Months had passed since Alexander last spoke with Howard, and in that time, she had established a foothold in Chernobog, a city that was barely stable yet was to face the catastrophic uprising that would soon be unleashed by Reunion.
With the steady stream of funds Howard had been sending her—money from his own savings—she'd purchased an aging hotel on the city's outskirts.
The hotel, with its faded sign and chipped paint, had been a bargain in Chernobog's pre-uprising economy, a city still thriving with trade and industry.
Alexander had transformed it into her base of operations, reinforcing its walls with steel plating, converting its lobby into a training area, and turning its upper floors into dorms for the teens she'd taken under her wing.
It was now a living space.
The hotel's basement, a spacious area once used for storage, now housed her forgery, where Alexander stood, her focus as sharp as the blade she was crafting.
The forgery was a cavernous room, its concrete walls still clean but soon to be blackened by soot, lined with racks of freshly acquired tools—hammers, tongs, and chisels, their handles gleaming with newness.
A massive anvil sat at the center, its surface unmarred, and a roaring furnace blazed nearby, its orange glow casting flickering shadows across the floor.
The heat was intense, a dry, searing wave that made the air shimmer, but Alexander thrived in it.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she worked, her muscular arms flexing with each precise movement.
She wore a heavy leather apron over her simple tunic, its surface pristine but destined for ash stains, and her blue-silver hair was tied back in a tight braid, keeping it clear of the sparks that flew with every strike of her hammer.
She was forging a blade, a task she'd undertaken with meticulous care.
The metal before her was a rare alloy, infused with trace amounts of Originium to enhance its durability and conductivity—a technique she'd learned from studying Howard's memories of blacksmith crafting methods.
She heated the billet in the furnace, the metal glowing a fierce orange as it softened, then pulled it out with tongs, its heat radiating against her face.
Placing it on the anvil, she struck with rhythmic precision, her hammer ringing against the metal, each blow shaping the blade's form.
Sparks danced around her, a fiery ballet, as the sword began to take shape—its edge sharp, its spine strong, a weapon meant for the battles she sensed were coming, even in Chernobog's deceptive calm.
Alexander's mind drifted as she worked, reflecting on the teens she'd trained over the past months.
With Howard's financial support, she'd taken in a big amount of teens and adults from Chernobog's districts, kids who'd grown up in the city's slums and their lives untouched by the tragedy that would soon befall them.
At first, they'd been a spirited but undisciplined group—eager but clumsy, more interested in showing off than learning.
Alexander, with her unyielding determination and a firm but fair hand, had molded them into a cohesive unit.
She'd started with the basics in the hotel's repurposed lobby: hand-to-hand combat, teaching them how to throw a punch with proper form, and how to dodge and counter with speed.
She'd paired them up for sparring matches, her sharp commands echoing off the lobby's tiled floors as she corrected their stances, her voice cutting through their laughter and complaints.
Next, she'd introduced them to Arts.
Using her own knowledge of Originium-based abilities, she'd guided them through the fundamentals—channeling energy, focusing intent, and avoiding the risks of overexposure in a city already rich with Originium trade.
The wiry boy named Kael had shown a knack for pyrokinetic arts, conjuring small flames with a flick of his wrist after weeks of practice, his control improving daily.
The quiet girl named Mira had developed a talent for healing arts, her gentle touch soothing scrapes after sparring, a skill that brought a rare smile to Alexander's face.
They were no longer just kids from Chernobog's streets—they were a team, ready to face whatever threats might emerge, unaware of the storm Reunion would soon bring.
Alexander returned her focus to the blade, quenching it in a vat of oil with a hiss of steam, the metal cooling to a dull gray.
She inspected it closely, running her calloused fingers along its length, checking for imperfections.
Satisfied, she moved to the grinding wheel, its whir filling the forgery as she honed the edge to a razor's sharpness.
The blade gleamed under the light, its surface polished to a mirror-like finish, but it wasn't done yet.
She etched intricate runes along the fuller, symbols of protection and strength.
Their faint glow hinting at the Originium infusion.
Finally, she wrapped the hilt in dark leather, securing it with a silver pommel shaped like a crescent moon.
She stepped back, holding the completed sword aloft, its silver blade catching the furnace's glow with an ethereal shimmer.
It was an incredible weapon, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and power, a tool for the battles that lay ahead.
Alexander felt a surge of pride—not just for the blade, but for the teens she'd trained and for the sanctuary she'd built with Howard's support.
She set the sword down.
With the silver sword completed, Alexander turned her attention to another creation, one she'd been planning for Mira, the quiet teen who'd shown a remarkable talent for healing arts.
The magic staff rested on a workbench nearby, its form already taking shape over the past few days.
