"We're… moving out?"
"Now?"
"But this was the shelter…"
Talia stood at the bunker doorway and explained it herself, calmly, to every group that passed. The shelter had done its job. It had kept them alive through storms and uncertainty—but now it needed to be torn down and rebuilt properly. Stronger. Larger. Fit for what Deepway was becoming.
Families filed past her with packs on their backs, children clutching blankets, carved toys, bits of familiarity worn smooth by nervous hands. For a brief, uncomfortable moment, it felt like she was making them homeless all over again.
The feeling passed quickly.
This time, people didn't scatter into panic or tents. They turned toward stone corridors, newly finished rooms, districts with names and purpose. Doors opened. Space waited.
They weren't being pushed out into nothing.
This time, there were places to go.
The first and upper floors were no longer raw shelter or half-finished refuge. District housing had been expanded. Communal halls had solid walls. Storage had become structured. People moved into real rooms, not assigned corners. The transition was rough, emotional, loud in places—but it worked.
Once the shelter was empty, Talia exhaled and turned inward.
She cleared the floor.
Stone shifted like clay beneath her will as she dismantled temporary partitions and restructured load-bearing supports. The floor had been built to save lives quickly, not to last decades. Now it needed to become something else.
She dug down to the second basement level, carving space for new water tanks that would drain the overworked ones above. It was careful, slow work—redirecting channels, reinforcing stone veins, rerouting pressure paths so nothing collapsed when the upper tanks were emptied.
When the last diversion seal locked into place and water began flowing downward, Talia finally straightened, shoulders aching in that deep, humming way that told her she'd pushed herself hard.
No rest yet.
With the tanks draining, she turned to the military basement.
This floor wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be soft. It needed to endure.
She began thickening stone, compressing layers until walls felt dense under her palms, almost metallic in resistance. Pillars widened. Ceilings lowered just enough to make sound carry cleanly. Corridors narrowed into defensible choke points before opening again into training spaces and operational hubs.
She worked by feel—by instinct refined through weeks of trial and error—pulling stone into alignment, knitting fractures closed, forcing the mountain itself to agree with her vision.
It was during one of those side expansions, clearing a pocket meant to become auxiliary storage, that she saw it.
A shimmer.
Talia paused mid-motion, breath hitching. The wall she'd just exposed caught the light strangely—not reflective, not metallic, but… luminous. Tiny points glimmered faintly, like stars trapped in stone.
She stepped closer, fingers brushing the surface.
The sparkle responded, pulsing once.
"Oh," she breathed. "That's not normal."
She backed away slowly and called out. "Maris?"
Maris arrived at a brisk pace, already assessing Talia's posture and pallor before she even spoke. "You're not collapsing, which is promising. What did you break?"
"I found something," Talia said, pointing.
Maris leaned in, eyes narrowing. "That's ore?"
"That's… pretty ore."
"Pretty is rarely safe," Maris replied. "What do you want me to do?"
"Find me a researcher. Someone who won't lick it."
Maris snorted once and turned on her heel. "I know exactly who not to bring."
Rather than leave the vein buried and risk accidental discovery, Talia made a decision. With careful precision—and more effort than she liked—she detached the ore pocket from its surrounding stone and shifted it upward, relocating it to the first floor's mining camp.
The camp itself sat off to the side of the industrial district: a walled enclosure with reinforced access, tools neatly stored, and one primary door leading directly into an existing ore vein. Talia installed a second heavy door beside it, sealing the new discovery behind layered stone and metal.
Two veins. Two controlled access points.
The moment the researchers arrived, any illusion of calm vanished.
They didn't knock.
They sprinted.
Clipboards abandoned, arguments mid-sentence, they barreled straight through door number two like children spotting sweets. Talia watched them disappear into the tunnel, voices already overlapping in excited speculation.
She stared after them, then shrugged.
"Not my problem."
She turned to head back toward the basement—and walked straight into Maris.
"No," Maris said pleasantly.
"I'm fine," Talia protested.
"You just relocated an unknown ore vein with your power," Maris replied. "That's not fine. That's 'bed, food, and supervision.'"
Talia opened her mouth.
"Not today, my dear Great Lord," Maris continued, smiling sweetly. "You're done."
