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The Right Arm moved cautiously in the days after the Reapers arrived.
Farm work continued. Patrols rotated. Meals were served. But something sat under the surface—like a pressure building behind calm eyes.
Some saw Leah and her people as tools. Others as wolves waiting to bite.
For Leah, it felt like wearing a mask without the steel.
Their assigned shelter was clean but watched. Two guards rotated every four hours. Food was brought, not shared. Conversation came only from the curious or the brave.
Leah didn't blame them.
She'd helped erase settlements weaker than this. She'd burned buildings. Dragged men from beds.
The others—Wells, Turner, Cortez, Lorna, Hatch, and Idris—felt it too. The difference in air. The weight of the stares.
Turner didn't mind. Wells looked everyone in the eye. The rest kept their heads down.
But Leah… she observed.
And she saw the strength here.
She saw how people still believed.
Even in the midst of fear.
Two boys argued in the garden.
One was the son of a Homestead farmer. The other, a Right Arm.
They shoved each other, yelling. "Murderer!" one shouted.
Turner stepped forward—fast.
But before he could reach them, Carl slid between the kids and defused the fight. No hands raised. Just words.
Leah watched from a distance.
A week ago, Turner might've broken the kid's arm.
Now?
He turned and walked away.
And that was something.
Rick stood on the outer walkway as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting golden light across the northern horizon.
He looked over the community he built.
A place forged from dust and pain.
It wasn't Alexandria.
It didn't have the clean streets. It didn't have the illusion of peace.
It wasn't Hilltop, with fields and fences.
It wasn't even the Kingdom, with Ezekiel's hope and theatrics.
But it was alive.
The Right Arm didn't depend on walls. It depended on purpose.
And now, it had seven more weapons within those walls—reforged, not discarded.
Later that night, in the dim glow of his cabin lamp, Rick opened a small, worn notebook.
He hadn't written in weeks.
But now, he did.
"Seven of them came through the gate. Seven Reapers. Once they hunted men like sport. Now they sleep under our roofs. I look at Leah and remember a road I never walked.
This world doesn't reward mercy. It doesn't care about forgiveness. But it remembers strength .And it listens to fire.
The Reapers—we don't trust them. Not yet. But they know how to fight. They've seen the abyss. If even one of them changes for the better, it means this place is more than just walls.
It means we're building something the world thought it had already burned away."
He paused.
Then, quietly, he added:
"I won't let this place die. Not like the others."
Maggie approached the wall where the vandalism still lingered: "We don't sleep with fire."
She found Rick staring at it again.
"You going to paint over it?" she asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's true," Rick said. "We don't sleep with fire."
He turned to her.
"We tame it."
The morning started with the sound of metal clanging against the eastern gate.
Rick was already dressed when Carl burst into the main cabin.
"Walkers," he panted. "Too many for just one patrol. Graves called it in. East fence."
Rick grabbed his rifle and radio. "Daryl. Shane. Maggie. Meet me at the gate."
He paused.
Then added, "Bring Leah."
Eastern Fence – First Breach
It wasn't a horde—maybe two dozen walkers—but they were fast, clustered tight, and already pressing against the weakest section of the fencing: the older corrugated metal near the irrigation ditch.
Graves and Joel were holding the line, stabbing from behind the slats, but the pressure was mounting.
Maggie arrived first, shotgun slung across her shoulder. Daryl followed, already stringing his crossbow.
Then came Leah—flanked by Wells, Turner, and Cortez.
They were unarmed.
Rick didn't hesitate.
He looked at her. "You want trust?"
She nodded once.
He tossed her a hatchet.
She caught it without blinking.
The walkers burst through in a wave of rotting limbs and open jaws.
Before anyone else moved, Wells lunged forward and brought a boot down on the lead walker's knee, breaking it clean before slamming his knife into its temple.
Turner spun around another, dislocating its jaw before finishing it with a sharpened pipe Daryl had tossed his way.
Leah was faster than all of them.
She ducked under a falling body, buried her hatchet in one skull, and kicked another walker back into the fencing.
Cortez and Hatch held the rear line, preventing the walkers from spilling deeper into the fields.
Rick and Daryl moved in from the side, picking off stragglers with clean headshots.
It was over in less than three minutes.
No casualties.
And steam rising from the corpses.
Some townspeople had gathered nearby—watching from behind crates, holding kitchen knives and garden hoes. They didn't cheer. They didn't clap.
They stared.
Shane walked up beside Rick, watching Turner wipe blood off his gloves.
"You trust them more now?" he asked.
Rick didn't look away.
"I trust what I see.
As she stood over the last body, Leah looked up and saw Carl watching her from the tower.
He didn't smile.
But he nodded.
Just once.
And then disappeared from view.
The Council Hall – That Evening
The council sat in their usual seats. This time, Leah stood in front of them—not behind a barrier. No shackles. Just blood on her boots and dirt on her hands.
Rick addressed them all.
"We were tested today. A breach at the east gate. Two dozen walkers."
He gestured to Leah. "They responded. With precision."
Morgan spoke up. "Doesn't mean they're in."
Rick nodded. "No. It doesn't. But it means they've earned the next step."
Dale folded his arms. "And what is that step?"
Maggie answered, "We assign them tasks. Scouting. Defense. One member on each rotation. Always paired with someone from the community."
Guillermo nodded. "Trial by fire. I can live with that."
Shane just muttered, "And if they turn?"
Rick looked him dead in the eye. "Then I'll be the one to end it."
Later that night, Maggie stood with Rick near the patched breach, watching Joel and Graves reinforce it with new iron supports.
"They didn't hesitate," Maggie said.
"No," Rick replied. "They fought like the fence was theirs."
She looked at him. "It is now, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Almost."
Back in the storehouse, Leah washed the blood from her hands. Turner slept on a cot nearby. Wells sat by the door, watching the quiet yard outside.
She glanced at the corner where her mask once hung.
It wasn't there anymore.
She had left it behind.
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If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Ptreon for early access, exclusive chapters, and more:
15 Advanced Chapters on Patreon
patreon.com/HighKingdom