Dozia had never desired to have children. Perhaps there had been a flicker of longing for a family and a husband in the past, but the relentless hardships endured by the Lost Ones had eroded that desire within her.

While girls in distant lands engaged in games of fate, using coins to glimpse their future husbands, Dozia's childhood was steeped in swords and blood. She had taken charge of a small tribe of children, molding them into the present-day Lost Ones.

Now their numbers had swelled to dozens, gathered within this expansive cavern, a clearing that served as their assembly ground. Lena, Rasmus, James, and Dozia stood before their fellow Lost Ones, their gaze scanning the faces assembled.

Dozia took a deep breath, running her fingers through her tresses of hair as she fixed her eyes on the young boy. Perhaps, this was precisely why she had shunned the idea of having children. Being thrust into a leadership role at such a tender age had extinguished any remnants of longing for a family.

Various races, ages, and features were illuminated by flickering orange specks of light. All eyes were fixated on Oliver. Yes, Oliver. Dozia's thoughts drifted back to a month ago when she first encountered the awakened Oliver. He had been wrapped in a blanket, weeping for the cruel hand fate had dealt him, his overwhelming sense of isolation and self-inflicted torment. The compassion he had shown for an evil slaver, his struggles with the weight of a profound destiny.

But now, Dozia slowly shook her head, her gaze drifting over Oliver's form as shadows swirled and clawed beneath his restless movements. The once quiet and timid boy was no more; only Oliver remained.

"Why the hell not!" Oliver's voice thundered, echoing through the crowd of Demi Humans, causing their heightened senses to wince at the venom lacing his words. "That fortress is a goldmine. Four towering walls with a functional gate. Who knows how vast its interior is!"

Lena shook her head. "We cannot move into that fortress, it's too perilous."

"Lena's right," Rasmus agreed. "Oliver, I understand that it appears enticing to you, but a pack of orcs has taken up residence amidst the ruins. They are the real deal, unlike the werewolf you faced."

James nodded. "They possess intelligence. They may still be monsters, but they wield swords and wear armor."

"But they're monsters," Oliver repeated, his head bobbing up and down as his fingers traced along his chin. "They aren't fully human or demi-human."

"Yes," Lena affirmed. "Orcs have always been monstrous. Demi-humans are those with human blood coursing through their veins, capable of interbreeding. But orcs cannot, for they are true monsters."

"What do they do?" Oliver inquired.

Dozia let out a weary sigh. "They ravage, murder, and ambush tribes. They are a band of repugnant brutes that have taken up residence in the fortress."

Oliver's snicker reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of those present. "Alright, then. I say we take it," he declared, drawing a couple of nods from the crowd. "We'll be doing the world a favor by getting rid of them, won't we?"

A crack appeared on Oliver's face as he slowly turned toward the gathering, his eyes fixing on them. To him, the orcs were no more than invasive creatures, not human at all. Taking their game, claiming their land—killing them wouldn't keep him up at night.

James's face contorted in disbelief. "Are you kidding me right now!" he shouted. "You want to start a war with the orcs!"

"The orcs aren't just another tribe," Lena interjected. "Oliver, James has a point. Orcs are formidable creatures. We may outnumber them, but people will die."

Oliver sneered. "This is war. If we want to carve out a frontier for ourselves, we'll need fighters," he declared, spinning around to face the crowd.

"Are you all tired of living like this?" he asked, pointing toward the entrance. "While the humans of the empire revel in their castles and towns, we, the Lost Ones, servants of the Deus Imperator, skulk around these caverns like rats, surviving on whatever meager prey we can find."

He felt the fire kindling within the crowd, the simmering resentment reminding them of their degradation at the hands of humans. Reminding them of their loyalty to the Deus Imperator. "Make no mistake, I'm not doing this for honor, but our tribe needs a place to call home."

Rasmus nodded in agreement with Oliver's words. It made sense. Sure, he was a dwarf, but how long could they truly remain holed up underground?

His gaze wandered across the diverse mix of Lost Ones. Some of the wolfkin were growing restless. Winter was looming, and they needed to stockpile food. How could they accomplish that in this cold cave?

