Talia hadn't realised how tired she was until she stopped moving.
With the second floor fully finished—not half-finished, not usable for now, but complete—there was nothing left demanding her immediate attention. For the first time since she'd returned from the Mole Beastkin village, the citadel did not pull at her thoughts or hands.
So she walked.
Not as a Lord. Not as a builder.
Just as a woman of Deepway.
As she wandered the inner roads, the stone answered her presence instinctively. Subtle pressures guided her toward weak seams and uneven load paths, and she corrected them without thought. The stone responded in turn, showing her how air flowed cleanly through the corridors, how water ran true and steady beneath the floors. Everything was balanced. There was nothing left to fix—unless she went hunting for flaws that did not yet exist.
She let herself keep moving.
The medical district hummed in a low, steady rhythm. Tegan stood with two assistants near the long-care wing, voices quiet, movements precise. Someone laughed softly near the therapy room—caught themselves, then laughed again when no one scolded them. The sound didn't shatter the space. It eased it.
In the school halls, children sprawled across stone benches, slate tablets balanced on their knees. A teacher leaned against the wall instead of standing rigid, telling a story instead of delivering a lesson. Chalk dust lingered faintly in the air while the children listened with rapt attention.
Talia smiled despite herself.
Governance was quieter, too. Theo stood in the admin corridor calmly mediating three conversations at once, somehow listening to all of them. Dav passed her heading the opposite way, paused long enough to tap the stone wall once—solid approval—then continued on.
And suddenly, Talia didn't know what to do with herself.
For the first time since arriving in this world, nothing needed her right now.
The feeling made her itch.
It was dangerous.
Her wrist burned.
Not pain—pressure. Like something tightening too fast beneath her skin.
Talia froze mid-step.
She knew this.
"A vision," she breathed.
The rune flared. Vines and petals surged through her senses—and the corridor vanished.
Joel was running.
No—had run. Now he was turning, shoving someone hard enough that they stumbled, his mouth moving rapidly as he shouted orders she couldn't hear. The forest around him felt wrong—compressed, tense, like it was holding its breath.
Something large moved between the trees.
Too large.
She could see branches bending in the distance as it advanced.
D-rank.
She knew it instantly. The only beast of that scale in the area. This wasn't a wanderer drifting too close to the borders.
This was a predator testing them.
Joel didn't retreat.
He stopped.
Turned fully, weapon raised, his back to his people.
Go, his mouth said. Move.
The hunting party hesitated for a single heartbeat—then broke into a desperate sprint, fear snapping discipline loose.
Joel planted himself.
A massive, bear-shaped beast with exposed fangs burst through the treeline and lunged.
The vision shattered into pain—
And the world slammed back into place.
Talia staggered, stone cooling her palm as she caught herself against the wall. Her breath came too fast, too sharp, like her lungs refused to believe the citadel was real.
"No," she whispered. "No—"
She was already running.
"Dav, wait!"
Her shout echoed through the corridor, drawing startled looks. No one had ever seen her this distressed.
Dav was near the ramp. He turned, saw her face—and understood immediately.
She didn't explain. She didn't need to.
"Joel," she said. "D-rank. Attacking the hunting party. Border."
Dav swore once—short and vicious—then bellowed orders to a nearby runner, who bolted toward the military district.
"It's too late," Talia said as she sprinted. "I saw—"
"We go anyway," Dav snapped. "We always go."
Guards joined them at a run, weapons strapped on, boots pounding stone.
They tore through the tunnels and burst from the mouth at full speed.
Moments after exiting, the rest of Joel's hunting party staggered out of the trees, faces grey, eyes wild with tears still falling.
"He stayed," one of them gasped. "He told us to run—"
"I know," Talia said, patting his shoulder as she passed.
She didn't stop.
Her heart slammed hard enough to bruise as she entered the forest with Dav beside her and the team fanning out behind them.
The land felt wrong.
Not hostile.
Angry.
Joel's world had narrowed to blood and breath.
His shield arm shook—not from fear, but fatigue. The beast had clipped him early, a glancing blow that tore muscle and ruined his balance. After that, every movement cost more than the last.
He counted the wounds without meaning to.
First: a shallow slice across his ribs.
Second: his thigh—deep enough to slow him.
Third: his shoulder—numbing his fingers.
By the fourth, he was compensating.
By the fifth, he was losing ground.
The beast learned quickly.
It circled him, massive body low, breath steaming despite the warmth. Its eyes weren't wild.
They were assessing.
Waiting.
Joel planted his feet.
He could still hear his people running. That mattered. That was enough.
"You want me," he muttered, blood thick in his mouth. "Come on, then."
The beast charged.
Joel raised his shield on instinct rather than strategy. Impact slammed through him—bone-deep and brutal. He skidded backward, spine cracking into a tree hard enough to rattle his teeth. Pain flared white and his legs buckled.
He dropped to one knee.
The forest went very, very quiet.
The beast reared back, muscles bunching, ready to finish it.
Joel's vision blurred.
So this is it, he thought, distant and calm. At least they got away.
Wind tore through the canopy.
White filled his vision as something massive dropped between him and death.
The beast didn't even scream.
Claws flashed—one precise movement—and the D-rank predator collapsed, body hitting the ground as debris scattered into the air.
A winged lion stood before Joel.
Its mane was pale as snow, wings folding in controlled motion. Sharp eyes locked onto his—measuring, ancient, but not hostile.
Joel couldn't move.
The lion tilted its head.
Not curiosity.
Acknowledgment.
It blinked once, slow—and nodded.
Then it leapt.
Wind tore through the clearing as both it and the fallen beast vanished upward. Gone as if they had never been there at all.
Joel sagged forward. Adrenaline finally released its grip. His weapon slipped from his fingers.
He stared at the place where death had been—
And then hadn't.
"Beastkin," he whispered hoarsely. "It… it used a space."
By the time Talia reached him, Joel was still conscious—but barely.
Blood soaked the forest floor beneath him.
She dropped to her knees, hands glowing faintly as she bound living vines around the worst of his wounds, stopping the flow.
"You idiot," she breathed, voice shaking. "You absolute—"
"Worth it," Joel rasped. "They escaped."
Dav knelt beside them, tending the wounds that weren't bleeding, jaw tight enough to crack. The rest of the team spread out, weapons up, eyes scanning the trees.
"You're alive," Dav said.
It wasn't a statement.
It was praise.
"Barely," Joel managed.
The hunting party reached the clearing moments later, relief crashing through them in visible waves. Someone laughed—broken and hysterical. Another cried openly. No one told them to stop.
Talia didn't look away from Joel. "What happened?" she asked quietly.
"A lion," Joel said. "White. With wings. Killed it in seconds." His eyes unfocused as he tried to hold the memory. "Looked at me like…"
He shook his head.
"Like I wasn't surprising."
Dav's hands paused.
Talia lifted her gaze.
A long look passed between them—no fear, no relief.
Calculation.
The world had noticed them.
They carried Joel home on a stretcher beneath the darkening canopy. No one spoke much. The forest felt different now.
No longer familiar.
Talia walked beside the stretcher the entire way.
She didn't look back.
Not once.