The messenger found her just after breakfast—mud to his shins, breathing hard like he'd jogged the whole way from the meadow. He bowed once, fist against chest.
"Lord Rowe. Message from the cluster. The Eight Lords request a meeting."
A small ripple of tension pulled the nearby workers' attention. Talia straightened, wiping dust from her palms.
"When?"
"Any time today, my Lord."
"Noon," she said. "Tell them noon, north tent. We'll host."
The runner nodded, relief showing on his face before he sprinted off to the first Lord in the west. Talia exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as her mind snapped into the sharper lines of leadership. Eight Lords, all in one place. That could be interesting.
Theo appeared at her side without needing to be called, taking one look at her expression. "That fast?" he murmured.
"That fast." She tilted her head. "Get Dav, Ben and Collie."
They met in the Lords Tent, the air still cool from the night. Ben—the Professor, as people had taken to calling him—was already flipping through a small notebook, the corners bent from overuse. Dav arrived in silent, efficient strides. Collie followed last, dust streaked across one cheek, eyes alert.
He dropped into a crouch by the map table. "Here's the breakdown," he said, tapping with his finger. "Eight Lords total. Two thousand and thirty-four people in the meadow. Spread looks like this."
He pointed to their own sector first.
"Lord—Talia Rowe. Four hundred and twenty-three bound. Our core's around two hundred; the rest split into four nomad camps of fifty, with the rest joining in overflow. Honestly?" Collie gave her a look that was half kudos, half irritation. "Our cluster is weirdly organised."
Theo smirked faintly. "That's just how our family works."
"Second, Territory Lord Liang," Collie continued. "Two hundred and forty-three people. Mostly blood family, very structured. They look like they have rosters for breathing."
Dav huffed under his breath. Ben smiled politely like he was imagining the logistics.
"The third Lord," Talia prompted.
"Lord Amita. One hundred and sixty-seven. Full core, no nomads. Pure street-pick cluster—practical, reactive, little hierarchy. They stayed close to the original landing point. Haven't ventured out much, just foraging for food on the forest edges."
He shifted to another marker on the map.
"Fourth, Lord Harper—fifty-six people. Core only. Military, ex-military, or a man who desperately wants to be military. Everything is formations and fallback lines."
Theo nodded. "Predictable, at least."
"Fifth," Collie said, tone turning dry, "Lord Raj. Five hundred and twelve."
Ben blinked. "Five hundred?"
"Core of two hundred, six nomad camps, plus whatever's hanging to the side." Collie's mouth twitched. "Mercenary band energy. Loud about being 'the strongest human cluster.' Lots of weapons. Very confident, loudly confident."
Talia rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Lovely."
"Sixth is Lord Eli," Collie went on. "Three hundred and twenty-one. Mostly apartment block survivors—young, outspoken, following a charismatic Lord who talks a lot about freedom and refusing to be dictated by the planet, also asks other groups for food."
Theo's snort was soft but sharp.
"Seventh," Collie said, warming slightly, "Lord Mei Chen. One hundred and twenty-three people. Quiet family cluster. Scholarly. Their colour-coded lists had lists."
"That sounds nice," Ben murmured, hopeful.
"And eighth," Collie finished, "Lord Aria. One hundred and eighty-nine people, family and friends cluster. Very cautious. Keeps to the main camp, watches everything."
He sat back on his heels. "That's the field."
Talia nodded once. "Good work. Go rest. Eat something."
Collie saluted lazily and slipped out.
Talia didn't answer. She just inclined her head, the expression she wore whenever she pushed emotion down and Lord-instinct up.
They prepared the tent.
When the eight Lords entered at noon, the air shifted sharply. The canvas muffled the wind, leaving only quiet breathing, faint footsteps, the scrape of benches. Talia sat at the head. Dav and Theo flanked her. Ben remained slightly behind, the picture of harmless academic presence.
Introductions passed like a current: measured bows, cautious nods, sharp appraisals.
Talia noted it all.
Four honest B-Rank Lords—Amita, Eli, Mei, Aria—solid, grounded, their strength balanced by self-awareness.