And what about the slavers? How would they fare in close-quarter combat with limited escape routes?

They had no real knowledge of the orc's numbers or armaments. They had been hidden away in their hive for decades. Rasmus, drawing on his dwarven wisdom, imagined their armor and steel had likely deteriorated. But surely the Lost Ones outnumbered them.

Yet, Lena's words lingered in his mind—people would die. This wouldn't be a mere hunting accident or a slaver attack gone wrong. Oliver would lead the Lost Ones as a warlord against the orcs.

The Lost Ones would either emerge victorious or face devastating defeat. And the survivors would have to bear the weight of this new home stained with the blood of their allies.

Before Rasmus could voice his thoughts, James spoke up. "We don't have the weapons or equipment to fight them head-on. We'll be nothing but cannon fodder," he turned to address the crowd. "We'll be massacred. You've all heard the legends of Imposter Derik. He fashioned the orcs in his own image. They may be foolish, but their strength is formidable."

The hums of agreement reverberated through the crowd, but Oliver's chuckle echoed, his gaze locked onto James light blue eyes.

"That's why the demi humans could never best the humans... why you all lost your magic," Oliver stated, his words landing like a heavy blow. Silence settled like a shroud, even Dozia, who had been struggling to keep up, was struck dumbfounded. Oliver turned toward the crowd, their mouths agape, teeth bared.

Even the youngest child grasped the weight of his words. If Oliver were not believed to be the Deus Imperator or an Imposter, they would have pounced on him like ravenous beasts.

"How dare you," James seethed, his hand slamming against the wall as Oliver stared at him, unyielding.

Oliver pursed his lips, then faced the frozen Lost Ones. "I want someone to tell me why you all lost your magic."

Dozia observed him closely, her mind racing. What game are you playing, Oliver? You're treading dangerous ground. There are many within the tribe who still doubt your role as Deus Imperator. Don't give them a reason to challenge you!

"Because the false king stole it from us," a young lizardman spoke, gripping the hand of another demi human. Oliver nodded. "Yes, it was the false king who pilfered the magic from the demi-human race. In a single stroke of power, unprecedented in this world, the false king sterilized the entire demon race, subjecting them to a slow and agonizing demise. Meanwhile, the demi humans lost their natural affinity for magic. But now, I have a question for you all... Was that honorable?"

The crowd erupted.

"Hell no!"

"Are you kidding me? That cheat wielded his Imposter power!"

Oliver smirked, relishing in the choir of fury and indignation that swelled among the crowd. Their features contorted with anger, fists pumping as they channeled their rage through their words.

"Alright, then..." Oliver raised his hand, the deafening silence descending upon them as all eyes remained fixed on him. For many, traces of fury still etched onto their faces.

"Now, I must ask you all, in the face of this dishonorable act, what ensued?" Oliver questioned.

Another voice spoke up, Rena. "After we lost our magic, many human empires took advantage of us. Enslavement, murder, and destruction... the forest of the high elves now burns in the eternal flames of the False King."

"Now, Rena," Oliver interjected. "I want to ask you something."

The girl looked up, a hush falling over the crowd. "Who emerged victorious?"

"Who... won?" Oliver nodded vigorously, pacing the stage with purpose. "You all agreed that what the false king did was undeniably evil. But now, let me pose another question... Who emerged victorious?"

They shifted uneasily, eyes casting downward. Anger flickered in some, a blaze that threatened to consume them. "We would have won if the humans had fought fair!"

"But they didn't!" Oliver's retort boomed, instantly silencing the lone demi-human who dared to challenge him. His gaze descended upon the defiant figure, hand raised in authority. "There is no such thing as honor. There is only winning and losing. And in that great war, the demi-humans clung to their traditions... and lost, allowing the humans to seize control."

Oliver swiveled his head, fixing his piercing gaze on Rasmus. "Rasmus, you spoke to me of the Imposter, the one your dwarfs fear. How was he slain?"

Rasmus swallowed hard, his voice caught in his throat. He knew that if he remained silent, another dwarf in the crowd would speak up. "We dispatched parties to hunt him down. Some were from the odd adventurers guild, while others joined out of vengeance for what he had done. But he slaughtered them all..."

