The harvest didn't come all at once.
Over five steady days, baskets kept filling. Each morning brought something new—leafy greens cut back and replanted, quick-growing root beds loosened to reveal fat, dirt-slick bodies, seed heads dried and catalogued with care.
The Clan moved through the farming district with an energy that bordered on disbelief, as if the land might change its mind if they celebrated too loudly.
Researchers began murmuring about the light first. The angle. The way mornings felt sharper, the air cooler at the edges.
"Mid-autumn," they judged—not yet deep, but close enough that timing mattered. Close enough that there would be time for a second planting window, even if it was narrow.
The farming district threw itself into motion—prepping soil inside and out, opening more beds, carving more rows. One more harvest. More fields, more crops, more winter supplies. What they planted now wasn't ambition.
It was survival.
That knowledge alone kept the fields busy long after sunset, lanterns bobbing between rows while hands worked soil and seed with careful urgency.
On the sixth morning, Talia called a full winter-supply department meeting.
They gathered in the bunker office, now expanded enough to hold the full Sentinel Council. The long table was crowded with slates, rolled plans, and mugs gone cold before anyone remembered to drink. The mood had shifted from earlier councils—less tension, more weight.
This wasn't about ideals or structure.
This was survival math.
Megan stood first, calm as ever, slate already filled with tidy columns.
"Each department received winter targets three days after formation," she began. "They've been working toward them. The storage facilities finished just in time, without them we'd already be losing materials to spoilage and misplacement."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Talia, then back to the slate.
"Administration is running smoothly. Reporting delays are minimal. Shift adherence is high." A pause. "Morale metrics are… better than expected. The Event Department's tactics are working."
A few quiet smiles followed as Megan sat. Auntie Julia nodded in approval while Dav grimaced—still haunted by the training-ground cheer squad.
Mum rose next.
"Food stocks are currently at approximately one quarter of projected winter requirement," she said. "If the next full harvest is preserved successfully—and if current hunting yields continue—we will cross the survivability threshold."
The room breathed in as one.
"Oil will be limited but present," Mum continued. "Flax and sunflower yields will give us a small ration buffer. Salt remains our primary concern. At current usage, we will run out early winter—earlier if we continue with food preserves."
Talia nodded once and filed it away.
"Stop salt preservation completely," she said. "Switch to other drying methods, and cook with anything we can't preserve." Her gaze moved around the table. "Any other ideas?"
Ben lifted his head. "I remember a historical article about fat preservation. We could try that. I'll write what I can remember down."
Elise added, "I don't know if you're doing this, but there's also fermentation and ash preservation. Traditional methods."
Mara looked interested. "We're fermenting already, but the other two we haven't tried. Please pass the details along. We currently have plenty of stored soup bricks and 'meat flour', and with the first tuber harvest we set aside a small amount to make 'survival bars'."
She placed a plate on the table—small portions of a sliced bar.
"Here's the first prototype. Try some. We're also about to start freezing food. With the new ice shafts, we have multiple set aside as freezers—separate from normal cold storage. We still want to preserve as much as we can. If we have extra food, we can save more people in an emergency."
The sentinels tried the bar with a range of reactions. Evan's eyes had already turned calculating—prospective trade item. Talia took a bite, immediately tried to slip the rest into her space, and earned her mother's glare and a pointed quote.
"No wasting food."
Grudgingly, the table finished the portions.
Mum continued, unshaken. "Water supplies are stable. All tanks are operational. A separate ice shaft has been designated solely for ice production as a contingency. Utility water can remain rationed through winter if systems hold."
She closed her slate. "Winter food supplies are on track. Barely. But on track."
Relief rippled through the room—tempered, cautious.
Kass leaned forward next, boots hooked around her chair, grin intact.
"Animals are adapting well," she said cheerfully. "Better than expected. Herd numbers are increasing, fodder stockpiles are growing, and winter diets are mapped."
She ticked points off on her fingers.
"Hercules is showing basic learning ability. Very basic. But he responds to load commands now. We're training him as a pack beetle."
Amused sounds circled the table.
"The stone rabbits are… useless," Kass added bluntly. "Too aggressive, too energetic. We'll reassess once they burn themselves out."