Grumbling but too tired to fight, Talia allowed herself to be escorted away.
The rest helped.
Enough that, the next morning, she was back in the stone, driving herself to finish what she'd started.
The military basement took shape quickly after that. Intelligence and Defense districts emerged separated by thick walls and a wide two lane road.
When she called Dav and Collie down to review the space, both went quiet.
Dav walked the perimeter slowly, boots echoing. Collie stood still, eyes tracking sightlines and blind corners.
The first thing that struck them wasn't the straight lines, or the rigidness, or even the massive undertaking it took to carve all this into the stone.
It was the size of it.
The military district opened wide and unapologetic, a vast, breathing space carved deep into the mountain.
The outdoor training grounds sat at its heart like a lung—open, raw, alive—stretching longer and broader than Talia had expected. Stone paving gave way to packed earth and reinforced timber. Buildings flanked the grounds on both sides, a deliberate balance of wood and stone: barracks, training halls, support structures, all close enough for rapid response, far enough to keep movement clean.
Water would be threaded through the space in quiet, practical ways. Fountains ringed the training grounds at regular intervals.
They strolled the perimeter while drills continued uninterrupted. Dav's gaze never stopped moving.
"There," he said once, pointing with two fingers. "That angle'll funnel people into each other during a rush. Needs opening." A few steps later: "That wall's too low. Fine for peace. Bad for panic."
"This works," Dav said finally. "Emergency tunnel here. And there," pointing out two spots.
Talia nodded, committing it all to memory. This was why she walked things instead of just looking at plans.
When Dav finally gave a short, satisfied nod, they passed through the district gates and crossed the main basement road—a broad, utilitarian artery that led upward toward the first floor and downward into the deeper second underground level.
On the far side, the intelligence district waited.
The shift was immediate.
Where the military had been built for flow and speed, this place was angles and shadows. Corridors bent instead of stretching straight. Sightlines broke deliberately. Light pools were controlled, selective.
To the right of the gate sat the Clan Reporting Office—the only building open to public access.
"I'd still rather move that elsewhere," Collie said quietly. "Public traffic doesn't belong this close to intelligence work."
They continued on, slower now, absorbing the layered design. When they finally stopped, all three shared the same expression.
"Even knowing we gave input," Collie said softly, awe threading her voice, "seeing it realised like this really shows what her team can do."
Talia smiled faintly.
Collie nodded. "Tunnel access should exit here and here. Direct deployment routes."
Talia complied without comment, carving all the tunnels that led out beneath the meadow, concealed the exits designed for speed and surprise. Finalising everything with the blueprints, they took one last look and prepared to move in.
When they both left, she made one last addition.
The Great Statue of Dav.
It stood overlooking the training grounds—heroic, exaggerated, absurdly muscular. She added it with surgical precision and zero remorse.
Satisfied, Talia dusted off her hands and headed deeper into the basement.
Maris, watching from above, laughed and went to inform the family before its inevitable destruction.
The final task on this second floor was the most urgent.
Water storage.
The second tank was nearly full. Pressure readings crept upward by the hour. Talia diverted everything into completing the expanded reservoir system—three days of relentless work carving vast chambers, reinforcing walls, installing controlled flow gates.
Beside it, she rebuilt the evacuation bunker.
Bigger. Better. Permanent.
When people were finally invited back inside, the reaction was immediate.
More space, more bunks, actual privacy partitions. The bed's blueprint was redesigned with inspiration from the kang design, letting heated airflow run through channels in the frames, warmth rising evenly through the stacked bunks. The fire at the base is safely locked behind small stone doors.
"This will make winter much safer."
"The toilets flush."
"They actually flush."
Someone laughed hysterically. Someone else cried.
"The Lord routed sewage to the farming district, it's meant to be filtered there," a man explained proudly. "And any extra water cycles through baths, laundries - Sentinel Maras' approved it."
For the first time since arriving in Beastworld, survival felt… sustainable.
Talia listened from the doorway, warmth blooming in her chest at the sound of relief.
She called it a day early, left the stone behind and went for a walk.
Not as a builder, not as a Lord.
Just as someone finally allowed to enjoy the peace after a job well done.