Talia decided she'd earned a day off. A real one. No stone shaping, no blueprint reviewing, no carving walls until her brain hummed. She wandered through the settlement, hands tucked behind her back, letting herself be carried by the slow current of morning life.
The valley had changed already.
Children chased each other between tents, their laughter echoing soft against the cliffs. Someone had hung lines of drying clothes near the waterfall. People walked with purpose but not panic; the frantic tension of migration was thinning into something steadier, calmer. They had shelter, water, food prospects and a mountain home being built.
Talia smiled and moved on.
By midday she'd made a full loop, checked in with several departments, and found the familiar comfort of work-laughter drifting from the construction drafting tent. Before she could slip closer, Theo intercepted her, tugging her lightly by the wrist.
"Need you for something."
His tone said 'important'. His expression said 'annoyed at her obliviousness'. His eyebrows said 'how do you not understand this already?'
"What happened?" she asked.
"Territory upgrade," Theo said. "It's ready."
"Oh. Then why didn't you just—?"
Theo stopped walking. Turned. Gave her a look so flat she felt personally insulted by its geometry.
"Talia," he said slowly, "you are the Lord. I can't approve a territory upgrade. I don't have that much authority."
She blinked. "…Right. Yes. That makes sense."
Sarcasm radiated from him. "Glad we understand each other."
Inside the Lord tent, the system pulsed the moment she touched the pyramid mark on her wrist. A soft shimmer, then—
[Territory
• Core Land expanded: +1 km radius
• Hunting Grounds extended: +2 km radius
• Ley-network adjustment: local weather stability +2%
• Beast migration: new F-tier presence detected at outer ring
She stared. "Deepway Sanctuary…?"
Theo winced, looking up from his panel. "Ah. That. The naming vote."
Talia looked at him sharply. "I missed it. What happened?"
"Oh, plenty." He lifted one hand and ticked off fingers. "Suggestions included: Talia's Cave of Eternal Bossing, The Bunny Den, Ground Zero Two, Valley McValleyface—"
"What."
"I vetoed that one," he assured her. "Fortunately, Ben made a last-minute emotional speech about 'a sanctuary carved deep into the world,' and people liked the poetry of it. Deepway Sanctuary won by majority."
Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thank you, Professor."
"We should be able to open the E-Rank gift pack now, right?" Talia asked, flicking the interface open—only to freeze.
"…It's gone."
Her eyes lifted slowly toward Theo.
"I—might have opened it already," he admitted, coughing into his hand. "I just… wanted to use the resources earlier. For planning. Before things got messy."
Talia stared at him.
He forged onward. "There was a Resource Node token, two random blueprints, and a Lord Ability unlock. The blueprints aren't for building—more like research value only. I have no clue what the Lord Ability actually does. And the node—you'll need to choose the resource type and terrain."
Talia inhaled, then sighed the long, resigned sigh of someone who had long accepted her brother's failings. She pulled up the Territory Status page to check for the supposed "Lord Ability."
Nothing.
She scrolled.
Tapped tabs.
Checked submenus.
"Nope," she muttered. "System continues to be useless."
Switching to the Territory Inventory, she opened the Resource Node token instead. The interface expanded into a shimmering list, offering selectable categories—Forageable, Mineral, Lumber, Beast, Water—and terrain types ranging from plains to cliffs to caverns.
"What do you think?" she asked.
Theo didn't hesitate. "Forageable. We need a stable food base before winter, or we're going to be scrambling. If we're lucky—berries, roots, herbs. Something perennial."
Talia nodded and selected Forageable.
Another menu opened—terrain selection.
Cave terrain made the most sense; they were already carving through a mountain. She tapped Cavern.
The system chimed.
E-Rank Cavern Forage Node Generated:
7–10 Trees (Moonshade Berry Bramble Cluster)
Talia exhaled in relief. "Moonshade berries. That's… hopefully good. Once we know what it is, does, how it grows. Yeah, hand it over to the farming team once I can place it in the farming area."
"Right moving on….."
A thought flickered across her mind then, sharp and experimental. She opened the territory map and saw the usual prompt confirming land expansion. But instead of mindlessly approving, she pinched the border line mentally—then tried dragging it.
The border responded.
The extra kilometre of land warped inward, shrinking where she compressed it, stretching where she pulled the outline deeper into the cliff. The valley's 2D map shifted like putty beneath her fingertips. When she released it, the system snapped the edges neatly into place.
Her smile was pure trouble.
"Theo," she said, "I think I can direct where the expansion goes."
He leaned in, watching the map flicker. "Show me."
She traced the outline again, pushing the radius deeper into the mountain so they had more internal space to build. Each stroke shrank the available buffer, but the tradeoff was worth it.
Theo's eyebrows climbed. "If the system lets us adjust borders… then hunting ground expansions should work the same."
"Exactly."
"That will save us a lot of conflicts," he said. "Last thing we need is a Dragonkin envoy storming over the ridge to yell about poaching rights. Or an angel wearing armour because someone stepped on their hunting turf."
She nodded, pleased, and approved the changes.
The border solidified. She tried to move it again.
The system refused.
Theo snorted. "One chance per upgrade. Figures."
"I'm going to the planners," she said. "We've got more land. They'll want to expand the districts."
"And new blueprints for you to torture yourself with," Theo muttered.
She stuck her tongue out at him and left.
