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The settlement smells the smoke on the edges of the western ridge. Traders who have returned from the outer roads speak in hushed voices, faces drained of blood and clothing covered in scorch marks.
They speak of barns set ablaze, caravans flipped over and marks scrawled upon walls. It seems to never be the same symbol or phrase twice, a shattered compass and the phrase the settlement has come to learn.
Cooper listens in silence, with his arms crossed and Thomas toddling by, babbling at the shadows that move across the floor.
The boy notices everything. Cooper knows he’s watching, not just the movement, but the meaning behind it.
Cooper’s chest tightens. He can already feel the danger, the ripple of it through Thomas.
Lucy steps forward, meeting the traders’ eyes. Her calm is sharp, precise, authoritative.
“Show me,” she says, voice even, steady. “Everything.”
A man trembles and points toward a wall near the edge of the camp. The words are burned deep, the edges blackened, Nothing That Stays Survives. The compass is etched crudely, needle snapped, outer ring cracked. The traders whisper that the Unsettled don’t take prisoners, they leave marks, warnings. Their goal is chaos, symbols, the destabilization of morale.
Cooper squints at the letters. “It’s not about land,” he says quietly. “It’s about fear.”
Lucy nods, her jaw tight. “And about me,” she adds. “They want to undermine me. Call me the False Crown.”
Cooper’s eyes snap to her. “You’ll stay?” he asks sharply, voice low.
“I’m the leader,” Lucy says, tone firm. “Whether they call me crown or pawn doesn’t change that.”
He grits his teeth, jaw tight. “They want Thomas too.”
He gestures toward the boy, who is now crawling toward a stack of blankets with keen interest.
“Not for food. Not for leverage. But for the sake of having him. They see him as the first weakness, the proof they can touch us through what we care about most.”
Thomas babbles a little again, raising his hand as though gesturing toward Cooper’s voice. Cooper shakes his head, then murmurs, “And they wont get a fuckin' chance.”
The psychological pressure escalates over the next few days. Returning traders make the same report, homesteads along their trail have been burned, barns put to the torch, bizarre markings etched into walls, faint trails marked out for those who might follow.
Lucy convenes the council, the settlement’s trusted members gathered around. Cooper stands behind her, Thomas on his hip, the boy babbling and pointing at the gathered faces. Cooper notices how the council members glance at Thomas. Even they understand.
He’s a target.
“They’re after symbols,” Cooper says bluntly. “Not land. Not trade routes. They want to prove something ... to the world, to themselves.”
One of the younger guards, William, pipes up. “So, they want to scare us?”
Cooper shakes his head. “Worse. They want to see us break. And if they think the baby is the weak point, they’ll test it.”
Lucy’s expression hardens. “Then we don’t break.” She glances at Thomas, then back at the council. “We protect what matters. And they’ll learn that no one in this settlement is easy to touch.”
The psychological warfare is subtle but effective. Rumors spread of false sightings of Thomas on distant roads. Stories of settlement members disappearing, only to return days later with marks scorched into their homes. Traders talk of encounters with Unsettled scouts, their faces hidden under masks, whispering that the False Crown cannot protect her son.
Cooper notices Thomas watching these reports with an intensity that unsettles him. The baby frowns, his eyes darting rapidly from Cooper to Lucy as thought analysing their responses. He doesn’t quite get it, but he feels it. Cooper asks whether he should, or could, be as explicit as he never thought would need to be.
A few evenings later, after the settlement has settled down for sleep, Cooper kneels at Thomas’s side and wipes his hair away from his eyes.
“They’re watching,” he murmurs softly. “Not you. Not yet. But the idea of you, the thought of you, it drives them. And I'll do every god damn thing to show them how much of a bad idea that is.”
Thomas blinks slowly, gurgling in response. Cooper feels a pang. He hates that his son is a target. Hates that the Unsettled have already placed him at the center of their ideology.
“You’re not weak,” Cooper continues, voice low and steady. “You'll never be. But you will learn. You’ll see things, notice things… and one day, you’ll use that to protect yourself, but until then, your mom and I will do everythin' in our power to show you how much we love you.”