Two concealed A-Ranks—Harper, Raj—one rigid, one swaggering, both dangerous in different ways.
And one exaggerated S-Rank—Liang—who carried himself like weight bent for him rather than the other way around.
Ben's eyebrow twitched each time someone overstated their rank. Dav didn't bother hiding his judgement.
When they settled, Talia leaned forward slightly.
"Before we begin," she said softly, "there's a system issue to address."
Brows lifted around the table.
"Since arrival," she continued, "none of us have received system responses to regular beast kills. No dissolving corpses. No notifications. The only active interface is linked to Territory functions and Lord-based rewards."
Harper nodded slowly. "We noticed the same."
Ben's voice was mild but sure. "It fits the pattern. The system needed to gamify the apocalypse to get humanity to a minimum competency before transfer. Now that we're here, the game portion is complete."
"Or shifted," Talia added. "From survival kills to infrastructure. Territory shaping. Stability over chaos."
A few Lords exchanged unsettled looks. Others looked relieved.
They moved on.
The map was unrolled fully, weighted down with stones. Dav outlined everything they'd scouted: the Dragon West ice mountain range with an apex creature at its crown; the northern lake where something massive hunted beneath the surface; the forest migrations tightening as early autumn edged colder.
Silence deepened with every marker.
"Beastworld isn't waiting for us to settle," Talia said. "It moves whether we're ready or not."
She saw some of them truly understand that for the first time.
Then they discussed trade.
"Trade can happen later," Talia said, stopping Raj's eager lean-in before he could even open his mouth. "Once our territories are stable and producing. Sharing too early risks weakening the only hubs we have."
"Agreed," Harper said, sharp and pragmatic. "But if we find something dangerous—"
"We warn each other," Mei finished.
"Information exchange," Aria added quietly. "Scouting notes. Beast types. Any sign of… higher entities."
Her gaze flicked upward, just briefly, as though remembering the trembling echo of Gaia's last words.
Eli leaned forward. "Battle support pacts—if a horde hits one of us—"
"Not yet," Talia said gently. "When we strip our own lines to save you, we doom both territories. Once we're established—once we have surplus—we can talk about mutual defense. For now… information. Warnings. Trade later. Rescue if we happen to be near and capable."
It wasn't what they wanted.
It was what they needed.
The meeting wound down, tension ebbing into something steadier, clearer. They summarised quietly, each Lord stating their impressions.
The meeting drew to a close, with the promise to meet again once the Territories had been settled.
The moment the tent had fully emptied, the four of them leaned over the table again. Dav tapped the map.
"Harper and Raj are the biggest military problems," he said. "Harper's disciplined. Raj is unpredictable. Liang is a potential power grab waiting to happen."
"Theo?" Talia asked.
He folded his arms. "Governance-wise? Mei and Aria are clean. Amita… neutral. Eli has instability written all over him. Liang wants centralisation. Raj wants dominance. Harper wants order but on his terms."
Ben toyed with a pencil, thoughtful. "Personality indicators align. Strength alone isn't the issue—it's motive. Three allies, three problems and one bench sitter."
Theo's mouth twitched. "Which is which?"
"Allies—Harper, Mei, Aria," Ben recited, counting on his fingers. "Threats—Liang, Raj, Eli. Bench sitter—Amita."
Talia looked at the roof, "Well those problems are for the future. Maybe they'll change under the pressure of reality."
"We can only hope. Help where we can, leave the rest for the planet to deal with." Theo reasoned, then he got back to work.
Talia stepped out of the tent into the crisp early-autumn air. A faint chill moved along her arms, the kind that reminded her the seasons here had sharp teeth.
Meetings could shift the future. Alliances could blunt danger or sharpen it. But the wind, the trees, the echo of distant beast calls… those never lied.
They had time.
Not much.
But enough to begin shaping the world into something survivable.
She took a slow breath and started walking back toward the camp centre—toward the growing ease of her people.
The easing of grief and growing anticipation for the future.
The hope of a home.