The envoy's departure left behind a silence thicker than fog. Their words—*seven days to prepare, seven days to prove themselves*—still clung to the air like an invisible curse. As the last gleam of human banners disappeared between the trees, the monsters gathered in the square of their growing village, every face a blend of unease and determination.
Luminus stood at the center, golden eyes scanning the assembly. His voice was calm, but a tension vibrated beneath his words.
"We have seven days. Not eight, not nine. By the next sunrise of the eighth day, the humans will arrive to judge us. If we fail, we lose everything—our homes, our lives, our freedom. I will not allow that to happen."
The crowd murmured. Goblins shuffled nervously, ogres crossed their thick arms, wolves growled low in their throats, and beastmen stared hard at the ground. Everyone knew the weight of the trial, but no one yet knew how to carry it.
Rugo, the wolf leader, stepped forward, ears pricked and eyes glinting with a predator's sharpness.
"I'll send scouts at once," he said. "Wolves know these woods better than any human knight. We'll monitor every path and catch the scent of any intruder long before they come close."
From the other side, Gorath—the towering ogre chief—let out a deep rumble.
"Scouts are well and good, but without discipline, we are nothing. My kin and I will begin drills. Every able-bodied fighter must learn formation. We will not win with brute strength alone; we must fight as one."
The contrast between wolf cunning and ogre discipline was stark, but Luminus nodded. Both would be needed.
Elira raised her voice next, her quiet confidence commanding attention.
"Supplies must be rationed. If this drags into siege, panic will do more harm than steel. Mira and I will coordinate food storage and healing herbs."
The first pieces of preparation had been set. The village—usually buzzing with casual chatter, trade, and laughter—shifted overnight into something far more rigid. What had been a home now pulsed with the rhythm of a fortress.
---
### Days 1–2: Foundations of Defense
The wolves departed quickly, slipping into the underbrush like shadows. Rugo's second, a grey-furred she-wolf named Fenra, coordinated the packs with precision. Reports trickled back by nightfall: patrols set, traps laid, no immediate enemy presence.
Meanwhile, Gorath's ogres thundered across the training grounds. The earth shook beneath their drills—lines forming and breaking, shields locking, spears thrusting in unison. Sweat glistened on their skin, their bellows echoing through the trees.
The goblins watched nervously. Many were unused to war, their small hands trembling around crude weapons. Some flinched each time an ogre's practice strike split the air.
"Don't falter now," Gorath barked. "Better to bleed in training than die on the field."
On the second night, Elira and Mira oversaw storage. Food was divided into sealed crates, herbs sorted into bundles, water barrels rolled into shelters. Even the children lent a hand, carrying bundles of firewood. The village was learning—slowly—that survival depended on all of them.
---
Days 3–4: Fractures and Resolve
But unity was fragile.
On the morning of the third day, a sparring session between wolves and ogres nearly broke into a brawl. An ogre accused a wolf of "coward's tactics," while the wolf snarled back about "mindless brute force." Weapons were drawn before Luminus arrived to break it apart.
His presence silenced them, but not their resentment. Later that night, Luminus sat alone, staring into the fire.
*This is what the humans expect. Division. Weakness. If we cannot trust one another, then we've already lost.*
The fourth day brought a different kind of tension. A goblin trainee—barely more than a child—collapsed from exhaustion during drills. His brother rushed to his side, glaring at the ogre who had driven them too hard. But instead of anger, Gorath lifted the child himself, carried him to the healers, and sat silently at his bedside until he woke.
When word spread, it shifted something. The ogres were harsh, yes, but not cruel. They wanted survival just as much as the smallest goblin.
---
Days 5–6: Voices of the Many
A young goblin girl, clutching a wooden practice spear, whispered to her friend: "If I fight well, maybe they'll see goblins aren't useless." Her fear and hope intermingled in her trembling voice.
A beastman carpenter hammered wooden spikes into barricades, muttering: "If we fall, humans will cage us again. Never again." His hands shook, not from the hammering, but from old scars burned into his memory.
An ogre soldier polished his weapon, remembering the home he had lost to bandits years ago. For him, this trial wasn't just survival—it was vengeance, a chance to make his pain mean something.
Even the wolves spoke among themselves. Fenra, looking up at the moon, said to her packmates: "Rugo trusts Luminus. So we will trust him too." And though wolves were not prone to speeches, their howls that night rang with a strange harmony.
Meanwhile, the village itself transformed. Barricades rose at the outer rim, sharpened stakes and woven nets. Watchtowers of rough timber jutted skyward. Traps lined the forest paths—hidden pits, tripwires, snares.
Every hammer strike, every shovel of earth, every sharpened weapon was a declaration: *We will not be easy prey.*
---
Day 7: The Edge of Dawn
The final day dawned heavy with silence. The monsters rose before the sun, gathering in the square as though drawn by instinct.
The once-humble village now resembled a military camp. Barricades encircled it, guards patrolled every corner, and the air thrummed with readiness.
Rugo padded to Luminus' side, fur bristling. "Scouts report movement. Far off, but human banners have been sighted."
Gorath tightened his grip on his axe. "Then the time has come."
Elira's hands trembled as she distributed the last of the ration packs, Mira whispering encouragement at her side.
Every heart beat faster. Every weapon felt heavier.
Luminus stood before them all, cloak stirring in the wind.
"Seven days ago, we were a scattered people. Today, we are one. Whatever the humans bring, remember this: they test not just our strength, but our will. And I will see us through."
A cheer rose—not loud, not wild, but steady. A cheer that belonged not to wolves, ogres, goblins, or beastmen, but to monsters united.
As the sun broke the horizon, golden rays spilled across sharpened barricades and steel blades. Scouts returned with urgency: the human envoy was on the move, and their banners gleamed in the distance.
The seventh sunrise had come, carrying the weight of war—or peace. None could tell which awaited them.