The decision did not come quietly.
By the time Talia finished outlining the diplomatic party, half the governing floor had opinions—and most of them were loud.
"You're not going," Dad said flatly, arms crossed like he could physically block the idea. "We don't know them. We don't know their rules. We don't know what kind of beasts they keep."
Grandpa nodded beside him, jaw set. "First contact is when people die. History's full of it."
Talia stood at the table, hands braced against the stone, listening without interrupting. She'd expected this. Family always argued hardest when fear wore the mask of care.
"We'll send envoys," Dad continued. "Anyone but you."
Before Talia could answer, a shovel struck stone.
Once.
Sharp. Final.
Grandma Elene rose from her chair with the kind of still authority that silenced a room faster than shouting ever could.
"Talia is the Lord," she said, her voice even and cold as winter water. "And the Lord has a job to do."
She looked directly at Dad. Then at Grandpa.
"You do not get in her way because of emotion," she continued. "If you have a constructive reason she should not go—strategy, precedent, risk mitigation—say it now."
No one spoke.
"Otherwise," Grandma said, "you will help her prepare."
The argument died where it stood.
Talia exhaled slowly and straightened. "Thank you."
The team was small by design.
Dav would lead security. Tegan for medical response. Dom and another soldier on guard rotation. Evan and Annika for trade and diplomatic support. A patrol unit drawn from the military for added safety.
No banners. No spectacle.
Just a diplomatic visit.
They left at first light.
The forest accepted them with cool indifference.
Mist clung to roots and low branches, the air damp and sharp enough to wake every sense. At the forest edge, a Deepwatch scout waited—posture loose, eyes alert.
"This way," he said, already moving.
They followed at a steady, relentless pace, boots finding rhythm between roots and leaf-matted ground. It didn't take long before they crossed the invisible line marking the edge of Deepway's influence and entered the deeper forest.
This land was older.
Here, nature showed no interest in balance—only dominance. Old growth crushed young, vines braided trunks until bark split and nutrients were strangled away. Shadows pooled thickly enough to starve saplings of light. Survival of the fittest wasn't a metaphor here. It was policy.
Talia slowed abruptly and crouched beside a cluster of broad-veined leaves with a faint silver sheen.
"Hold," she said.
Dav turned, a scowl already forming. "We're moving."
"I know." She dug carefully, extracting both a mature plant and a seedling. She wrapped them in damp cloth, sealed them in a crate, and slid it into storage. "Samples."
Evan lifted a brow. "Now?"
"They may know how these are used," Talia replied. "Even if they don't—or won't—our researchers will."
She glanced back, smile faint. "And it's my first time out in a while."
Dav snorted. "That last one's the real reason."
She didn't deny it.
The forest tested them.
Beasts came in ones and twos—ambush predators snapping from underbrush, claws flashing and vanishing again. The patrol responded smoothly, formations tightening with practiced ease. Talia didn't hang back.
She reacquainted herself with her spear.
One beast lunged, fast and ugly. She signaled the others to stand clear and treated the fight like training—testing timing, weight, her own balance. When the familiarity returned, she finished it cleanly and stored the carcass.
They continued south.
Talia collected plant samples along the way. A fern that blurred the space around it like heat haze. A moss that hummed faintly under her fingers. Each went into storage with quiet intent.
Then she stopped again and pointed upward.
"Fruit," she said.
Dav followed her gaze and groaned.
High in the canopy, clustered like grapes but each sphere hard and knobbled, hung a mass of unfamiliar nuts.
"No," he said.
"Yes," she replied sweetly.
After extensive muttering—and several uncharitable comments about Lords and gravity—Dav climbed. He tossed down a handful of the strange fruit.
The moment they crossed into storage range, Talia caught them and stowed them away.
Dav raised a brow, climbed higher, and collected more before sliding down the trunk in record time.
They moved on.
By the time they made camp that night, exhaustion sat heavy in their bones—physical fatigue layered with the strain of constant alertness.
They sat in a loose circle, fire kept low, shadows dancing at the edge of vision.
"We need contingencies," Talia said quietly. "Hostile. Cautious. Offended by something we don't know."
They worked through scenarios. Signals. Retreat paths. Evan outlined negotiation angles. Tegan reviewed emergency responses.
When there was nothing left to plan without information, Talia waved them off.
"We've done what we can. Let's see what tomorrow brings."
Dav assigned watch rotations. The guards stayed alert. The rest slept.
The forest beasts raided during the night, which the guards handled and earned more badly needed rations for the Clan.
At dawn, Dav woke the camp.
"Where's the sun, Dav?" Talia muttered, squinting.
"Body clock," he shot back. "If you had a regular sleep schedule, you'd feel it too."
Moving out again after breakfast. They'd just entered a small filtered area when a heavy beast crashed through the undergrowth, eyes reflecting firelight.
The soldiers moved without panic. Steel swords and knives flashed. The creature fell and didn't rise.
Clean and efficient.
The Clan was growing—not just stronger, but wiser.
They picked up the pace, aiming to break the treeline by midmorning despite Talia's many "research delays."
Two hours later, the forest began to thin. Trees spaced wider. Underbrush receded. Light filtered through in broader bands.
The scout returned at a run. "Strong beast. Five minutes ahead."
They veered off-path and climbed. From the canopy, they watched a massive creature lumber past below—horned, plated, moving with the unhurried confidence of something that had never been challenged.
Once it passed, Talia noticed a small flower tucked into a shaded hollow—delicate, pale blue, thriving where it shouldn't.
She smiled faintly. Another plant for the citadel.
An hour later, the land opened.
Forest gave way to rolling grasslands. Hills rose like frozen green waves beneath a wide sky. Wind rippled through the grass, carrying scents of earth and something sharper beneath.
"That first hill," the scout said, pointing. "Their territory starts there."
At the hill's base, a stone jutted from the ground. Dark claw marks scored its surface—deliberate. Intentional.
Talia approached slowly and touched it. The stone hadn't been placed.
It had been grown there.
"Terrain shaping," she murmured. "Like I thought. All Lords have it."
Her gaze swept the hills. "These were probably made too."
She stepped forward.
The team followed.
They stopped just inside the boundary and waited.
The land felt… owned. Not watched exactly—acknowledged. Like the sense of someone just beyond sight, presence brushing the edge of perception.
After half an hour, movement crested the far hill.
Six human figures approached.
All male. Medium height, broad-shouldered. Hair in deep shades of green—some braided, some loose. Their formation was tight, weapons ready but not raised.
Soldiers.
They stopped two meters away.
The air between them felt dense, like an pressure wall set down gently but firmly.
Talia stepped forward alone.
"I am Talia," she said clearly. "Lord of Deepway Territory."
From the opposite line, one stepped out. Balanced. Grounded. A leader by posture alone.
"Shaan," he replied. "Guardian Sentinel of the Moss-Badger Clan."
Neither bowed.
The tension grew thicker.