chapter 10.2

As the sun still hid behind the horizon, the sky remained shrouded in darkness, as if reluctant to greet a world that had just endured a night filled with blood and death. In the central headquarters, the sound of the warning bell rang loud, breaking the silence and waking anyone still inside the fortress.

The Outcasts, most of whom had yet to rest, immediately halted their tasks and moved toward the main courtyard. From night until dawn, they had not stopped working—digging mass graves for their fallen brothers, ensuring that the countless monster corpses were completely burned to prevent further threats from the south, and cleaning their bloodstained weapons and armor so they wouldn't attract more creatures with the lingering scent of battle.

The morning air was still cold, mingling with a thin mist hovering low over the ground. Thick black smoke from the burning monsters still rose into the sky, carrying the stench of charred flesh, a stark reminder that though the battle was over, the warning had not yet passed.

At the center of the main courtyard, Oldman stood tall. Though his face bore deep lines of exhaustion, his eyes burned with unwavering determination. He gazed around as the Outcasts slowly gathered. Most of them were wounded—some limped forward with the aid of makeshift crutches, others bore fresh bandages still stained with drying blood—but not a single one was absent. They all knew this gathering was not mere formality—it was a tribute to the fallen and a reminder of who they truly were.

Oldman raised his hand, calling for silence. His voice, deep and firm, echoed across the courtyard.

"Listen to me carefully!"

The Outcasts immediately turned their attention to him. No whispers, no unnecessary movements. They all understood the weight of the night they had just survived, and they stood ready to hear what their leader had to say.

"Last night, we faced something unprecedented. Something that hasn't reached these walls in years. We lost many brothers… more than half of us have fallen, sacrificing their lives to ensure this wall still stands."

A moment of silence fell over the courtyard. Some Outcasts lowered their heads, remembering the names of those who would never return. Others kept their gaze fixed on Oldman, their eyes filled with sorrow, but also a hardened resolve.

Oldman took a deep breath before continuing, his voice stronger, deeper, cutting through the hearts of everyone listening.

"Remember this, O guardians of The Wall! We did not choose to be here. We are not noblemen, not celebrated heroes. We are those who were cast out, abandoned, and forgotten by the world. But let me tell you one thing..."

He raised his sword high, the first light of dawn glinting off its steel, as if affirming the meaning of his words.

"Even if the world forgets us, we stand here to protect them. Even if they cast us aside, we are the only ones keeping Middle Earth from falling into darkness!"

The Outcasts' eyes lit up. Despite their exhaustion, despite their losses, they listened. They felt every word Oldman spoke.

"So, ask yourselves! What does it mean to be an Outcast?"

Oldman lowered his sword slowly, his gaze sweeping across them, ensuring his words reached deep into their souls.

"This is not just a punishment. This is a calling. Being an Outcast means standing between the world and destruction, without hope for reward, without names written in the pages of history. But remember this… this wall still stands because of us. This world remains whole because of us!"

Some Outcasts clenched their fists. Some shed silent tears. Others gripped their weapons tighter. In their hearts, the embers of resolve that had dimmed now burned once more.

Oldman raised his sword again, but this time, he lowered it slowly before his face, signaling all present to do the same.

"We will not forget those who have fallen. They were not just our comrades; they were a part of this wall. A part of this fight. So, let us give them their final honor with our oath."

One by one, the Outcasts bowed their heads. With trembling hands—weary but full of respect—they lifted their weapons forward, then together, they recited their solemn vow:

"In a world that has cast us out, we stand amidst the darkness.

We have no land, no name, only this path.

We are the shadows behind this wall.

We are the forgotten guardians of the world.

We are the Outcasts, and we will endure, or die on our path."

Their voices resonated, echoing against the towering stone walls that had borne witness to their struggle. In the sky above, birds that had returned after the dreadful night seemed to listen, watching as the unbreakable vow of the Outcasts was spoken once more.

After a few moments of meaningful silence, Oldman spoke again.

"Our tribute is done."

He looked over them all, ensuring none had surrendered to exhaustion or grief.

"And now, rise! Restore our headquarters! We must not lower our guard again!"

Even though their bodies felt heavy, even though their wounds had yet to fully heal, the Outcasts began to move. They stood taller, lifting themselves with renewed determination.

They knew their duty was not over.

They knew that The Wall, the last shield protecting Middle Earth, depended on them.

And as long as they still drew breath—they would never let it fall.

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