Dawn arrived with no warmth.
When the citadel doors creaked open, the air that rushed in was wrong—too sharp, too heavy, too still. People, half-awake and rubbing sleep from their eyes, stepped forward… and froze.
The sky was barely visible above the cliffs, but what little they could see churned with violent, viscous clouds, smeared black and bruised green and poisoned purple. They moved like roiling ink in water, unnatural in their weight. No sunlight broke through. No softness.
Just a sky coiled tight with something waiting to strike.
"Is that… hail?" someone whispered.
"It looks more like a hurricane."
"What kind of storm even forms like that?"
But it wasn't the colour that frightened them most.
It was the lightning.
Not single strikes. Not sporadic flashes.
Continuous chains—forked and snarling—like a celestial beast clawed endlessly at the sky. Light strobed in blinding bursts that left afterimages seared into retinas. Thunder rolled with a physical force that made ribs vibrate.
And the storm was still hours away.
Talia stood at the doorway, watching the sky breathe. The hair on her arms lifted in response to the pressure shift—sharp, sudden, suffocating.
Behind her, murmurs escalated into quiet panic.
The wind picked up, a harsh, whistling breath funneling down the valley walls.
"That lightning is insane…"
"Air pressure's dropping fast."
"If this hits before we're ready—"
"Talia?" Theo's voice cut through, steady but hard-edged.
She nodded once. "Call a Council. Now."
Runners left without waiting for Theo to relay orders.
Five minutes later, they gathered around the low planning table, the storm's distant growl pulsing through the stone floor. Talia laid out the priorities with clipped precision.
"Hunting and foraging teams are already out. We lock down in five hours, definitively." She tapped the slate map. "Patrol teams rotate the valley as planned—forty minutes on, forty off, until recall. No exceptions."
Dav braced his hands on the table. "Two guard pairs should move deeper into the tunnel. Stray beasts'll be looking for shelter once the pressure hits. We don't want surprises near the entrance."
"Do it," Talia said.
Theo added, "The watch hole stays manned until the last hunters and foragers return. Once they're in—we seal the doors."
Auntie Junia frowned. "What about the children?"
"They go in early," Talia said. "Before panic spreads."
Her tone brooked no argument.
Outside, another thunderclap cracked like stone splitting.
They all flinched.
Grandpa Fin arrived with hurried steps and a leaf-wrapped bundle in his arms. "Talia—before you disappear again—come see this."
Inside the wrap, a pale-green cluster glowed softly, its surface pulsing gently like a living heartbeat.
"The Luminous Moss?" Talia asked.
"Mossbulb," Grandpa Fin corrected proudly. "According to the children."
It pulsed brighter as if agreeing.
He continued, "It's safe and emits a pheromone to discourage predators from eating it. Possibly why Hercules is so calm around it."
Hercules, the pugdog beetle, scuttled forward and snuggled against the bundle like a living paperweight. The Moss was surprisingly tough considering Hercules' strength.
Talia blinked. "You're telling me the beetle has a favourite night-light."
"Yes," Grandpa Fin said solemnly, as if announcing a profound scientific discovery.
"We're distributing it," Talia decided. "Prioritise living areas. People are going to panic once the sky goes black."
Grandpa Fin nodded, already delegating to a nearby researcher.
The citadel shifted into organized chaos.
Lanterns were checked and relit. Bedding was dragged into the emergency bunker. Water barrels were rolled into position. Makeshift latrines were arranged along the lower hall. Parents rounded up children who were half-distracted by the glowing moss bulbs now being installed like magical sconces.
Talia did a final walk through the farming district, checking preservation setups. Smokehouses crackled, kitchens blazed with activity, greens and roots were being chopped, cooked, or stacked for later curing.
Theo caught up to her with a quick report: "Water tank's a quarter full. Enough for a few days if we're careful."
"We'll monitor to be safe." she said.
The wind outside howled louder every hour, rattling ventilation shafts like distant drumbeats. Talia crossed into the husbandry district and braced herself for potential mayhem.
