Orbist

The air in the camp was thick with tension. Every sound—the clatter of metal, the distant howl of the desert wind–felt sharper, more urgent. The battle was coming, and everyone knew it.

You stood near the center of camp, watching as the survivors worked tirelessly to reinforce their defenses. Makeshift barricades of salvaged metal and debris lined the perimeter, sharpened poles dug into the ground at sharp angles to slow any advancing enemy. The General moved between groups, inspecting their work with a critical eye.

Plavo sat nearby on a crate, eyes locked onto his wrist device, scanning for any sign of movement beyond the camp's borders. He had barely spoken since the settlers' attack.

"They'll be back," he muttered. "And they won't make the same mistake twice."

You nodded. That much was obvious. The first clash had been a test, a show of force. Next time, it would be war.

A scout ran up, breathless. "Movement on the horizon. Not close yet, but they're gathering."

The General didn't hesitate. "Double patrols. Everyone arms up and stays within the perimeter. We hold the line."

The weight of the moment pressed down on you. There was no turning back now.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. The exhaustion from the past days lingered, but there was no time to rest. Not yet. As the night stretched on, the fires around the camp flickered, casting long shadows against the sand. The hum of tension was unspoken but ever-present.

Plavo finally looked up from his device. "We'll get through this, right?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you looked toward the darkened horizon, where your enemies lay in wait.

"Tomorrow, we find out"