After Sefu's audience concluded, the survivors were guided to a compact zone of pitched tents. Many were built with durable System-bought canvas, sturdy enough to keep out the damp heat of the jungle. Joran, wincing with each step, was taken by Mira to the camp's makeshift infirmary—a crude wooden structure ringed by various bundles of dried herbs, bandages, and a few battered tools presumably purchased from the System.

  In the relative privacy of their new quarters, the rest of the group—Jace, Theo, Elias, Aera, and Darin—discussed the man who had welcomed them. None were particularly devout, and the notion of a zealously religious leader who seemed to claim some divine mandate set them on edge. Yet the camp was the closest thing to civilization they had encountered in this hostile world: well-organized, reasonably equipped, and home to at least a hundred souls judging by the bustle.

  Despite their personal doubts, they couldn't ignore the sense of relief that came with a place to rest. Sefu's followers seemed content. In speaking with a few locals—some clad in modern garb, others in more primitive or cobbled-together outfits—they heard common refrains: "We're treated fairly. We don't have to fight if we don't want to, and there's a roof over our heads." Any religious fervor seemed overshadowed by the practical advantages of shelter and security.

  Shifting away from these thoughts, a nagging worry surfaced: Kurai and Gaius. Elias briefly raised the question of whether they should try to find them. But in the next breath, he conceded that two hardened warriors—even separated from the group—were likely better equipped to survive on their own. "What help could we possibly give them, in our condition?" he pointed out, earning solemn nods from the others.

  Eventually, they fanned out to explore, speaking quietly to the camp's residents. Each story they heard confirmed that many here came from the same era—some wearing T-shirts or sneakers that matched modern times, while others sported uniforms or office attire. People shared how they'd stumbled into this world by accident, endured a few brutal days of wandering, then found themselves welcomed by Sefu's settlement.

  If there was any resentment toward the Warrior-King's devout outlook, it didn't appear obvious. The promise of consistent meals, minimal fighting, and a solid night's sleep outweighed potential misgivings for most. Watching a pair of women hauling water from a nearby well, Jace remarked in a low voice, "They seem genuinely happy.."

  "Hard to blame them," Aera replied, arms crossed. "Compared to running and hiding from monsters every minute, this must feel like paradise."

  Yet as they reconvened by a cluster of tents, Theo voiced an unspoken thought: "What if Sefu expects… more than we're willing to give? From what we gathered by his speech and the other settlers, he's a time skipper like Gaius and Kurai, he might have a completely different outlook".

  Elias exchanged a loaded glance with Jace. "If that happens," he said, voice hushed, "we decide then. For now, let's rest, keep our eyes open, and see if this really is as good as it looks."

  The others murmured agreement, tension still weighing on them. But at least for the moment, in the flickering torchlight of Sefu Okonjo's camp, they had safety—however fragile it might be.

  Evening settled gently over the camp, the humid air lit by the soft orange glow of torches. Jace, Theo, Elias, Aera, and Darin had gathered in a small clearing near their assigned tents, quietly piecing together their impressions of Sefu's stronghold. It was still jarring to see a functional community here—organized, well-supplied, and devout.

  Before long, Mira and Joran returned from the infirmary. The group stood to greet them, relief etched on their faces. Joran walked gingerly, but he no longer looked on the verge of collapse."How did it go?" Elias asked, brow creasing with concern.

  "We got some salve," Mira said. "He should be fine in a day or two." She gestured to the fresh bandage wrapped around Joran's midsection.

  Joran gave a tight nod, easing himself down onto a makeshift seat. "They're decently stocked, from what I saw—herbs, dressings, that kind of thing." He winced slightly as he settled.

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  A thoughtful frown crossed Aera's face. "Should we just buy a healing potion for you, Joran? We've got enough points pooled if you think it'll help."

  Joran hesitated, glancing at the rest of the group. A flicker of appreciation passed across his features, but he shook his head. "I'll manage," he said. "Those potions are expensive, and we might need every last point soon—no telling what else we'll face. Plus, I don't want to burn our resources just because I'm hurting. A few days of rest and salve, I'll be good as new. Besides this Aether energy seems to be helping too."

  Mira studied him a moment, then nodded. "All right. But let us know if it gets worse, okay?"

  Joran let a breath out, relieved that she wasn't pushing the issue. "Deal."

  Soon after, a pair of Sefu's followers arrived with simple bowls of stew and clay cups of water. The meal was hardly fancy—thin broth, morsels of tubers, a pinch of wild herbs—but it tasted like a feast compared to scavenged rations in the jungle. They found seats around a crude wooden table, the fire's glow dancing over weary faces.