Instead…
Peace.
The bush chickens were perched like feathery gargoyles on the dead tree installation, blinking lazily at the gathering darkness. A pair of turkeys huddled beneath the branch, feathers puffed up dramatically as if auditioning for a tragedy play.
Next door, the stone rabbits were enthusiastically headbutting their training dummy in perfect synchrony.
Talia leaned against the gate. "…I wish humans had this level of storm adaptation."
Wind whistled through the upper vents, cold enough to sting.
Then—
The first gentle rain began falling.
She exhaled slowly. The countdown had begun.
The storm's pressure deepened, a suffocating weight pushing down on the valley. Talia had just stepped into the central corridor when shouting echoed from the main stairwell.
"They're back—they're back!"
The hunting team stumbled in through the lower entrance, drenched and panting. Mud streaked their clothes. One man's braid was half undone, another's quiver was missing entirely.
"What happened?" Talia asked, stepping forward.
"Animals," one hunter gasped. "Skittering like their tails were on fire. Birds dropping from trees. Something in the air—felt wrong. Heavy."
Another dumped two kills onto the prep table. "Storm panic. Everything's fleeing. Even things that don't normally flee."
They didn't linger. They stripped gear, shoved it toward the drying racks, and sprinted toward their families.
Five hours suddenly felt very short.
The storm announced its arrival with a thunderclap so violent the entire citadel seemed to inhale.
The sound rolled through the valley, into the stone, into their bones.
"That's it," Talia said quietly. "We seal."
The guards closed the massive stone doors, each one sliding shut with a groaning finality. Locking bars slid into place. The watch hole shutters were drawn, leaving only narrow slits for the returning final scouts.
People counted heads. Twice. Then again.
"All in," Theo said. "Minus the tunnel patrol."
Talia nodded. "Keep the windows open for observation until it becomes unsafe."
Adults held their breath. Children whimpered. The storm outside flashed—blackness, then searing white, then blackness again.
And then the rain grew heavier.
Like a warning.
Talia made her rounds through the citadel, her footsteps echoing in the tense hush.
Workers were stationed in each room—watchers, helpers, lantern keepers.
In the Watergate room the intake monitor sat at attention beside the new lattice gate mechanism. Talia checked the drip-rate gauges and nodded.
Then she slipped behind the disguised sliding stone panel she had crafted in a quiet hour.
Her secret compartment. The Keystone sat hidden inside, pulsing gently with a steady heartbeat of power.
Talia touched its surface.
"Please let today be simple," she whispered.
The Keystone gave no opinion.
Back in the animal pens, the beasts were calm—eerily so. The rabbits had settled into a pile of indignant fluff. The turkeys blinked slowly. One turkey, however, seemed to be side-eyeing a bush chicken with deep suspicion.
Talia squinted. "No fights today. Please."
Lightning flashed through the upper vents, illuminating the turkey's ridiculous grass-tuft "hair."
She sighed. "Why is that the thing stressing me out right now?"
By the time she made it back to the bunker, the storm outside had reached a depth of sound that felt less like weather and more like the mountain itself was being struck.
People lay tucked into their bedding. Lanterns flickered with soft moss-light. Children slept in clusters like pups. Adults whispered in tense, low voices.
Talia slipped into a corner and pulled up her interface.
Tank No. 2 needed to be shaped.
If the waterfall overflowed, the plains would flood—and they couldn't afford to waste water or risk structural washout.
She closed her eyes, gathering the image in her mind.
Stone walls.
Filtration grooves.
Reinforced base.
Spillway channel.
She began shaping slowly, carefully, mindful of her energy.
Outside, the storm screamed against the cliffs.
Inside, Deepway braced itself—not for survival anymore, but for endurance.
And as the stone settled under her hands, Talia whispered to herself and to the storm she couldn't see:
"How bad will winter be if this is just a preview?"
The walls withstood. The people quietened. The night dragged on.
And Deepway waited for dawn.