The sun rose over the dimension, but the camp was quiet.
No chatter, no clinking of tools. Just the steady thump of a shovel breaking dirt.
Aris was digging.
Tiran had given him the task at first light, a trench around the entire perimeter. His hands were torn open, raw and bleeding, and every time he swallowed, his body flinched. The memory of the night before still sat heavy in his throat.
Tiran sat outside his hut, drinking from a carved wooden bowl as if nothing had happened.
Edrin approached through the thin morning mist and lowered himself beside him.
"The man you cut open," Edrin said quietly, glancing toward the infirmary. "He'll live. But he won't walk the same again."
He hesitated before continuing.
"The others won't go near the meat stores. They think the air is full of those things now."
Tiran didn't respond.
Edrin studied him, then added, "I grew up in the woods. I've seen every kind of parasite there is. I've never seen anything like what you pulled out of him."
Tiran took another slow sip before speaking.
"It wasn't real," he said.
Edrin went still.
"The sac was a pig's bladder. The hunters brought it in two days ago. I filled it with fat and just enough trapped gas to make it move."
Edrin stared at him.
"And the man?" he asked.
"A controlled dose of those berries I warned everyone about on the first day," Tiran replied. "They cause gas, spasms. The body reacts violently. It looks worse than it is."
For a moment, Edrin said nothing.
Then it hit him.
"You did all of that… for a lie?"
Tiran finally looked at him.
"It worked, didn't it?"
Edrin shook his head, unsettled. "You cut him open. You made Aris eat that. This isn't some story, Tiran. There are no monsters here."
Tiran's expression didn't change.
"That's exactly the problem," he said. "There are no monsters. Just people."
He stood and walked toward the center of the camp, raising his voice just enough to carry.
One by one, they gathered. Slowly. Cautiously.
No one stood too close.
"Look at this place," Tiran said, gesturing around him. "Yesterday, you let it fall apart. The fire nearly died. The water ran out. You argued over scraps like animals."
No one spoke.
"You called it freedom," he continued. "But it was just neglect. Another day of that, and some of you wouldn't have made it."
He walked over to the trench and grabbed Aris by the collar, pulling him upright. Dirt smeared across his face, his body shaking from exhaustion.
Tiran brushed some of the dirt away, almost gently.
"I didn't do what I did because I enjoy it," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "I did it because it was necessary."
He looked at the others.
"You want leadership? Then understand what it costs. Mistakes here don't get forgiven. They get people killed."
He let go of Aris, and the boy dropped straight back into the trench.
"You can hate me if you want," Tiran said. "But you're still here. And that's not an accident."
He turned and walked back to his hut without waiting for a response.
No one followed.
For a while, they just stood there.
Then, quietly, they went back to work.
But this time, there was no arguing. No hesitation. Every movement was faster, sharper, more deliberate.
Fear had settled into them, deep and permanent. Not just fear of Tiran, but something heavier. The sense that he might actually be right.
Inside the hut, Tiran sat down and picked up the blade from his kit, turning it slowly in his hand.
"They need something to fear," he murmured to the empty space. "Otherwise, they become the danger."
He set the blade down carefully.
"As long as they believe it's me… they'll behave."
Outside, the camp worked in silence.