  Occasional glances from other camp residents reminded them they were still newcomers here, but the wariness felt tempered by curiosity. A few greeted them with subdued nods or half-smiles, apparently relieved to see new survivors that weren't openly hostile.

  "I can't believe it," Darin murmured, spooning up a mouthful of stew. "A place to sit and eat without having to constantly look over our shoulders for giant ants or flying horrors."

  Elias gave a cautious shrug. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Let's not forget where we are."

  The conversation died down as hunger took over, and soon empty bowls clinked softly against the table. As the torches burned low, the camp's bustle quieted, leaving only a few sentries posted along the perimeter. One by one, the survivors retired to their tents, grateful for a rare moment of rest that required neither watch duty nor frantic vigilance.

  Night deepened, and for the first time in days, they slept under the timid promise of safety.

  ***

  Sefu Okonjo sat at a broad wooden table near the center of his tent, the morning sun filtering through its canvas walls. The air inside felt thick with possibility—and with the subtle weight of his new power. He had not slept much. Instead, he had spent the early hours wrestling with the mysteries of the Aether Manual and the strange awareness that hummed beneath his skin.

  He inhaled slowly, shutting his eyes and letting his Aether pool in his chest. Ever since forging his core, he had detected a deep resonance whenever his feet touched solid ground. Last night, in a secluded corner of the camp, he had tested this sense more thoroughly: pressing his Aether outward, seeking a reaction from the earth. The slightest vibration rippled through the soil, almost as though the land breathed in answer to him—though it yielded no secrets just yet.

  But there was something else. A second form of resistance, intangible yet potent, whenever he pushed his Aether toward another living soul. He recalled how he had asked one of his most trusted subordinates, Kwaku, to stand close. The moment Sefu directed his energy outward, he met with a curious resistance—nothing violent or hostile, but like two forces interacting unpredictably. Is this another puzzle from the gods? he mused. The Orisha had placed him here to grow, to shape this land in their image, and such revelations must be part of his divine test.

  His eyelids flicked open. He exhaled, letting the Aether subside. No more time to dwell on the puzzle—morning had come, and he had a camp to lead. He ran a hand over the thick parchment spread across the table, a rudimentary map of cleared territories and potential expansions. Outside, he could hear the rising hum of the settlement stirring awake: men and women calling orders, the scrape of wooden platforms, the low clink of steel tools.

  A guard entered, bowing quickly. "My King, the new arrivals are here."

  Sefu nodded, dismissing the guard with a wave. A short moment later, the tent flap was drawn aside, and Elias led in the small band of weary survivors—Mira, Jace, Theo, Joran, Aera, and Darin, he had learned their names from his subordinates. Their eyes darted around the interior: the simple yet functional furnishings, the table loaded with notes and charcoal, and Sefu himself, who regarded them with cool intensity.

  The group hesitated at the threshold under Sefu's unwavering stare. Joran, though bandaged and upright, still carried visible traces of pain on his face. Mira's posture stiffened at the silent pressure that seemed to emanate from the Warrior-King's presence. Jace and Theo exchanged uneasy glances. Aera and Darin stood off to the side, uncertain whether to speak or remain silent.

  In the hush that followed, Sefu rose from his seat. He rested a hand on the table's edge, letting his gaze linger on each newcomer. He had quickly deduced that Elias carried the air of quiet command—shoulders set, eyes calm despite the tension. The others seemed to take subtle cues from him.

  "I trust you found some measure of rest," Sefu said at last, voice low and steady. He stepped around the table, the leather plates of his tunic catching stray beams of morning light. "Tell me, Elias," he continued, focusing on the man who appeared to be their spokesman, "did your night here confirm what I promised? That you would be safe from the horrors of the wilds?"

  Elias inclined his head, meeting Sefu's gaze. "We had a peaceful night," he admitted. "Thank you for that."

  A faint nod from Sefu. He clasped his hands behind his back, the faint pulse of his Aether stirring again—reminding him of the mysteries yet unsolved. But for now, he set that aside, focusing on the practicalities. The Orisha had seen fit to grant him not just supernatural challenges but the responsibilities of these people's well-being.

  "Good," he said. "Now, we can discuss what you might contribute to my domain—and what I can offer you in return." His eyes narrowed a fraction, though his tone remained even. "Know that I do not lead through chaos or tricks, but I have little patience for the faithless or the idle. This land demands fortitude from us all."

  The atmosphere in the tent felt charged, as if the very earth beneath them vibrated with Sefu's conviction.

  "Now," he said, "let us chart your future here."