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Rasmus sneered, his breath growing heavy with the weight of his words. He knew exactly what Oliver was driving at, what he demanded him to reveal. "The dwarfs knew that if the Imposter ventured deeper into our lands, he would gain sponsorship and become untouchable to the Dwarfan city states. So we devised a plan."

He observed the subtle loosening of Oliver's lips, a concealed smirk hidden from the crowd, as Oliver whirled toward him. "Tell us the plan."

Rasmus sighed, resigned to share the truth. "He was reckless, attacking another Dwarfan city, but we were aware of his intentions. Utilizing our Earth Magic, we caused the ground to swallow him. We descended upon him like a pack of hounds. He sustained a blow to the head that incapacitated him, but our combined hammers reduced him to a bloody pulp."

Oliver nodded approvingly. "Do you see, my comrades?" he bellowed, pointing toward Rasmus. "Even the proud dwarfs have acted dishonorably!"

"Dishonorably!" Rasmus recoiled, his eyes darting toward Oliver, a surge of fury welling within him. "Men, women, and children... They were massacred in the hundreds by that twisted monster. We couldn't defeat him through conventional means; he was stronger than all of us. We had to..."

"Unite to defeat a superior foe," Oliver interjected, closing his left hand into a fist and extending his right palm, bringing the two together like a hammer striking stone. "See, my comrades!" he shouted once more. "There is no dishonor in banding together to overcome a formidable adversary. To ambush, to assassinate, to fight strategically and minimize losses."

He stretched his arms wide, emphasizing his point. "Tell me, which is the better path? The man who slaughters hundreds honorably to bring an end to the war... or the one who assassinates the enemy general, swiftly terminating the conflict without a single ally lost?"

The answer lay before them, an undeniable truth that Lena, Dozia, Rasmus, and James absorbed with wide-eyed astonishment. The Lost Ones, their emotions contorted and tumultuous, began to perceive the rationale behind Oliver's words. "My father once imparted a crucial lesson to me," Oliver declared, his voice snapping like a whip, his narrowed eyes fixed upon them. "He said that honor is a fallacy, a delusion embraced by feeble-minded warriors who believe there's a righteous method to kill a man, a virtuous way to wage war!"

He snapped again, his gaze piercing through them, exposing the raw truth. "There is no proper way to extinguish a life... There is no right approach to warfare. It is a gory horror, a harrowing journey that exacts a heavy toll, transforming you into something unrecognizable."

He witnessed their transformations, the anger dissolving into sorrow. Now, give them hope, just as my father taught me.

"But there is hope in what we are undertaking!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the air. "I am Oliver. My father taught me the art of warfare, and though I have forgotten much, I am gradually remembering!"

Strength surged within his body, his eyes ablaze with an oceanic darkness that ensnared them all, drawing them into his madness. The weight of the crowd pressed upon him, a collective organism swaying and moving as a chaotic blend of emotions reinforced his resolve.

"What is our desire?" he shouted.

A voice emerged from the multitude. "To vanquish the King, to reclaim what is rightfully ours!"

"But to achieve this, we require strength!" he declared, raising his hand high. "Weapons, supplies, allies. I refuse to lead the Lost Ones into battle if they cling to outdated tribal practices and notions of honorable combat!"

His fist struck his chest. "I am Oliver Windsor, an Imposter summoned into this realm. You have heard the legends, the tales of our purpose. Whether it brings salvation or destruction, it is by my hand!" His head spun, capturing the rhythmic thumping of their hearts, the pounding of paws, feet, and talons against the stone floor. "I am Oliver Windsor, a Lost One. My parents are deceased, and I possess nothing but the tribe!"

Dozia rose from her seat, her warning echoing in Oliver's ears. Not yet, he mustn't do it!

But an intoxicating frenzy engulfed him, overriding reason. "I must show them, influence them, inspire them," he thought. "For if the armies of the false king truly are our adversaries, then the Orcs are the weakest among them."

Oliver tightly gripped the bone knife Lena had carved for him, wrenching it from his belt. His other hand tore off his glove, the crowd's hands raised high, weapons held aloft, their screams funneled into a tempest.