Talia hid a smile.
"The bush chickens and their partner are busy increasing their flock," Kass continued. "And the hearthlops are ready for family matching."
That drew more interest.
"Their fur is exceptionally fine," Kass added. "Samples have been sent to the craft hall. If quality holds, we may want to expand the population."
Evan made a thoughtful noise and scribbled notes.
The crafting hall report followed.
Nathan passed around a scarf—soft, warm, unmistakably well-made.
"This," Nathan said, "is hearthlop fur. Excellent quality. Tradable. High value."
Evan nodded immediately. "Territory-unique trade item potential."
"But," Nathan continued, "we're swamped. Even with priority lists, we can't produce everything before winter."
Talia leaned forward. "Then don't."
All eyes turned to her.
"Each family completes a checklist," she said. "What they have. What they lack. We produce in order of need first. Standard survival packages go to everyone—basics to get through an Earth winter. Additional items get produced after and bought with CP. Optional items come last."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And as other departments complete tasks, divert free workers to Craft. Include children, elderly, and injured—anyone who can manage simple tasks. If they're free and they can move, they can help."
The table nodded. Tension eased visibly.
"That… helps," Nathan said.
Dad spoke next, straight-backed and proud.
"Storage transfer is underway. New handcarts have doubled efficiency. Raw materials were slow to stock while space was limited—now they're filling fast."
He hesitated, then smiled. "We'll have surplus labour soon. Firewood processing can scale up."
"Winter supplies are in order, Lord," he finished, snapping a salute.
Grandma Elene kicked him under the table.
"The school routine is running," she said shortly. "Children are learning. We'll add a crafting class. Send me a list of small items the children can make, and we'll make them."
Nathan nodded like she'd offered him a lifeline.
"That is all." Grandma Elene finished.
Trade reported healthy CP circulation. It was moving—not hoarded, not stagnant. Everyday goods from the Craft Hall kept it alive: plates, cutlery, hygiene supplies. Luxury Earth items continued to spark enthusiasm.
Unable to resist, Evan produced an antique vase from his storage space.
"I always wanted one," he said wistfully, launching into a rant about CP costs. Annika glanced over, shook her head, and let him finish.
When he finally calmed, he cleared his throat. "Winter pricing structures will be organised. Luxury fur products included. I'm also… looking for other unique trade items."
Medical reported last.
The tent had been busy—but not with wounds.
"Construction strain," Dale said, exhausted. "Overuse injuries. Muscle fatigue."
Then his expression darkened.
"Medicine supplies are critically low. General winter medications —none. No source. No reserves. If illness spreads, we won't be able to save everyone."
Silence settled over the table.
"The elderly, children, injured, and physically weak will be prioritised," Talia said carefully.
"Noted," Evan replied at once.
"We've developed stopgaps," Dale continued. "Warming stones. Nutritional adjustments. Strengthening protocols. But without medicine…" His voice faltered. "It's all we can do."
Talia met his eyes. "We still have time. This world is larger than what we've seen. Don't give up yet."
She mentioned the flower she'd found—carefully, vaguely. Just enough to plant hope.
Then a knock came.
Dav entered with a folded note and handed it to Collie.
She read it once. Froze. Read it again.
Then crossed the room and placed it in Talia's hands.
Talia scanned it—and smiled, sharp and bright.
"The timing is too good," she said, energy crackling through her voice. "Deepwatch has found our first neighbouring Beastfolk village."
The room erupted.
The note read: confirmed signs of natives. Border stones. Clawed markers. Smoke in the distance. Mixed human and beast footprints matching Beastkin forms. 35 km southeast of Deepway Tunnel.
"A Beastkin territory," Collie said. "Confirmed."
Talia stood.
"We'll organise a diplomatic party," she said. "I'm leading."
Immediate uproar.
Too dangerous. Too important. What if she falls?
"This is exactly why I'm going," Talia cut in. "A Lord visiting forces parity. It signals respect. It buys us information."
Silence fell.
"Bring guards if you must," she finished. "But I'm going."
The Clan had survived the storm.
Now they were stepping into the wider world.
And the world had noticed.