Thomas laughs, small and bright, and Cooper presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “I love you...” he murmurs.
The first strike comes subtly. Scouts attempt to draw the settlement out, leaving burned remains of caravans near trade routes, marking each with the compass. Traders who survive bring back word that the Unsettled aren’t just violent, they’re organized, methodical. Every action is meant to unsettle, to make the settlement doubt its own security.
Cooper paces the perimeter with Thomas in a sling, aware of the boy’s babbling and watching eyes. “They’re testing,” Cooper says quietly. “They want to see our reactions. Our mistakes.”
Lucy joins him, her tone calm but firm. “Then we give them none.”
Thomas gurgles, pointing toward the distant ridge where smoke curls. Cooper follows his gaze. The boy’s perception, even at almost two, is uncanny. “Yeah,” Cooper mutters. “I see it too. You’re learning fast.”
Lucy places a hand on Cooper’s arm. “We’ll protect him,” she says. “And you.”
Cooper’s eyes sweep the horizon again, lingering on billows of smoke from afar.
The village is reinforced by the end of the day. Contingency plans are reviewed. Guards rotate with precision. Concealed routes are opened up, escape paths indicated, safe havens identified. Thomas sleeps in a fortlike crib next to the command room, tightly wound under his Blanky, his baby babbles barely audible in the low firelight.
Cooper sits nearby, watching his son. His mind is a whirl of what ifs, contingencies and imagined catastrophes. He is aware the Unsettled will hit them again. He knows what theyre after. And he feels that, and he remembers what happened the last time they underestimate him, too.
He whispers, barely audible, “They’re coming. They’ll learn the hard way that our family is not to be touched. Ever.”
Thomas turns his head, eyes meeting Cooper’s. The boy’s gaze is steady, alert, knowing, even in sleep. Cooper feels a shiver of recognition, the child already understanding the weight of his world.
Cooper leans down and presses a soft kiss to Thomas’s forehead.
Outside, the Unsettled mark more burned symbols, leaving trails of smoke and fire across the ridges. The settlement braces, prepared, aware. But even prepared, they cannot fully anticipate the scope of what’s coming.
Cooper stares into the night, eyes narrowing. “They think they can touch get to you... but we’ll see who learns what survives.”
It's a cold morning and the air is stinging, frosted, but no one feels it in the settlement. Cooper paces the periphery, Thomas slung against his chest in a sling, chattering softly. The boy doesn’t yet fear that, not really, but his bright, observant eyes follow each motion of the world with alert attention, and he registers every shadow and shape shifting in the distance. Cooper’s jaw tightens.
Lucy is a few paces behind her, clip board in hand, taking last minute commands from the guards. Her voice is calm and authoritative, hiding an undercurrent of fear, not for herself but for Thomas. She's looking down at him, quiet reassurances falling from her mouth.
The Unsettled come with cold, bone chilling precision. Scouts move along the ridges, taking positions of advantage, noting weak points. Their banner, the busted compass, unfurls in fanned punctuation at makeshift poles that bear the slogan burned into every disposable surface near the perimeter.
Cooper’s eyes narrow. “They’ve learned the terrain,” he mutters. “They’re not amateurs.”
Lucy glances at him. “They don’t want territory. They want us Cooper, they want our son.” She touches Thomas lightly, brushing back a curl from his forehead.
Cooper grunts. “Not today.”
They attack silently, rapidly taking the sentries out with small, pinpoint strikes. Smoke billows next to the storage sheds, sounding an alarm across the settlement. Cooper responds immediately, pulling Thomas up and heading for the command center. Already on fourth gear, Lucy directs the remaining guards with surgical efficiency.
“Flank the east wall! Protect it! Hold them before they get to the inner courtyard!” Cooper floats like a spectre, instincts honed over centuries guiding him. He stops a scout, one who was headed up the wall toward the nursery, hip tossing him down with practiced motion. The boy babbles out from his sling, fascinated rather than frightened.
