For the next two weeks, the five children pushed deeper into the jagged, snow-capped eastern peaks—the territory Lenn had identified as the fringe of the Silent Valleys. This remote region was a desolate wasteland of rock and ice, too far from Northwatch supply lines and too harsh for Westvale cavalry.
They found their refuge in a high, hidden basin shielded from the bitter mountain wind by three massive granite spires. It was defensible, invisible from the valley floor, and accessible only through a narrow, winding ascent that Tova dubbed "The Serpent's Path."
This was their Fortress of Discipline.
Using the stolen supplies, the Crag Wolf pelts, and sheer, relentless labor, they established a camp beneath a deep overhang. They dug a fire pit, lined their sleeping area with salvaged canvas and furs, and, most importantly, secured The Sledge in a camouflaged cave stocked with their processed meat and grain.
The chaotic instinct of survival was now replaced by the chilling predictability of efficiency.
* Lenn (The Mind): The ledger was burned, but the knowledge remained. Lenn memorized the remaining supply routes, patrol schedules, and code phrases, becoming Aris's tactical advisor. He also managed the processing of the wolf pelts into high-quality, insulated winter gear.
* Mira (The Healer/Scout): Mira created a small, vital medical cabinet using foraged herbs and the stolen medical supplies. She taught the others basic first aid and focused her scouting on finding hidden water sources and identifying routes.
* Tova (The Driver/Keeper): Tova became the quartermaster, managing the animals and the inventory with stern, unwavering discipline. She was meticulous, ensuring nothing was wasted, recognizing that every scrap was a shared life.
* Doran (The Shield): Doran spent his days reinforcing the Serpent's Path, clearing brush to improve visibility, and placing crude, easily triggered warning bells made from scavenged metal scrap—creating the camp's early warning system.
Aris's primary focus remained on training.
He knew that their lives would eventually depend not on luck or supplies, but on absolute battlefield competence. He instituted a training regime far harsher than Sergeant Rath's drills, because here, failure meant death by cold, starvation, or ambush, not just a beating.
"You must become a weapon, Doran," Aris instructed one bitterly cold afternoon. Doran was wrestling with the heavy pike, his breath misting in the air. "The pike is not a sword; it is a lance. You don't strike with it; you receive with it. You are the stone they break upon."
Aris would simulate charges, forcing Doran to brace the pike, absorb the impact, and use the length of the shaft to keep his opponent at bay. Doran's kindness was still there, but now it was wrapped in an impenetrable layer of focused, disciplined power.
Aris trained Mira in stealth and observation, teaching her how to move without rustling a leaf, using her innate speed to perform quick, surgical scouting runs.
He trained Tova in close-quarters defense with knives and axes, realizing her fiery tenacity translated into fierce, ruthless aggression when protecting the camp.
And Aris trained himself mercilessly.
He spent hours practicing with the short sword, focusing on speed, low strikes, and the use of momentum to overcome the superior reach of a taller opponent. He was preparing not just to fight soldiers, but to kill knights in full armor—a feat that required surgical precision and the absolute absence of hesitation.
"You fight against three kingdoms, Aris," Lenn observed one night, watching Aris spar against his own reflection in the ice. "You can't win with a sword."
"No," Aris agreed, sheathing the Westvale sword. "But I can win with intelligence. And I need you to be ready to sacrifice yourself for that intelligence."
Lenn paled, but he understood the cold logic.
"I need a communications network," Aris explained. "The war will not stay still. We need to find the weak points, the gaps in supply, the points of maximum chaos."
Using Lenn's intimate knowledge of Northwatch protocols, they created a new plan: they would use their stolen wagon and mule team to occasionally approach the edge of civilization, acting as phantom scavengers in the wake of the battle.
Lenn would use coded phrases and their knowledge of the supply manifests to extract current military information from low-level Northwatch logistics personnel, pretending to be desperate, commissioned independent haulers.
The plan was suicide if they were caught. But without intelligence, their fortress was simply a temporary grave.
Six weeks into their isolation, the group was unrecognizable. They were gaunt, hardened, and moved with synchronized purpose. Their slave rags were replaced by thick, fur-lined Crag Wolf pelts. Their fear was replaced by a cold, unifying resolve.
Their existence had boiled down to a single, shared purpose: survival through self-mastery.
"Aris," Doran said one evening, after successfully completing a complex ambush drill. "I don't think like I used to. I don't see the world as soft anymore."
"Good," Aris replied. "The softness is gone. It was a luxury we couldn't afford."
They stood on the edge of the Serpent's Path, looking down into the Silent Valleys. The valley air was clean and cold, but Aris could feel the distant pressure of the war returning.
"Lenn estimates the winter thaw will begin in two weeks," Aris stated. "The ground will soften, making cavalry movement possible again. The war will begin moving."
"And us?" Mira asked, clutching her herb satchel.
Aris looked at his unit: the disciplined giants, the sharp minds, the fierce keepers. They were small, but they were perfectly prepared.
"We move first," Aris announced, his voice carrying the finality of a drawn blade. "We hit the closest supply line Lenn identified. We replenish our stock, test our skills, and find our entry point back into the chaos. The war is a mouth that swallows the unprepared.
We will choke it with our strength."