"You mustn't!" Dozia's scream pierced the air, but it was swallowed by the fervor of the crowd.

"I am Oliver Windsor, son of Martin Windsor... General of the Free Yukon Independence Movement. I have fought, trained, and studied the art of warfare," he proclaimed, raising both the blade and his hand. The palm began to emit a radiant glow, sweat mingling with the luminescence. The crowd erupted into chaotic ecstasy as tables, chairs, and rocks levitated in the air. Oliver surrendered himself to the surge of adrenaline, the madness of hysteria, the intoxicating frenzy. "Let me lead you! I am Oliver Windsor, son of a general. Though I may have forgotten some of my skills, I shall remember them. Appoint me as the Lost Ones' war chief. Let me deliver the king's head... for I am the Deus Imperator, and my pledge is absolute!"

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar, and Oliver recognized the victory he had achieved in this argument. They reveled now in the intoxicating taste of bloodlust. His own mind felt too frenzied, too swept up in the adrenaline coursing through the crowd, causing his muscles to loosen and throb as the light of the brand faded and the scattered objects clattered to the ground.

His breath came in heavy gasps, mirroring the heightened emotions of the crowd. Hatred, anger, and a primal thirst for violence surged through them like an unrelenting tide.

"Enough!" Dozia's voice cut through, quelling the tumultuous crowd as she stared at Oliver with widened eyes. She seized his glove and delivered a sharp smack to his chest, her lips brushing against his ear. "You fool, I warned you."

Lena, ever observant, noticed it. She witnessed how effortlessly Oliver navigated the sea of emotions within the Lost Ones, how he swayed them with his persuasive words. A natural-born leader, a man who possessed the dangerous ability to influence others. Indeed, a formidable individual.

Rasmus sighed. "Even if we agree to attack the orcs, we'll need superior weapons and equipment."

"Now, back to my point," Oliver interjected, turning towards Rasmus, who offered a slow nod. "We will make use of the spider's shells and silk from its webs."

"I and the other dwarfs can attempt to fashion crossbows," Rasmus suggested. "I'm not well-versed in their design, but perhaps, just perhaps, we can make them work."

"Who said we would be utilizing the spider's remains?" James spoke up. "This is a council for a reason. Our decisions must be made by a vote."

"I will decide. The honor of the kill belongs to me," Oliver dared assert.

James clenched his teeth, his voice seething with anger. "You hypocrite," he snarled. "Didn't you deliver a grand speech about how pride and honor are mere constructs of humanity? You bastard!"

"Enough, James," Lena intervened. "We have two options before us." She sighed, weariness permeating her voice. This meeting had dragged on for far too long, and Lena particularly despised the way Oliver had manipulated his authority as the Deus Imperator to undermine them. Such behavior reeked of tyranny, using his position to display martial power and sweet-tongued rhetoric. "Listen, I understand that there may be objections if the council decides. So, let's put it to a vote..."

"A vote?" James interjected, his question laced with anger. "We're going to..."

"The people should vote. If we decide among ourselves, there will be biases, and valid arguments exist on both sides," Lena remarked, determined to ensure fairness and transparency in their decision-making process.

Just as James was about to launch into another argument, Rasmus chimed in. "Oliver intends to harness the power of the beast he's hunted. If you vote for him, you're choosing to transform the spider into weapons of war. Then, we can devise a plan to besiege the castle and establish a new home."

Oliver nodded along, aware that his troops, Rena, and the others would support him. However, there were dissenting voices within the tribe, individuals who might stand against him.

"James wants us to steer clear of the fortress. He believes it's a risky gamble and suggests we trade the monster's spoils with the merchants. We could obtain more horses, medicine, and better equipment in general. Hell, I could really use a new pair of shoes..." Rasmus cracked a joke, but it fell flat, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the charged air. "Alright, I suppose, as members of the council, we'll go first. Then, someone will count the votes."

Oliver nodded. "Alright, so who's on my side..."

It was evident that James would not be supporting him, but Oliver was taken aback by the others. Rasmus and Lena had raised their hands.

