The deafening cheers gradually ebbed, like a receding tide, but the excitement lingering in the air refused to dissipate.
The freshly turned earth still exuded its rich, damp scent. The deep, straight furrow carved by the Mountain Bison lay across the land like a scar—and a promise.
Around it, the people of Blackwood Fortress were still celebrating.
Some laughed loudly, retelling what they had just witnessed. Others crouched by the furrow, scooping up the dark soil in their hands as if confirming it was real. Even the usually reserved Deer-folk wore faint smiles, their eyes filled with quiet hope.
To them, this was more than plowing.
It was certainty.
Food. Survival. A future that no longer felt like a gamble.
But Colin did not smile.
Standing slightly apart from the crowd, his gaze swept across the celebration—not the center, but the edges.
That was where the truth always hid.
He saw a few young Fox-folk leaning lazily against a tree, their expressions casual, their laughter shallow. They spoke among themselves, glancing at the commotion with only mild interest, as though this miracle had little to do with them.
He saw a Boar-folk laborer, still breathing heavily from earlier work, accidentally bump into another. The latter frowned, stepping back with visible displeasure, brushing off his shoulder as if dirtied by the contact.
Small things.
So small that no one else noticed.
But to Colin, they were cracks.
His expression cooled.
The cheers behind him blurred into indistinct noise as his thoughts sharpened.
The Mountain Bison had shattered the limits of their labor.
That much was undeniable.
But in doing so, it had also exposed something far more dangerous.
The system.
The "big pot" that had sustained Blackwood Fortress until now.
At the beginning, it had been necessary.
When they were starving, hunted, and barely surviving, equality was not an ideal—it was a lifeline. Everyone ate the same because there was barely anything to eat. Everyone worked because if one person failed, all might die.
It bound them together.
It made them one.
But now…
Now things were changing.
Colin's gaze lowered slightly.
He remembered the construction of the fortress walls—how some carried stones until their shoulders bled, while others lingered at the edges, moving little, resting often.
At night, they all received the same portion.
He remembered the arguments over food—petty, ugly disputes over who deserved more, over who had done more.
He remembered Lena's reports—quiet, precise, and increasingly concerning.
Enthusiasm declining.
Work becoming perfunctory.
People doing just enough to avoid blame—and no more.
At the time, he had suppressed it.
Because survival came first.
Because there were always more urgent threats.
But now, standing here, watching the land yield under the strength of the bison…
He could no longer ignore it.
Productivity was no longer the problem.
Human nature was.
If those who worked harder gained nothing more, they would eventually stop trying.
If those who did less lost nothing, they would do even less.
This was not speculation.
It was inevitability.
The cheers around him suddenly felt distant.
Colin stood in the midst of celebration, yet apart from it, as if separated by an invisible wall.
For the first time in a long while, he felt alone.
Not because there was no one beside him—
—but because no one else was looking at what he was seeing.
The future.
And the danger within it.
His eyes shifted back to the furrow.
Dark, fertile earth lay exposed under the sun, rich with possibility.
The land did not lie.
It gave exactly what was put into it.
No more. No less.
Fair.
A faint glimmer stirred in Colin's eyes.
Perhaps…
Perhaps the answer had always been there.
Not in ideology.
Not in force.
But in something far simpler.
His fingers slowly curled into a fist.
The old system had carried them through chaos.
But it would not carry them into strength.
Change was no longer a choice.
It was a necessity.
Colin took a slow breath, the noise of the crowd gradually returning to his ears.
This time, when he looked at them, his gaze was no longer distant.
It was resolute.
The land had been broken.
Now—
it was time to reshape the rules that governed those who worked it.