The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 11: First Leaders
The next morning, the village priest was summoned to an emergency meeting. He arrived in his usual jovial mood, smiling and greeting people freely—completely unaware of the reason for the summons, and utterly unprepared for what awaited him.
The moment he entered the gathering hall and saw the village head’s grave expression, he froze mid-step. His smile faded, replaced by suspicion and unease.
The village head did not waste time.
“Honored priest,” he said calmly, yet with unmistakable authority, “please summon your mount and deliver a request to the capital. Inform the kingdom that we wish to declare ourselves a city.”
The priest went pale.
For a heartbeat, it looked as if he might faint on the spot. His hands trembled, and he swayed slightly, like a leaf caught in a sudden storm. It took him several long breaths to regain control of himself. Finally, he straightened, swallowed hard, and nodded.
“I ... I understand,” he said quietly.
Without another word, he turned and departed at once, heading toward the capital with a haste that bordered on panic.
Once he was gone, the village head turned to face the assembled crowd.
The entire village had gathered.
His voice rang out clearly.
“All spies—leave the meeting. What follows is an internal matter.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Then his expression hardened further.
Slowly, people began to step away.
One by one.
I felt my chest tighten as familiar faces—people I had grown up seeing every day—quietly turned and left. Some avoided eye contact. Others looked ashamed. A few looked angry.
When it was over, the hall felt emptier. Heavier.
Then the village head spoke again, explaining the decisions and discussions that had taken place in our home—about the walls, the land, the future, and the direction our village would take.
Finally, his gaze settled on me.
“Rowan,” he said, “bring out the model.”
I had been lost in thought, replaying the scene of people leaving. Without thinking, I replied honestly,
“ ... Which one?”
The sound of my sister’s hand striking the back of my head echoed far louder than my words.
“Stop daydreaming!” she snapped. “What have you done now?”
I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly.
“Father told me to continue experimenting,” I said. “So ... I started clearing the mountain. And I created another wall. And I also made a model of the future kingdom.”
She stared at me as if questioning my sanity.
The village elder, however, merely nodded—far too calmly for what I had just said.
“Remove the model that shows the current situation,” he instructed.
I complied at once, summoning the model we had first created in our home—updated the night before with the newly formed inner wall.
The moment it appeared, the room fell silent.
Every breath hitched.
Faces turned pale. Eyes widened. Some people leaned forward instinctively, unable to believe what they were seeing.
After a long moment, the elder spoke again.
“Store it. Bring out the future model.”
I hesitated and then spoke up.
“I’ll need more space. This one is larger—three meters in radius and half a meter tall.”
The people around us quickly shuffled backward, forming a wide ring nearly five meters across.
Then I summoned it.
The future model appeared in full.
Gasps erupted across the hall.
Several people staggered backward, bumping into one another. Some cried out as they collided, groaning in pain—not from the impact alone, but from the sheer shock of what stood before them.
The village head was the first to recover his composure.
He exhaled slowly, then spoke with a steady voice.
“This ... changes everything. Does anyone have any input?”
An elder stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the model.
“What if we abandon the village entirely and move to this location?” he asked. “It would save time, labor, and endless reconstruction. Child—what is the radius of this kingdom?”
“Thirty kilometers, elder.”
A fresh wave of gasps rippled through the crowd, but the elder merely nodded, as if confirming a calculation he had already made.
“If that is the case,” he continued, “then why waste money and effort maintaining this village? Why not begin settlement there directly?”
The village head took over the discussion immediately.
“All those in favor of relocating to the new domain—raise your hands.”
One by one, hands rose.
There was no hesitation. No dissent.
When the last hand lifted, the decision was clear.
The elder turned to me once more.
“How much time would you need to create housing for everyone?”
“Respected elder,” I replied carefully, “what is the current population count?”
“There are four hundred and twenty people,” he answered. “One hundred and five families in total.”
I nodded, calculating.
“If I am given detailed knowledge—room layouts, requirements, spacing—I can create housing within fifteen days. However, I cannot yet estimate how long it will take to create and distribute domain rings.”
“Domain rings?” another elder asked sharply. “What are those?”
My sister stepped forward and answered in my place, explaining how the rings functioned—storage, spatial rooms, teleportation, and how the gates would only recognize and admit ring bearers.