Cooper lets out a dry huff of laughter. "Dont you worry... Daddy's got you.”
He moves quickly towards the room that has been settled as a room to essentially store the baby. He deposits him in his crib, and makes it a focal point of telling the guards to stay vigilant.
The fight escalates rapidly. Fire spreads. Smoke curls, thick and choking. The Unsettled are unyielding, every wave is a strike, adjusting defenses, testing for weakness.
Then it happens.
A coordinated strike breaches the contingency plan. A group of Unsettled fighters moves silently through the smoke toward the inner courtyard where Thomas is located. Cooper notices the subtle misalignment in the guard rotations, someone has broken formation, leaving a small gap.
Cooper curses under his breath. “Damn it.”
Lucy notices the same movement and lunges toward the courtyard, issuing a frantic command. “Thomas, get down! Guards, block the path!”
But the Unsettled are fast. They take Thomas, snatching him from the crib in a blur of motion. His small arms flail, his cries piercing the chaos. Cooper hears the distinct sound of Thomas’s first real scream of fear, a sound that shatters something deep in him.
“NO!” Cooper bellows, the word more than a shout, it is a promise, a threat, a warning.”
He comes in through the smoke, a force of raw accuracy, eliminating anyone that stands in his way. Lucy follows, struggling with two assailants at once. Her calm crystallizes into focused anger.
“Cooper!” she screams, but he’s already lost in the darkness, walking toward the shallow rise where the tri color pennant of the Unsettled flaps.
The Unsettled retreat toward the broken compass banners on the hills. Cooper follows, eyes blazing. Each step is measured, deliberate, a predator tracking its prey. His anger is contained, focused, not chaos, but inevitability. Every fighter he encounters falls quickly, efficiently. He spares no thought, only execution.
He reaches the ridge where one of them carries Thomas, gripping him tightly. Thomas’s small face is streaked with tears, babbling incoherently, arms reaching toward Cooper.
Cooper pauses a fraction of a second, inhaling. Then he moves.
The fight is close, brutal. Cooper doesn’t hesitate. He disarms, incapacitates, and strikes with surgical precision. One by one, the Unsettled fall. Cooper’s movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. He leaves no room for negotiation. No room for escape. Every strike sends a message.
Thomas wriggles against him once Cooper reaches him, crying and babbling. Cooper presses the boy against his chest, rocking him gently. “…Safe now. Never again, little one. I swear.”
Lucy arrives a moment later and rushes to his side. She has a mixture of relief and fury on her face.
“Cooper…” she breathes, but he raises a hand.
“He’s ok,” he says, voice low, eyes still sweeping the horizon. “They’re done. All of them. They’ll remember today.” The aftermath is brutal. The Unsettled have gone to ground — a scattering, dead or fleeing into the wasteland. The settlement takes losses, guards, a handful of the outer workers, but its heart survives whole.
Thomas babbles, shaken but unhurt, against Cooper’s chest. In the middle of the courtyard, Cooper sits with Thomas in his lap, tired but at watch. Both his hands rest on the boy’s small shoulders.
“…You saw it, didn’t you?” he murmurs. “All of it. You survived. We survived. And anyone who ever tries to touch you again… will learn the cost.”
Lucy joins him, kneeling beside the pair. “They wanted to scare us. But they misjudged everything."
Cooper glances at her, eyes fierce. “They're gonna pay.”
Thomas babbles again, reaching for Cooper’s cheek. Cooper presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, whispering, “…You’re mine. You always will be. And no one, no one, gets to change that.”
By nightfall, the settlement is quiet again. Fires burn low, guards patrol in pairs, and Thomas sleeps in Cooper’s lap, finally lulled into rest.
Cooper stares at the horizon, jaw tight.
Lucy rests her head against his shoulder. “We survived.”
“Yes,” Cooper replies. “…But they’ll be back. And next time, It’ll be their last mistake.”
Thomas stirs in his sleep, one miniature hand curling around Cooper’s finger. Cooper observes from within the pull of centuries behind him. He turns his head towards Lucy, and meets her lips in a kiss. "Nothin' and I mean, nothin' gets in the way of us. I promise you."
