There's no formal emergency protocol in Ashring.
Mostly because until today, the idea of "emergency" was just "run around screaming and hope you trip slower than your neighbor."
But desperate times call for desperate improvisation.
I grab the emergency bell—a rock I painted red yesterday—and slam it against a bigger rock.
Clang.
Somewhere off to the side, a kobold sneezes so hard he falls over.Technically a response.Not the one I wanted.
I clang it again.
Still nothing.
Splitjaw eventually lumbers over, chewing what looks suspiciously like half-cooked moss jerky. "You dying or something?"
"Emergency meeting," I say, waving the rock.
He tilts his head. "Because you lost a rock fight with a wall?"
"No! Because we might all die if we don't get organized!"
He squints. Then shrugs. "I'll get the others."
I drop the rock and wipe my claws off on my tunic.
Leadership is so glamorous.
---
Ten minutes later, everyone important is gathered near the Great Rock of Authority.
Splitjaw, Embergleam, Bitterstack, Artist, Stonebite, Seedfoot, and Stonealign.
Even a few extra kobolds trying to look important. One moss golem shuffles up too, dragging a burnt shovel.
I let it stay.
Artist beams at the golem proudly like it's his firstborn child.
"This," I say, gesturing wide, "is an emergency strategy session."
Blank stares.
Bitterstack raises a claw. "Are there snacks?"
"No snacks."
Stonebite frowns.
Splitjaw leans on his spear. "So what's trying to kill us now?"
"Humans," I say. "Adventurers. Probably worse things too. The scouts didn't make it back."
They all straighten a little.
Finally.
Some actual fear.
Stonealign crosses his arms, serious-faced, like he's already calculating how many rocks he'll need to survive the week.
---
Embergleam snorts a puff of smoke. "We smash them?"
I rub my temples.
"No. Well—yes. Maybe. If necessary. But first we need actual defenses."
Splitjaw raises a claw. "Pit traps."
Bitterstack raises a claw. "Guard schedules and rations."
Artist raises both claws. "Exploding bridges!"
Seedfoot raises his whole body. "I can weaponize the crops!"
Stonealign, bless him, actually clears his throat and says, "Maybe... real walls?"
Real walls.
Actual structural sense.
I tear up a little internally.
---
"Okay," I say, taking a breath. "Splitjaw, yes, pit traps. Logical ones. Not just random death holes."
He looks vaguely disappointed.
"Bitterstack, yes, schedules and rations. No starving the night guards though."
She nods, flipping open a bark ledger.
"Artist, no exploding bridges."
"Awww."
"You can, however, reinforce the walls with non-exploding moss."
He brightens instantly.
"And Seedfoot... we'll... consider a plant-based perimeter."
He pumps a fist into the air and a nearby crop snaps at it.
I turn to Stonealign.
"You, bless your calm little soul, are in charge of actual wall upgrades."
He nods solemnly like I've just given him the greatest quest in history.
---
System pings again.
[settlement directive updated: defensive preparations initiated]
[new objective: survive longer than expected]
Splitjaw slaps me on the back.
"See? Easy."
I almost choke on air.
Easy.
Right.
This is fine.
This is all fine.
---
We split up after the meeting because otherwise I'm pretty sure Artist was about two minutes away from trying to demonstrate explosive bridge prototypes.
Splitjaw drags a group of volunteers—volunteers meaning whoever he could grab without getting bit—to start digging pit traps along the most obvious dungeon approach paths.
Bitterstack is already setting up a rotating watch system, complete with tiny bark badges for "official duty members." I'm 90% sure she invented bureaucracy on the spot. I'm 100% sure it's terrifying.
Stonebite is hammering weapon blanks like the forge owes him money.
Seedfoot is herding aggressive plants toward the perimeter.
And Stonealign is muttering calculations under his breath, sketching defensive layouts with chalk on the walls.
For the first time in a while, it feels… coordinated.
Which immediately worries me.
Because if everything's working too smoothly, disaster is probably already inbound.
---
I try to walk around camp casually, like I'm just "checking in" and not internally screaming.
System pings.
[settlement morale: high (motivated)]
[settlement defense readiness: 27%]
[recommendation: don't look too closely at the training exercises]
I look.
I regret.
Splitjaw is demonstrating how to fall into a pit trap safely.
It's not going well.
Embergleam is trying to teach a fire brigade... by lighting things on fire and yelling "put it out!" at random intervals.
The moss golems are practicing "patrolling," which mostly consists of walking in circles and occasionally tackling innocent walls.
One of Seedfoot's plants bites a moss golem.
The moss golem retaliates by trying to hug it.
Neither wins.
---
System pings again.
[sub-squad formation enabled]
[squad options: sentry teams | first-response squads | tactical retreat groups]
I pause.
Sovereign privilege.
I can actually create formal squads now, with buffs and coordination bonuses.
If I don't, the system will still assume we're just "enthusiastic blobs."
I open the menu and start dragging names around.
Splitjaw heads the first-response squad. Embergleam runs point on sentry rotation. Bitterstack leads the logistics squad because someone has to actually think.
I tag Stonealign under "field fortifications" because his walls are the only thing standing between us and mass embarrassment.
System chimes.
[squad formation complete – minor morale bonus granted]
[leadership synchronization improving: 42%]
I exhale.
It's not a fortress.
It's barely even a real village.
But it's ours.
---
Later, when the moonstone's faint glow softens the cavern sky, I sit alone by the Great Rock of Authority.
Watching the tiny figures move. Digging. Building. Arguing. Laughing.
They're mine.
Not in the "conquer and own" way.
In the "if anything happened to them, I'd burn down the entire dungeon" way.
System pings one last time before I drift half-asleep against the stone.
[sovereign trait evolving: adaptation under pressure detected]
[domain loyalty increasing]
I smile into my arms.
Maybe I'm not good at this.
Maybe I'm making half of it up as I go along.
But I'm here.
I'm staying.
And if something wants to take this place away from me, it's going to have to deal with a village full of moss golems, bitey crops, explosive bridges, pit traps, and one very, very stubborn kobold first.