That was the moment her water broke.