People finished breakfast more quietly than usual, bowls scraped clean, hands wrapped around mugs for warmth rather than habit. The air carried that thin edge again—early autumn sharpening toward something colder—and no one pretended not to notice anymore.
By the time the marquees were raised, most of the clan had already drifted toward the open ground on instinct.
They were simple structures. Canvas stretched over wooden frames, anchored with stones and stakes. Nothing that pretended permanence, under each one, slates were laid out on rough tables or crates—clean, dry, waiting for ideas to fill them.
One marquee was larger than the others.
That was where the council gathered.
Theo leaned against a support post with a mug in hand. Dav stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the flow of people with his usual unreadable focus. Grandma Elene sat on a folding stool, already arranging blank slates like she expected a storm of words. Auntie Junia stood in front of them all, hands folded loosely, face calm.
Talia stayed back at first, just watching people arrive.
Families clustered, then separated. Children darted between marquees before being gently herded into one by an auntie who clearly planned to supervise drawing rather than discussion. A few people arrived alone, shoulders tight, eyes already on the slates like they'd been waiting all night to unload something heavy.
When the murmur settled into something close to quiet, Junia stepped forward.
"We're not here to be inspired," she said, voice steady. "We're here to be honest."
A few people smiled. Someone snorted softly.
Junia didn't mind.
"Yesterday, you chose who you believe in," she continued. "Today, we decide what that belief looks like when we live it."
She gestured broadly, encompassing the marquees, the slates, the people.
"We're creating clan rituals and ceremonies," she said. "Not commandments. Not rules you can be punished for breaking but shared practices, moments we return to, season after season, to remind ourselves who we are, what matters and how to give back to the one who gifts us her Divine energy."
She let that sit.
"Personal rituals are your own," she added. "Private habits, prayers, practices—those are between you and Gaia. No one will ask or judge. This faith is not religious obedience. It's a relationship."
That word again, relationship.
"As long as you have faith in Gaia," Junia said, "you may believe in your own way."
A visible release moved through the crowd. Someone exhaled loudly, another laughed, shaky with relief.
Junia smiled faintly.
"Write down every idea," she said. "Even the strange ones. Especially the strange ones. If it matters to you, it belongs on a slate."
She paused, then added dryly, "We'll gather together each hour to review, argue, revise, and keep what survives discussion."
A hand went up. A young man with ink-stained fingers who asked, "And if it's… stupid?"
Junia didn't hesitate.
"Then it will die in daylight," she said. "Which is kinder than letting it rot in silence."
Laughter broke out properly this time. Not mocking. Relieved.
People moved.
Under the marquees, slates filled quickly. Chalk scratched. Charcoal smudged fingers. Someone crossed out a line so hard the slate squealed. Someone else stared at a blank surface for a long time before writing a single careful sentence and then sitting back, eyes wet.
Children drew instead of writing—fires with too many flames, stick figures holding hands, snow piles with angry faces being smashed apart. No one stopped them.
Talia drifted between marquees, hands clasped behind her back, reading over shoulders when invited, looking away when she wasn't.
Time passed and each hour invited discussion and arguments sparked in low tones.
"That's too harsh."
"If we don't name it, we'll avoid it."
"We can't ritualise fear."
"We already do. We just don't admit it."
Slates piled into loose categories. Pass.Revise.Later.Absolutely Not.
One proposal made the council pause longer than the rest.
The Weighing of Stores.
The words themselves were blunt, almost accusatory.
Transparent public inventory, shortfalls named and excess redistributed.
Theo frowned at it, not because he disagreed—but because he understood exactly how much it would hurt.
"This one will make people feel watched," someone murmured.
"It will make them feel seen," someone else countered.
"If we write it down," a woman said quietly from the back of the group, chalk trembling in her hand, "then we can't pretend we didn't know."
That line ended the argument.
No one approved it outright. It was placed carefully into provisional, circled twice, underlined once.
As the hours passed, patterns emerged.
Auntie Junia began to pull the surviving slates aside and read them aloud, not as decrees, but as offerings.
The first one that settled cleanly was the ceremony of First Hearth Lighting, on day one of Whitefreeze. The ritual component included, using the soil from the land and placing it beneath the hearth and lighting on central communal fire, this fire represents life preserved, not power gained and must have the whole clan warm their hands from it. After that the first meal of the day would be a shared communal meal. Ending the ceremony after.
People nodded as it was read. Someone murmured, "That feels… right." Another wiped at their eyes and said nothing.
Then the Break of Frost, at the end of Whitefreeze. It included; Smashing snow statues, lighting fires from remnants of the First Hearth, loud music and festivities, children's activities and celebration not because winter was over—but because they survived it.
That one earned laughter, cheers, and one very serious debate about how big the snow statues were allowed to be.
Snowrun Relay followed, born half from tradition and half from children yelling over each other about racing and playing in the snow.
First major snowfall another children and brave adults led physical festival included races, packed paths and a ceremonial finish line that always ends at the shelter or hearth. Slipping is encouraged and cheating accusations encouraged, was added in smaller writing at the bottom, followed by a grin scratched into the slate.
Warm drinks and winter sweets were expected rewards for winners for these snow festivities.
Gaia values movement as affirmation of life and faith is strongest when hope is proven, not assumed.
Archive Day changed the tone entirely to a more formal ritual, coming from the Cultural Team's idea it was to be expected.
Recording stations would be placed throughout the citadel and scribes and translators would first record mistakes clan members had encountered; Failures. Near disasters. Bad calls. Wrong assumptions.
No reframing or polishing everything was to be left in its purest form for others to learn from. This event would purely be voluntary and not enforced.
After the first record they may write any other memories or events.
By nightfall a distilled record would be placed at the Divine pillar offering site without ceremony as a pure offering.
When Junia finished reading it, the meadow was silent.
"This one stays," Grandma Elene said firmly. "No revisions."
No one argued but there were a few who were not impressed with having to write down failures.
Feast of Found Families came next—early Lastharvest. A large clan get together where each household contributes one dish and everyone eats together before separating again. A gathering to accept and acknowledge the found family.
Someone laughed softly and said, "That's going to be chaos."
"Yes," Junia agreed. "The good kind."
Valley Hunt Week followed—Hunting teams would place and reclaim boundary markers, and celebrations for the team with the highest hunting quota.
The Athletic Carnival was accepted with great enthusiasm by the more active and competitive Clan members.
Some ideas were struck through and some were saved for later.
As the sun tilted lower, people still didn't leave. They lingered watching as the council copied the final list carefully.
Arguments and discussions still flowed around. Children argued about Snowrun rules again.
Grandma Elene stacked the slates. While Theo made a rough calendar for this month and circled a date for 10 days later Valley Hunt Week.
"Deepway's first festival," he said.
Then he continued and circled the date for First Hearth Lighting.
Just one date. And in that small, deliberate act, winter stopped being theoretical.
Talia stood back and watched it happen.
Leadership, she realised, wasn't just about logistics anymore.
It was about deciding what would be remembered. What would be repeated. What would shape the land long after individual hands were gone.
When the slates were finally gathered and stored, when the marquees were lowered, no one rushed away.
The clan felt… whole.
Not by power but more intention and emotion. Deepway was becoming a collective no longer as scattered.
And as the first ritual date was circled again Talia felt the quiet weight of it settle.
"Tomorrow at dawn, we will place the Divine Pillar and communicate with Gaia."