Season 2: Chapter 10: Yarrow observation [short]

Chapter: Yarrow's Observation

The midday light filtered through the high canopy above the misty dwarven village, dappling the open scrolls and strategy boards scattered across the main planning tent. The soft buzz of chatter echoed just outside, where construction crews and new recruits went about building the early skeleton of what would soon become the next step.

Inside, amidst the rustle of parchment and the occasional clack of moving tokens across the division map, a figure stepped in—his presence subtle, yet unsettling in its precision.

Yarrow, the demon of calm symmetry, stood at the edge of the map table.

Tall and refined, he wore a custom-tailored black and white coat, perfectly split down the middle. His gloved hands were folded in front of him, and over his mouth was a sleek gray mask. Wireframe glasses rested on his nose, partially obscuring his warm brown eyes—deceptively human, yet too still.

His voice, when he spoke, came low and smooth like silk brushed against glass.

> "So this is the plan."

Riven looked up from the parchment he was annotating—twenty-thousand potential members, divided into colored units. The recruitment influx had become overwhelming in the past three days.

> "Yarrow," Riven greeted. "Didn't think you'd show up this soon."

Yarrow walked closer, his movements fluid but unnervingly measured, as if each step was dictated by geometric formula.

> "When systems fluctuate too rapidly, my instincts tell me to observe."

He peered over the edge of the board. The color-coded sectors:

Red: combat and suppression teams

Blue: logistics and recon

Green: survival and resource acquisition

Orange: integration and social outreach

Yarrow's eyes flickered to the incoming blue ranks—a growing list of names slated for arrival in August.

> "These new blues," Yarrow said thoughtfully. "They're not trained. Most come from fractured cities. Unemployed. Displaced. Survivors."

He adjusted his glasses with a fingertip.

> "They'll enter pure survival mode by instinct. Some may lash out. Others may hide. You'll have conflict."

Goldie, who had been lounging nearby watching the camp camera feeds, twirled her tail around her arm.

> "We've seen it before," she murmured. "Riven's plan isn't to avoid conflict. It's to channel it."

Riven nodded, resting his hand on the side of the orange team roster.

> "They'll be given mentors. Oliver's already started with the first unit. Garrick's building routines. Nico's… well, doing Nico things. It'll hold."

Yarrow studied him for a moment.

> "And when it doesn't hold?"

A silence settled. Riven didn't flinch.

> "Then we adapt."

Yarrow finally reached forward and moved one of the tokens from Green into a side column labeled Crisis Intervention.

> "Then you'll need a black team too," Yarrow said. "A clean-up crew. Quiet, surgical. For when things fall apart. Not if. When."

Goldie raised an eyebrow. "That sounds… intense."

> "Necessary," Yarrow replied.

Riven looked at the board again. The blue ranks were rising exponentially. By the third week of August, they'd be flooded. Systems would strain.

And yet—this was exactly what they planned for.

Yarrow stepped back, arms folding behind his back.

> "I'll stay. Watch. Assist, if needed."

Riven cracked a small smile. "We'll need it."

Yarrow's gaze drifted to the open tent door, where new recruits passed carrying logs, laughing, arguing, and trying to belong. His voice dropped into an almost whisper, muffled behind the gray mask.

> "The ones who've survived the world this long… don't just need a place. They need a future."

And then he turned, the black and white coat swaying as he exited into the dusk-streaked light, his mind already calculating how soon that black team would be required.