“Come on, Sloco… I know it’s in your name, but you really need to chop these trees a bit faster.”

The voice belonged to Garan, a broad-shouldered man with arms like tree trunks and a patience thinner than twigs. He watched as Sloco—axe in hand—chipped away at the same tree with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“I’m not even slow. Stop nagging.” Sloco muttered, not looking up.

“You are. Everyone’s finished their three trees for the day, and you’re still on your second.” Garan crossed his arms.

Sloco sighed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t work faster—he just spent most of his time lost in thought. The rhythm of chopping was good for thinking, and today, his mind was miles away from the forest.

He opened his mouth to answer, but before a single word could leave his lips—

A scream. Sharp. Panicked.

The sound cut through the air, freezing the workers in place. Then, someone spoke the words that made Sloco’s heart jolt.

“That came from the mine.”

Sloco didn’t hesitate. His axe hit the ground as his legs carried him forward before he even had time to think.

“Wait! No one should be in the mine today! Wait for us!” Garan’s voice thundered behind him.

But whether Sloco heard or simply ignored him, he didn’t stop. His breath came fast, his heartbeat louder than his pounding steps. He knew that voice. He had known it his whole life.

Percil.

The slightly older girl who had raised him. The one person he could always count on.

Why? Why are you in the mine today?

The entrance wasn’t far. Within moments, he reached it—and his stomach twisted at what he saw.

Percil stood inside, back against the rock wall, swinging her pickaxe wildly. Her face was tense, her hands shaking. And before her—

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A pack of wild boars, their eyes locked onto her like she was a cornered beast.

Sloco didn’t think—he acted.

His feet barely touched the ground as he snatched up a thick branch near the entrance. He ran straight toward the boars, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Get out of here! Go! Get!”

The nearest boar flinched as Sloco swung the branch, its tip cracking against the rocky floor. The rest hesitated, their small, dark eyes darting between him and Percil. They weren’t used to someone charging them.

He pressed forward, swinging again. The boars let out a chorus of snorts and grunts before they turned and scattered, their hooves kicking up dirt as they fled into the trees.

Silence followed—except for the sound of Percil catching her breath.

“You alright?” Sloco asked, stepping closer.

Percil lowered her pickaxe, still gripping it tight. She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. That was... unexpected.”

Sloco glanced at the mine entrance. “Why were you even in there? No one was supposed to be mining today.”

Percil sighed, rolling her shoulders like she was working out the tension. “Gor’il told me to.”

That name made Sloco’s jaw tighten. “Of course he did.”

Percil gave him a tired look. “Sloco.”

“No, really, of course he did.” Sloco threw up his hands. “Why wouldn’t the ‘great chosen leader’ send someone into an empty mine alone? What, did he think the ore was going to dig itself up and walk over to the smelter?”

“He wanted an iron report before the next council meeting.” Percil rubbed the back of her neck. “Said it was urgent.”

“Urgent?” Sloco let out a dry laugh. “Right. I forgot. Nothing is more urgent than preparing for a war that isn’t even happening yet.”

Percil exhaled through her nose. “We all agreed, Sloco. We need to be ready for when it comes back.”

Sloco shook his head. “I know we need to be ready. But that’s all he ever thinks about. Revenge, not rebuilding. War, not people.”

He turned to her. “Tell me—when was the last time Gor’il said a single word about the families struggling to build houses? Or the kids who barely get enough to eat some days?”

Percil opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Sloco muttered.

She looked at him carefully. “You’ve never liked Gor’il.”

“Maybe because I never got to vote for him,” Sloco shot back. “We both know if I had, he wouldn’t be sitting on that council.”

Percil’s gaze softened. “You were too young, Sloco.”

“I was old enough to work. Old enough to live with the consequences.” He shook his head. “But not old enough to choose who decides my future.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cool wind from the mine brushed past them, carrying dust and the faint scent of iron.

Finally, Percil broke the silence. “Come on. Let’s get back before Garan turns red from yelling.”

Sloco let out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

But as they walked, his mind didn’t leave the conversation.

Because one day—whether Gor’il liked it or not—he would have a vote. And when that day came, he knew exactly what kind of future he wanted.