He looks down and places a small kiss to Thomas forehead, causing him to stir momentarily.
The broken compass endures, seared into memory, a symbol of what lay ahead. Cooper’s gaze hardens. The Unsettled will remember today. And they will heed Cooper Howard’s warning: his family is not to be trifled with.
The first battle over Thomas’s life is over, but the war, personal and brutal, is far from finished.
The settlement is quiet, deceptively serene. Thomas is on the floor, babbling the words he does know at the stack of blocks that Cooper arranged for him. Lucy weaves through the guards, giving directions, checking supplies, her posture tense but controlled. Cooper watches, rifle held slack but his grip is steady, precise.
He knows theyre still out there. Scattered, bruised, humiliated, but alive. And one thing is certain.
They underestimated all of them, underestimated him.
Cooper hears the whispers first, traders returning from the edges of the wasteland, too eager to talk after one too many swigs of liquor.
A name slips.
Joren.
A drunk voice says it like a confession. Joren, one of the surviving Unsettled, is hiding, wounded, alone, and he’s bragging in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Cooper doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t need to. He breathes slowly, counting.
Two hundred years of survival have taught him patience. Precision. Timing.
He looks at Thomas, who mumbles words happily, and leans down to kiss the boy’s temple. “I'll be back. Dont you go tellin' ya mama what I'm up to now.”
Then he vanishes into the dusk, silent, a shadow among shadows.
The first encounter is almost ceremonial.
Joren hides in a ruined trading post two days outside the settlement, thinking the perimeter patrols have given up. He doesn’t see Cooper until the soft click of the rifle’s bolt signals a presence behind him.
Cooper doesn’t shout. He doesn’t give warning. He steps forward slowly, deliberately. He has the gun trained on the man.
“Momma told me not to… I did it anyway… misbehavin'...”
All Joren can do is gasp at the man in front of him.
“You talk too much,” Cooper says softly, voice low but carrying. “And people like you… people who talk when they shouldn’t… they die quietly.”
Joren spins, fumbling for his pistol. Cooper moves faster. The shot is precise. One is all tahts needed. No theatrics. Joren crumples, eyes wide, and the message is clear, no mercy.
One by one, the Unsettled start to fall.
The next week, Cooper tracks them systematically. He doesn’t rush. He studies the broken compass markings left at abandoned buildings, reads the trails of scavenged supplies, listens to rumors in settlements and crossroads. Each movement is deliberate, each strike calculated.
He doesn’t hunt for fun. He hunts to deliver a message. A warning. To anyone who dares touch his family, the Relic Gun never misses.
Every encounter follows the same pattern. Cooper finds the target alone or in small groups, strikes decisively, and leaves a single mark at the scene, a notch carved into wood or metal, subtle, yet unmistakable.
By the time the last survivors are aware, the majority are gone. Cooper is methodical, personal, inevitable.
Lucy senses the change in him but doesn’t intervene. She knows Cooper well enough to know the lengths he’s willing to go to in order to protect Thomas, her and the settlement. She observes from afar as he slinks into the night, quick to attack and home before dawn.
The scattered encounters she hears of are whispered rumors, Unsettled scouts have turned up dead, battered compass symbols scratched into their gear. Thomas notices the tension. Even at just shy of two, he feels the changes in Cooper’s tone, the hardening edge to his voice, the careful looks at movement outside the walls.
Cooper takes the focus off him once and lays one hand against his head, murmuring, “Soon you’ll be safe.”
The last encounter is a week after Joren’s death. Cooper traps the leader of the few remaining Unsettled, a gaunt man named Varek in the wreckage of a factory several miles away from the settlement.
Varek smiles, smug, the Relic Gun a myth as far as he is concerned, a warning used to frighten children and traders.Cooper doesn’t smile. He doesn’t need to.
“You think your banners, your slogans, your threats mean anything?” Cooper says, voice cold. “You think you touch what’s mine and survive?”