A sense of betrayal flickered across James' face as he glared at Lena. "You..."

She sneered. "Don't act like that, James," she snapped. "But Oliver is right. Things change... and perhaps our traditions have become too antiquated." Lena took a deep breath. "I no longer want to stay here. And I know the other members of the Lost Ones feel the same. Oliver is right. We are the proud descendants of Demi Humans, yet we live down here like rats and insects."

"I don't want this... not for myself, not for my sister. Oliver has proven himself. He saved you and me, he conquered the witches' trial and emerged stronger. I am willing to throw my lot in with him."

James seethed, his gaze shifting to Rasmus, who nodded. "Oliver is right. Honor, as much as I hate to admit it, isn't everything... at least not in certain circumstances. If resorting to less honorable methods ensures our survival, then we must do what needs to be done." He sighed. "But that doesn't change the fact that we have to choose between obtaining supplies now or taking the fort with better gear."

Dozia groaned. "Why don't you fools stop arguing for a moment and realize that we don't have to sell everything?" She took a deep breath. "Oliver can have half of the spider, while you guys..."

James shook his head. "That won't be enough. The skeleton might fetch a decent price, the venom has a chance, but the silk guarantees good profits."

This region was treacherous, and despite the loss of their magic, a stigma against the Demi Humans persisted. Some traders refused to do business with them, while those who did often inflated their prices or didn't carry the essential items they truly needed.

They sighed, weighed down by this information. Each passing day seemed to bring greater challenges. "Fine," Oliver spoke up, turning back to the crowd. "The decision now rests with the Lost Ones. We either keep the monster's remains or sell them to some filthy trader. The choice is yours."

A heavy silence settled in, casting its shroud over the Lost Ones. They shifted uneasily, their feet shuffling on the ground. At first, there was no movement, no signs of a decision. But then, slowly, hands began to rise, outnumbering Oliver's own votes, and he began to grasp the truth.

"I..." He trailed off, his words caught in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his tangled locks of hair. He was stunned to see his troops' hands raised, Dozia's among them.

"Ollie..." Lena spoke up, only to feel Rasmus's hand on her shoulder. He shook his head slowly, whispering, "He needs this, to grow."

Dozia's hand gradually released its grip on the table, falling back down. Maybe, in due time, they would find their way. But for now, they needed to address the issues plaguing their tribe. Dozia's gaze swept over the assembled members, still reeling from the intense energy of the meeting. Bandages covered burns, limbs lost or maimed, eyes sunken with anger and thirst for revenge. They didn't need weapons; they needed something to restore their tribe's spirit. Perhaps finding a true home would accomplish that, but Dozia couldn't be certain.

"Alright..." Oliver closed his eyes, shaking his head as his dark locks of hair danced wildly. It was as if he was speaking to himself rather than addressing the crowd.

He looked at his troops. Rena raised her hand, and five others followed suit. "You've taught us a great deal, Oliver," Rena spoke up. "But I have a little brother who's sick, suffering from a terrible cough. Maybe..." She sighed. "Maybe the fresh air outside would do him good. But I want to ensure his safety and health. The medicine the traders bring could help with that."

The silence hung heavy in the air. Oliver cleared his throat, shaking his head once more before stepping down from the platform. "Fine, then..."

His fists clenched tightly. Anger and betrayal coursed through him, his youthful mind unable to grasp that perhaps there were two right answers... and maybe this was the best course of action. His head whipped around wildly as he pushed his way through the crowd. He despised being underground, hated the cavern that served as their home. It reminded him too much of the events that had unfolded so long ago.

He lowered his head, tears of humiliation streaming down his face. Forging a path through the crowd, he emerged into the freedom of the open air at the entrance, embraced by the encompassing forest. Despite the strength bestowed upon him as the Deus Imperator, granted by the gods themselves, Dozia had looked upon him.

A profound sense of loneliness washed over him, a deep abyss of darkness that Oliver knew not how to confront. For all his strength, for his chosen stature as the Deus Imperator, he was still merely... a boy consumed by the shadow of a deceased father. That shadow still loomed, casting its oppressive presence from a world away.