The rest of her day slid into a pleasant mix of work and play. People moving into the mountain popped out every few minutes to share commentary—"the new medical bay smells amazing," "the kitchen tile feels warm," "bathrooms! actual bathrooms!"—and Talia let herself bask in it for once.
By evening she was sprawled on a blanket in the emergency shelter, listening to her family chatter from their bunks, it felt like going on a camping trip inside a secret cathedral.
She slept deeply for the first time in days. Morning disoriented her.
After breakfast, Talia made her way to the first floor where the blueprint planners had set up yet another drafting table, using crates and a plank borrowed from storage and handed her the full set of completed first floor district plans.
It took her breath.
The first floor had been reimagined entirely. Instead of simple zones, each section was now the skeleton of a future district—industrial to the far left, military beside the entrance, food and husbandry sprawling to the right. Each district had its own loading bay, emergency exits, livestock management gates, sunlight channels and internal roads.
The planners had seen what she and Theo intended. The mountain wasn't just a shelter, it was a city in the making.
"It'll take longer," Talia murmured, tracing the agricultural district. "At least a week per zone. One month for the whole floor."
"If you're going to build it," the lead planner said, "build it right."
She didn't remember who had said that once—but it fit.
Good thing the emergency shelter could house everyone in the meantime. Winter wouldn't catch them sleeping in tents.
She started with the food district.
Seven days. Early autumn sunlight filtering pale through the high valley mouth. Talia carved, rested, carved again. Four hours shaping, two hours healing, tea shoved into her hands by Brielle during breaks, stern looks from Dale when she overreached.
Needing soil for farming, she went outside and used the system to scrape long furrows from the meadow edges, collecting grass and dirt into tidy piles she carried down the ramp. Mum watched, mesmerised, as Talia sculpted internal fields with reinforced walls and sunlight channels.
"You're making farms," Mum whispered. "Inside a mountain."
Talia grinned. "And this is just the first district."
By the end of the week, the farming district had become a world of its own—quiet, ordered, almost serene in a way the meadow never could be.
A six-metre-wide central road cut through it like a perfectly straight spine, the stone packed smooth underfoot, wide enough for two hauling carts to pass each other without forcing anyone into the garden beds.
On either side, the newly carved fields stretched out in deep, even rectangles. Rich brown soil lay turned in careful rows—dark, loamy, touched with the faint mineral glimmer of the mountain's interior.
The four fields lined the front section of the district, each angled just right to drink in the dawn. The light didn't fall naturally—not with the mountain towering above—but Talia had designed two enormous sliding stone panels along the mid-wall: each four metres high, each eight metres across. In the mornings, the panels were rolled aside, letting beams of sunlight fall straight through the controlled opening like golden rivers.
Behind the open fields stretched the greenhouses—long, low buildings of stone ribs and framed wooden panels. Each greenhouse had panels fitted with simple rotation hinges so they could swing open to vent heat or angle themselves to catch more light.
Inside, wooden walkways allowed workers to move between rows without disturbing the beds, and a handful of researchers had already claimed corners for light-testing and soil experiments.
The Moonshade berry bushes were placed along the northern wall of the greenhouses forming a hedge between the village and the fields. Once propagation began en masse they would create nice hedge and greenery throughout the citadel. Grandpa Fin was already hard at work testing the bushes.
Further back lay the heart of the district: the row-buildings that formed their little agricultural village. Stone foundations, timber frames, and patterned wood-panel walls gave them a clean, structured look. Bunkhouses with wide windows, farm offices with long tables ready for ledgers and planting schedules, lab rooms with open counters waiting for jars, samples, and soil trays. Amenities—wash areas, storage, drying racks, communal cooking stations—sat clustered like sturdy siblings around a compact courtyard.
Talia had carved a small park into the stone, shaping curved paths and planting recessed garden beds that Grandma Elene had immediately filled with hardy meadow flowers. Benches of polished stone and smooth wood lined the edges, waiting for tired workers to fall onto them during breaks.
In the centre stood Talia's fountain—her one indulgence.
A forest chicken, carved from pale mountain stone, stood balanced on one leg with comical dignity. Its other leg was cocked back, frozen forever in the universal expression of "I will kick you." Its beak jutted out proudly, chest puffed in heroic arrogance. The workers adored it. Jace had declared it "Commander Chicken." Mum had gently suggested renaming it "Don't Kick Me, Please."
The fountain wasn't running yet. But the water channels—the stone-reinforced pipelines Talia had carved—were already laid, waiting to be connected to the waterfall. Once linked, a stream would arc up behind the bird and spill down into a shallow basin, turning playful sculpture into a communal heart.
All together, the district looked less like an improvised survival patch and more like the beginnings of a real home.
Cael walked the length of the road, whistling. "Where's that hallway going? Heaven?"
"No," Talia said dryly. "Future expansions. I ran out of space."
Mum reached out and brushed her fingertips against the far wall. "This is the core boundary?"
"Yep." Talia scowled. "Annoyingly, I was carving happily and then—bam. Solid wall. No warning. Wouldn't even wiggle."
"Most systems beep at you," Lira said from behind her. "Yours just bricks you."
"Don't encourage my suffering," she muttered.
They were halfway through the tour when Theo appeared at the entrance, expression unreadable.
"Talia," he said softly. "There's something you should know. Come with me."
The chill in his tone carried more weight than the entire mountain.