Varek lunges. Cooper moves like a shadow, precise and inevitable. Each strike is measured, each movement a culmination of centuries of survival instinct. Varek falters, disbelief widening his eyes. Cooper steps closer, voice low.
“This isn’t about territory. Not about resources. You wanted symbols… well here you have one. I am the outlaw, and this is my world, and my world has a high cost of living.”
The fight ends quickly. Varek lies still, and Cooper’s rifle drops slowly and presumably intentionally.
Around the ruins are marks, a broken compass digging into a post, one bullet in the center. That night, Cooper returns to the settlement.
Thomas is asleep in his crib, arms extended past his head in deep sleep. He looks down at his son and huffs a sigh, closing his eyes as he looks up at the ceiling.
He’s met at the doorway by Lucy, expression unreadable but composed.
“They’re gone?” she asks quietly.
“They found out the hard way,” Cooper says, voice low but steady. “Nobody touches my family. Ever.”
Lucy reaches closer, kissing Coopers cheek. “I'm just glad you're safe,” she whispers. “They’ll think twice before someone takes another shot.”
Cooper’s eyes sweep the horizon, still sharp, still alert. “This has nothing to do with fear,” he mutters. “It’s about certainty. But nothing like what I care about… won’t make it. Not ever. And they’ll know why.” He turns back and moves a piece of hair off the babys head.
Lucy watches quietly, letting Cooper have this moment with their son. She doesn’t interrupt. She knows the depth of his commitment, the quiet violence of his promise, and she respects it.
The settlement sleeps, peaceful but vigilant. The Unsettled are shattered, scattered, humiliated, broken.
Traders and neighbors speak in whispers of the Relic Gun, a ghoul who moves like death itself.
Cooper sits outside Thomas’s window, staring at the stars. The boy sleeps inside, unaware of the magnitude of what has just passed.
Lucy joins him silently, resting her hand on his shoulder.
Cooper leans his head towards her. He gathers her chin in his hand and kisses her softly, a promise, a vow, to remain by their side no matter the circumstances.
Morning rays slip through the cracked slats of the settlement’s outer walls. The last remnants of burned Unsettled outposts faintly drift in the distance.
The horizon is quiet, deceptive. Cooper hovers at the outer gate, Thomas strapped to his chest in a sling, tiny fingers clinging to his jacket. The boy babbles in broken toddler talk, staring wide eyed and unaware of the real horror he has evaded.
Lucy walks beside him, surveying the repairs. Walls have been repaired, barricades reinforced, watchtowers manned by guards who still cast furtive glances over their shoulders.
“Weeks,” she replies softly, “to reconstruct, entirely. But the danger… it’s over, for now.”
Cooper grunts in response.
His voice is low and calm, but carries the weight of the rampage that haunts him. He glances down at Thomas, small face smeared with sleep. "Just as long as everyone is safe."
Thomas repeats a string of words he's learned, high and delighted an echo of victory in its own way.
Cooper smiles faintly in response.
Lucy eyes them silently, tilting her head toward Cooper’s shoulder. He doesnt flinch at the contact, not anymore at least, allowing the moment of domestic peace to anchor him after this storm of violence.
All the settlement gathers in the central hall later.
Survivors move cautiously but with dignity, repairing what was damaged, caring for the wounded, reminiscing about the final stand against the Unsettled.
Traders tell the story of the Relic Gun, of Cooper Howard when there was no more to drink saying that he wields death with uncanny accuracy.
Cooper hears the rumors, expression unreadable. He doesn’t fix the embellishments, instead he lets them blossom into lore. He doesn’t need the validation, the point is transparent, his family’s sanctity can no longer be questioned in the wasteland.
Lucy moves beside him, hand brushing his arm. “People fear you,” she says softly. “They respect you. But I think they trust you too.”
Cooper shrugs. “…Trust is survived,” he mutters.
His gaze lands on Thomas, walking towards a low pile of blocks, babbling nonsense words that closely sound like actual sentences. Cooper cant help but be thankful of his life moving forever.
