Interlude: Lions, Lifewheat, & Crafters... Oh My! (Chapter 57.5?)

Interlude: Lions, Lifewheat, & Crafters... Oh My!

Called to Haven Valley by the System Recruitment Notice, the Crafter families moved slowly, wagons and packs creaking under the weight of tools and supplies, children perched on carts or walking alongside, their eyes wide with wonder. The Lifewheat Fields stretched endlessly, golden stalks swaying like a sea around them. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of grain, and every step carried them deeper into the Valley’s heart.

The Life Lions paced the caravan, sometimes within view and other times just ghosts invisibly stalking the fields, their golden manes catching the light, their eyes sharp and unblinking. To the adults, their presence was unnerving. Necessary guardians, but feared Predators. Every ripple of muscle, every flick of a tail reminded them that these Lions were Apex killing machines that could end them in an instant. To the parents, they were terror held at bay by agreement alone. But to the children, the lions were magic. They whispered to each other, pointing at the great beasts, imagining themselves riding on their backs or running beside them. The bravest even darting forward to pet the sleek hot fur, (Only to be dragged away and scolded by any parents who caught sight of the activity.)

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Day One

The first day passed with tension thick in the air. The adults kept their voices low, warning their children not to stare, not to draw attention. “Eyes forward,” one father muttered, gripping the reins of his wagon. “Make no Eye contact, lest they feel challenged. They’re not pets. They’re killers.” His wife nodded, her eyes darting constantly to the wheat, as if expecting the lions to turn on them at any moment. The only thing scarier than the Life Lion they could see nearby were the ones they could not see but knew stalked the caravan on every side.

But the children giggled, whispering, “Guardians, not killers. Did you see how they move? Like shadows in the wheat. Leaving no opening for danger.” They leaned out of the wagons, trying to catch glimpses of the lions’ golden eyes, their paws silent as they padded along the edges of the caravan.

Near midday, the caravan froze at the call of the Life Lion at the front. From the far edge of the fields came snarls, low and guttural. A pack of large black dogs burst from the stalks, their bodies twisted, their eyes glowing with shadow. Death clung to them like smoke, their auras foul and suffocating. The air itself seemed to grow colder, heavier, as the dogs advanced, probing for an opening to great at the tasty two-legged treats.

The children screamed, clutching at their parents. The adults rushing the children to the added safety of the carts, even as they scrambled for weapons, though most had only hammers, knives, and crafting implements. Fear surged through the caravan like wildfire. These were Crafters and families, not Challengers. Not Fighters.

But before panic could take root, the Life Lions moved.

With a roar that shook the fields, three lions leapt from hiding and into the fray. Golden manes flashed, claws tore through shadowed flesh, and the dogs’ snarls turned to shrieks. The lions fought with precision, their movements fluid, their strength overwhelming. One lion slammed a dog into the earth, its claws raking across its throat. Another tore through two at once, its teeth sinking deep into shadowed fur. The third lion moved like lightning, scattering the remainder of the Death Dog pack with an aura empowered Roar of challenge.

Within moments, the black dogs scattered to escape or lay broken, their auras dissipating into the wheat. The golden stalks swayed again, as if nothing had happened.

The children cheered, eyes shining with awe. “Did you see that? They saved us!” one cried, bouncing in the wagon. Another whispered, “They’re heroes. Real heroes.”

The adults, pale and shaken, whispered among themselves. “They killed those things like they were nothing. If they turned on us…” The thought hung heavy, unspoken but shared. Fear lingered, even as relief washed over them.

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Day Two

The second day was quieter, though the tension never left. The caravan pressed on, the lions circling, their eyes scanning the horizon. The children grew bolder, whispering stories of the lions as heroes, while the adults muttered prayers under their breath.

The children played games, pretending to be lions themselves, leaping from wagon to wagon, growling and roaring. Their parents scolded them, but the laughter carried, a fragile shield against fear. “They’re protecting us,” children whispered reverently. “Like guardians.”

The adults shook their heads. “They’re Monsters. Dangerous,” an elder muttered under his breath. “Never forget that. If they turned on us, we’d be nothing but meat.”

That night, as the families camped among the wheat, the silence was shattered. From the darkness came snarls, screams, and the thunder of paws. The families of the caravan huddled together, clutching their children, listening as the Life Lions fought unseen enemies in the night.

The sounds were terrifying, every sound compounded by the impenetrable darkness. Roars that shook the earth, shrieks that curdled blood, the crash of bodies colliding. The children clung to their parents, wide eyed, whispering, “They’re fighting for us.”

The adults sat rigid, fear etched into their faces. “If those things had reached us…” one mother whispered, voice trembling. “Without the Lions, we’d all be dead.”

The battle raged for long minutes, then silence fell. The lions returned, their golden eyes gleaming in the firelight, their fur streaked with blood. They said nothing, offered no explanation, only resumed their silent watch.

The families slept uneasily, haunted by the sounds of unseen death. The children dreamed of golden manes and flashing claws, while the adults dreamed of shadows and teeth.

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Day Three

By the third day, exhaustion weighed on the caravan. The children were restless, their excitement tempered by the fear from their parents, though still they whispered of the lions as heroes. They pointed at the lions, whispering stories of bravery, imagining themselves fighting alongside, or atop, them.

The adults remained wary, their eyes darting to the golden guardians with suspicion and gratitude in equal measure. Every roar, every flick of a tail reminded them of the thin line between safety and death.

The lions never faltered. They paced the caravan, their presence constant, their strength undeniable. When the walls of Haven Valley finally came into view, relief washed over the families like a tide.

The children cheered, pointing at the gates, their voices bright with joy. “We made it! The lions kept us safe!” Their laughter rang out, pure and unburdened.

The adults exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief, hearts heavy with conflicting emotions. They had been protected, yes, but by predators they did not understand, whose power was beyond their own.

And so the Crafter families entered Haven Valley, carrying both awe and unease. For the children, the journey had been an adventure, a story of guardians and heroes. For the adults, it was a reminder of fragility, of the thin line between safety and death.

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