CHAPTER 4: FORT DESPAIR
Fort Despair smelled like shit, desperation, and slowly dying dreams.
Rider walked through the gate and immediately wanted to turn around and walk back out.
The courtyard was a mess.
Broken cobblestones turned every step into a twisted-ankle hazard.
A well in the center looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
Buildings with collapsed roofs.
Walls cracked wide enough to fit a fist through.
And people.
Too many people.
Civilians huddled around dying fires, wearing rags more patch than cloth.
Children with hollow eyes and swollen bellies — malnutrition, his modern brain whispered.
Adults worn thin by hunger and hopelessness.
They stared at Rider as he passed.
Not with hope.
Not with hate.
Just… emptiness.
Like they'd seen too many "governors" come and go to care anymore.
> This is worse than I thought. Way worse.
"Welcome to paradise," muttered Captain Kane, walking beside him — tall, sharp-eyed, dressed like a man but carrying herself with a strange, subtle grace.
Something about her voice made Rider glance twice.
Her features were too symmetrical, her jaw too soft under the dirt and grime.
A girl, pretending to be a man.
Rider didn't comment.
He just smirked.
"Still think you can fix this?" she asked.
"I have to try," Rider said, pretending not to notice her disguise. "Where's the command center?"
Kane led them toward a two-story stone building — once proud, now a ruin like everything else.
"Governor's quarters, meeting hall, armory — all in one. Efficient," she said dryly. "Last three governors either hanged themselves, drank themselves to death, or got killed by bandits trying to escape."
"Charming place," Rider muttered.
"The Grey Waste doesn't do charming," Kane said. "Try not to add to the body count."
The "governor's quarters" was a single cold room: one bed, one desk, one window that didn't close.
Luxury, apparently.
"I need a full accounting," Rider said. "Supplies, soldiers, civilians, everything."
Kane raised an eyebrow. "You actually want to work? Most governors just lock the door and cry themselves to sleep."
"I'm not most governors," Rider said. "I'm twelve, exiled, and pissed off. So either help me or get out of my way."
Kane blinked, then smirked — the first hint of amusement. "Fine, Your Grace. But don't blame me when you realize we're all screwed."
---
Garros leaned against the doorframe as Kane left.
"Making friends already."
"She doesn't need to like me," Rider said. "She just needs to follow orders."
He stared out the cracked window at the courtyard.
Starving civilians. Hungry soldiers.
Desperation so thick it was almost a fog.
"Unemployment," Garros said. "No farms, no trade routes. So they steal, rob, or join the bandits in the hills. Whole families gone rogue."
"So crime is our biggest industry," Rider said bitterly.
"Pretty much."
Rider sighed. "Then I need to start an economy."
Garros blinked. "With what money?"
Rider gave a small grin. "Everything I own."
---
That night, Kane brought the ledger.
The numbers were as depressing as she'd promised.
Soldiers: 47
Civilians: 183
Food: 3 weeks left
Water: Contaminated
Morale: Lower than snake shit
Rider exhaled slowly. "Alright. We can't fix everything, but we can start somewhere."
"With what manpower?" Kane asked.
"With hunger," Rider said simply. "People don't need orders. They need reasons. We'll give them both."
He scribbled quickly.
Sell my valuables: gold seal ring, fine cloak, silver belt buckle.
Use funds to buy and ration food locally.
Post work programs:
Clean the well — 1 day's work = extra ration.
Join the militia — stable food, small pay.
Hunt rabbits — 1 rabbit = 1 week of rice.
Patrol roads — 3 days' work = dried meat share.
"They're starving, Kane," he said. "Give them a purpose, and they'll work."
Kane watched him in silence — those dark eyes narrowing, testing him. "You're serious."
"As a famine," he said. "Tomorrow, we start."
She looked amused again, the corners of her lips twitching — that strange, almost feminine smirk he'd caught before.
Rider looked away quickly.
---
Day 2
Rider woke to shouting.
For a second, he thought bandits had attacked — until he looked out the window.
The courtyard was full of people.
Kane stood beside the new notice board, arms crossed, surrounded by a crowd reading the posted signs.
"They showed up," Rider whispered.
"They showed up," Kane echoed. "You've caused a commotion."
"Good commotion or bad?"
"Still deciding."
Rider climbed onto a crate. "Listen up!"
The noise died instantly.
He looked out at faces — thin, tired, desperate.
He'd seen this in history documentaries: civilizations that collapsed not from invasion, but starvation.
"My name is Rider Draymore," he began. "Twelve years old. Exiled. Walked three weeks through wasteland to get here. And now I'm your governor."
A ripple of murmurs.
"I know what you're thinking. Another useless noble. Another failure."
He let the words hang.
"You're not wrong. But I'm not here to rule you — I'm here to survive with you. And that means every single one of you matters."
He pointed at the signs. "You want food? You work. Fair pay, fair trade. Clean the well — get rice. Hunt — get meat. Guard the fort — get bread. We build together or we die separately."
Someone shouted, "We've heard this before!"
Rider nodded. "Probably from idiots who promised miracles. I don't have miracles. I have a shovel, a brain, and two hands. That's what you're getting."
Silence. Then, slowly, someone stepped forward.
A gaunt man raised his hand. "If we clean the well… you'll really give food?"
Rider tossed him a small rice pouch. "Start with that."
The man stared, stunned. Then ran to the well.
That was all it took.
Within minutes, others followed.
Kane crossed her arms beside Rider. "You bribed them."
"I motivated them."
She chuckled softly. "You're dangerous, Your Grace."
"Tell me something new."
---
Day 3
Work actually happened.
Forty civilians cleaning the well.
Soldiers reinforcing the walls.
A few young men joining the "militia" just to eat twice a day.
Rider watched from the command window, arms folded. "Progress."
"Temporary," Kane said. "They'll want more soon."
"Then I'll give them more. Opportunity."
She gave him that look again — half-amused, half-curious. "You're strange, Governor. Most nobles here die drunk or mad. You act like you still believe in people."
"Someone has to," Rider said softly.
She didn't reply. But when she turned to leave, Rider noticed — her movements were lighter, almost graceful.
Definitely not a man's walk.
Yeah. He knew.
But he'd let her keep the secret. Everyone had their reasons.
---
Day 4 — The Descent
They found the entrance exactly where old maps promised — behind sealed doors in the lowest basement.
The Valyrian stone glowed faintly, runes alive with old power.
Rider felt his pulse quicken. "It's real."
"How do we open it?" Finn asked.
"Blood," Rider said. "Valyrian locks respond to bloodlines."
Kane frowned. "You're not Valyrian."
"No," Rider said, drawing his knife, "but my ancestors might've been close enough."
He pressed his bleeding hand against the runes.
The door trembled. Light rippled across its surface — deep red, like dragonfire caught in crystal.
Ancient gears shifted.
The door opened.
A gust of warm, stale air swept past them, carrying the scent of dust and time.
"Well," Garros said, "shit."
"Exactly," Rider muttered. "Light the torches."
Kane hesitated at the threshold. "If you die down there—"
"You get my horse," Rider said, smirking. "I remember."
She looked at him — really looked — eyes softening just a fraction. "Try not to die stupidly, kid."
"I'll aim for clever."
They descended into the dark.
Torches flared, footsteps echoed.
The last light from the surface vanished behind them, leaving only shadows and the slow crackle of flame.
Before them stretched an underground city — vast, ancient, carved with dragons that seemed ready to breathe fire again.
Finn whispered, "Holy shit."