The staff was carved to resemble that of Merlin from a certain game.
It was lightweight yet sturdy ash wood, sourced from Chernobog's surrounding forests, its surface sanded smooth to a soft sheen.
Alexander picked up a chisel, her movements precise as she etched a series of intricate patterns along the shaft—spiraling with symbols of life and renewal that mirrored Mira's gentle nature.
At the staff's head, she affixed a small Originium crystal, its pale blue glow pulsing faintly, a conduit for Mira's healing Arts to amplify her abilities.
She wrapped the grip in soft leather, dyed a deep green, and stepped back, inspecting her work.
The staff was elegant yet practical, a perfect tool for the battles Alexander knew would come, even if Chernobog's streets still hummed with the illusion of peace.
Satisfied, Alexander set the staff aside and wiped her hands on a rag, the soot and sweat of the forgery clinging to her skin.
She removed her leather apron, hanging it on a hook by the furnace, and changed back into her usual attire—a tailored black suit with crisp lines, paired with matching suit pants, along with a silver sword pin that gave her a commanding presence.
The remodeled suit, a gift from a Leithanian tailor she'd recruited, was both practical and formal, a reflection of her role as a leader.
She adjusted her tie, a deep crimson that stood out against the dark fabric, and ran a hand through her blue-silver hair, loosening it from its braid to fall in waves around her shoulders.
With a final glance at the forgery, she headed upstairs to the meeting room, her steps purposeful.
The meeting room, once a dining hall, had been repurposed into a strategic hub.
A long table dominated the space, its surface scratched but polished, surrounded by mismatched chairs scavenged from the hotel's storage.
The walls were lined with maps of Chernobog and its surrounding regions, pinned with notes and markers indicating supply routes and potential threats.
The room was filled with the people Alexander had recruited—old but mature workers, each bringing expertise from across Terra.
A Leithanian cloth artisan, his silver hair tied back, sat with a ledger in hand; architects from Londinium, their accents thick with the city's dialect, reviewed blueprints; and three general managers, seasoned operators from various nations, coordinated logistics.
The air buzzed with quiet determination as Alexander took her seat at the head of the table, her presence commanding immediate attention.
She began the questions , her voice steady and authoritative.
"Let's start with supplies. Our Leithanian friend—where are we with the cloth and gear?"
The Leithanian artisan, a wiry man named Viktor, looked up from his ledger, his pale eyes glinting with confidence.
"Things are progressing well, Alexander. The demanded amount of supplies—uniforms, cloaks, protective gear—will be done soon."
"We've sourced high-quality fabrics from Leithania's markets, enchanted with minor arts for durability. Another week, and we'll have enough for the entire team."
Alexander nodded, her expression approving, and turned to the architects from Londinium, a pair of siblings named Clara and Edwin, their faces weathered from years of construction work.
"And the other base constructions—how are they faring?"
Edwin, the elder of the two, grinned, his voice brimming with pride.
"Most of them will be done next week, Alexander. We've fortified three additional sites around Chernobog—old warehouses, like this one, but smaller."
"They're ready to take in people, with barracks, training grounds, and storage for supplies. We've even added Originium generators for power, scavenged from the city's industrial district."
"Good," Alexander said, her tone firm but pleased.
She shifted her gaze to the three general managers—Lena, a stern Vouivre from Sargon; Marcus, a gruff Feline from Ursus; and Tali, a quick-witted Kuranta from Kazimierz—each overseeing different aspects of the organization.
"And you three—how are things progressing on your end?"
Lena spoke first, her voice clipped and efficient.
"Training has advanced significantly. The teens you recruited are disciplined now, and we've started integrating the older recruits into their units. Combat drills, arts practice—they're ready for action."
Marcus followed, his tone gruff but optimistic.
"Food quality's improved—we've secured a steady supply of rations from Chernobog's markets, and we're stockpiling dried goods for emergencies. We've also got a deal with a local farmer for fresh produce, so morale's up."
Tali chimed in last, her voice bright with excitement.
"Other materials—medical supplies, weapons, tools—are all in place. And we've had far more people swearing to join us, Alexander. Word's spreading in Chernobog's underworld—people who wish a change from this city's corruption, the nobles' influence. They see us as a chance for something better."
Alexander leaned back in her chair, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she processed their reports.
"It sounds like we're on track," she said, her voice carrying a quiet intensity.
"Soon, our organization might even be strong enough to take over Chernobog—to reshape it into something better, something worth fighting for."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them.
Chernobog's pre-uprising calm was deceptive, but Alexander knew the storm was coming—Reunion's shadow loomed, even if the city's residents remained blissfully unaware.
Her organization, built with Howard's support and her own unyielding resolve, was ready to face it head-on.