The room fell silent.
Then one elder asked quietly,
“Is it true that these rings grant teleportation, storage, and a spatial room? Do they serve any other purpose?”
I lowered my gaze instinctively.
The moment my eyes dropped to the floor, my sister let out an audible groan.
I sighed and pointed toward the model’s outer ring.
“The dragons,” I said. “They possess offensive capabilities. Any individual who approaches the wall or gates without permission and without a ring will be eliminated instantly.”
A man stepped forward, his eyes sharp, counting sectors and tracing paths along the model. His expression changed as understanding dawned.
“Then we will need time,” the village head concluded. “One year—at minimum. As rings are created and distributed, we will begin the migration.”
The elder then fixed his gaze on me once more.
“You will be the lord of this kingdom,” he said plainly. “But no lord rules alone. You must appoint a right-hand and begin assigning leadership roles.”
I answered without hesitation.
“I choose Iron Hauler as my right-hand. He was my first mentor.”
The village head nodded and gestured for Iron Hauler to step forward.
Iron Hauler crossed his arms and spoke gruffly.
“I will accept this position on one condition. I won’t give you preferential treatment. If you act foolishly, I will thrash you—physically, if necessary.”
“That,” I replied calmly, “is exactly what I want.”
Iron Hauler nodded once, then went down on one knee, swearing an oath of loyalty. When he rose, he took his place at my right.
I remembered the rings.
I summoned one of the core rings and handed it to him. When he placed it on his finger, I focused, binding it to him and adjusting its size until it fit perfectly.
Then I turned to the village head.
“Respected head,” I said, “I do not yet know everyone, nor do I understand the complexities of governance. I ask you to be my mentor in leadership and administration—and to take responsibility as Head of the Core Area.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“I accept—under the same condition.”
I repeated the binding process, placing the ring upon his hand.
“Oh—there is something I forgot to mention.”
The moment I spoke, Iron Hauler—now no longer just Iron Hauler—stepped forward.
“When I swore my oath,” he said calmly, “I did so with my true name. I am Varun Stoneward.”
A ripple passed through the crowd. Names carried weight, and a sworn name carried even more.
Then the village head spoke, his voice steady and commanding.
“My name is Eldric Thorne.”
There was no need for further introduction. Everyone present already knew the weight that name carried.
Eldric Thorne—now Head of the Core Area—straightened and took control of the gathering.
“From this moment onward,” he said, “I will begin assigning responsibilities and leadership roles. Pay close attention.”
His gaze shifted to a man standing near the model, the same man who had been silently tracing paths and counting distances since its appearance.
“Edrin Kael,” Eldric called. “Step forward. You will serve as Head of Mapping and City Planning. If you have questions, ask them now.”
Edrin stepped forward immediately, his eyes sharp and focused—not on us, but on the model itself.
“I require clarification,” he said, turning to me. “Define each section. Especially the four rings within the core area.”
I nodded and explained everything in detail—the center point, Ring Zero, elite residentials, administrative and strategic districts, skilled residential zones, and the outer soldier housing ring. I described road widths, buffers, checkpoints, and garden allocations.
By the time I finished, Edrin’s expression had softened into satisfaction.
“One more question,” he said. “Which parts of the construction do you intend to personally handle?”
“Only the core area,” I replied. “Everything beyond that, I will supervise—but not directly create.”
Edrin nodded, clearly approving of the restraint.
“That is wise,” he said. “One suggestion—all department heads should reside within the elite residential ring. Proximity improves coordination.”
There was no objection.
Everyone agreed immediately.
I hesitated, then added, “There is one more matter. After giving out two core rings today, I only have one remaining. That ring will go to the Head of the Inner Circle. I promise to provide more rings soon.”
Instead of concern, the response was laughter—gentle, understanding.
“Take it easy,” one of the elders said.
“You have a full year,” another added. “Four hundred and twenty rings is not something forged in haste.”
For the first time since everything began, the pressure eased—just a little.
Eldric Thorne stepped forward once more, his presence steadying the gathering.
“Elder Caelan Morrow, step forward.”
A lean man with sharp, thoughtful eyes moved ahead, placing a fist over his chest.
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