Later that night, after the settlement has quieted and settled down, Lucy and Cooper lay in their shared bed. Thomas is asleep in his crib, safe and swaddled, his chest rising and falling in pure innocence. Cooper leans back against the headboard, his eyes shining.
Lucy glances at him. “You changed,” she says gently. “Since… all of it.”
Cooper snorts, a faint rumble. “Yeah, I guess I have. Hard to avoid when you watch the first real threat to your family. But...you did good too. Give yourself some credit. You're helpin' this place come back so that people have the same opportunity to grow and live in this world.”
Lucy chuckles softly. “I did what any mother would do.”
“You did more than that,” Cooper says, voice low, deliberate. He leans in, pressing a kiss to her stomach, then trails upward, along her side. “Every line, every mark… nothing about you is a weakness. You’re… damn sexy, by the way. So give yourself some grace because you as well as I know I wouldnt have been able to do this without you.”
Lucy chuckles softly, sneaking a hand to his cheek. “I'll try. But you're a smart ass too.”
“Well thats what happens when youre givin' the opportunity to have pacticed for more than two centuries,” Cooper says, smirking faintly. “Just as long as it still works on you.”
They grow quiet, watching the flicker of the flames before them, listening to the sounds of the settlement, muted but alive, around them. Cooper sees Thomas moving in his sleep, little fists balling up, tiny eyes fluttering open for a few moments before closing again.
“…He’s ours,” Cooper whispers.. “All of him, ours. Nothing breaks that.”
Lucy rests her head on his shoulder. “And nothing should,” she murmurs.
The next morning, Cooper wanders around the settlement, a traveling Thomas in his wake, quietly teaching him observation and awareness. Even at age 2, Thomas can see patterns, which walls have marks on them, where to walk safely through the compound and which tools are regarded as safer to touch.
Cooper identifies hazards, describes small details, all while maintaining a light tone, joking now and again to make the lessons digestible. Thomas babbles back, echoing Cooper’s gestures. Cooper laughs softly, warmth flooding his senses for the first time in centuries.
“There's alwasy something to look out for,” he cant help but comment as Thomas stops and watched the opened gate that leads into a particular stretch of the empty desert.
Lucy joins them mid morning, watching the interactions quietly. Cooper catches her gaze and smirks faintly. “In time... i'm gatherin' that he'll take after you and become sort of sniper. All this kid does is watch,” he mutters, low, amused.
Lucy rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance. “Just… make sure he doesn’t get any ideas about shooting first and asking questions later.”
Cooper shrugs. “Learning timing and precision ain't a bad idea.”
Weeks pass as the settlement rebuilds, stronger, tighter. Guards make patrols with a new vigilance, walls made thicker, watchtowers taller. Cooper and Lucy pass through the settlement like anchors; they’re quiet, exuding authority without raising their voices.
Thomas has a pure growth spurt, perceptive, charismatic even in his toddler babbles. He watches, he observes, he learns with each glance, every little gesture echoes the teachings that Cooper unknowingly imparts.
Cooper sees the nods from traders, respect shining on their faces. “…They see what we protect,” he tells Lucy.
“They see why nothing that stays survives… outside these walls.” Lucy smiles faintly. “…And yet, here, everything survives.”
Cooper looks down at Thomas, his small face turned up toward him, eyes wide and innocent with curiosity. “Everything that matters survives.”
Night falls and the settlement is quiet. Thomas slumbers peacefully in his crib, blissfully unaware of the weight of the world into which he was born into. Cooper and Lucy sit at the fire beside one another, quiet, weary but unbroken. Cooper’s arm rests over Lucy’s shoulders, fingers brushing against hers.
Lucy lays her head against his chest, soft and steady.
Cooper kisses her temple.
The fire crackles, shadows dancing across their faces. Outside the wasteland is a desolate and empty being but the settlement remains, standing intact, protected, unbroken. Symbols may burn. Factions may rise and fall. But Cooper, Lucy, and Thomas remains steadfast.
And Cooper knows, as he watches his family that he will never let it be threatened again.