The approach to the Moss-Badger village did not feel like an arrival.
It felt like a slow realisation that they had already been allowed in.
The slope they walked along had seemed natural at first—gentle rises of earth and stone, thick with moss and tangled roots but the longer Talia watched the land, the more the illusion slipped. The ground was shaped, hills curved too smoothly, earthworks mimicked erosion without ever surrendering to it.
What she had first taken for uneven terrain revealed itself as layered defence, folded into the land with patient, ancient intent. There were no gates, no walls and yet, when they crossed a certain invisible line, Talia felt it—an unmistakable tightening in the air, like the moment before a bowstring released.
Burrow-doors revealed themselves only after that point. Stone-and-root seals blended so perfectly into the surrounding earth that she would have walked past them entirely if not for the subtle shift of shadow and scent. This place smelled lived-in.
Moss-Badger guards emerged without sound, not from the doors but from the hills. They rose from behind root-latticed embankments and moss-slicked stone, massive forms unfolding with patient inevitability.
Their fur was deep green, streaked with lichen and bark-patterning, weapons were already in their hands—not raised, not threatening. Simply present, the message was immediate and unmistakable.
You were surrounded long before you noticed.
Talia did not slow her pace. She inclined her head, just slightly, acknowledging the reality without conceding to it. Dav matched her step. The rest of her party stayed quiet behind them, instincts sharp enough now to understand when silence was needed.
They were guided inward.
The root halls opened into layered tunnels reinforced with stone beams. Pillars of carved earth rose at measured intervals, bearing ceilings that felt impossibly heavy and utterly stable. The stone here was… different.
Moss-Badgers passed them with purpose, some in full beastform—huge, furred bodies carrying crates, reinforcing walls, hauling stone as if it weighed nothing. Others walked in human form, thick-limbed and stocky, green hair braided back from broad faces, hands calloused and steady. They shifted between forms seamlessly, as if the distinction mattered less than the work being done.
Talia noted that there were no children, no laughter, no idle wandering and no women in sight.
The audience chamber was carved deep into the earth, wide rather than tall, the ceiling supported by pillars grown directly from the ground. The Lord of the Moss-Badgers was already seated when they entered.
He did not rise when they entered, there was no movement or acknowledgement upon there arrival. He simply waited in silence. He was massive even in human form—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, skin weathered and scarred.
Veteran warriors flanked him, their presence quiet and absolute, scarred elders stood behind, eyes sharp, watching without blinking. Authority existed in this room.
The Moss-Badger Lord regarded Talia with eyes like packed earth.
"You are the Lord of Deepway," he said.
It was not a question.
Not a greeting.
A statement of fact, delivered the way one names the weather.
"I am," Talia replied.
He inclined his head a fraction — not in respect, but in recognition of position.
That was all she was given.
It was enough.
The chamber remained still. No one moved. No one spoke.
Only then did Talia understand the rule: this was not a council hall. It was an audience.
She gestured subtly, a grounding signal to her people behind her.
Before she could speak again, Evan stepped forward.
"Might I ask—"
The room changed.
No weapons rose. None needed to.
The attention sharpened — not loud, not hostile — but focused, like a blade laid flat against skin.
Talia felt it instantly.
F**k, wrong. She tensed up. Only Lords addressed Lords.
The Moss-Badger Lord did not look at Evan. His gaze never left Talia as he spoke.
"Your subordinate speaks out of place."
Talia stepped forward at once.
"My mistake," she said, bowing her head. "I failed to instruct them properly."
No justification or explanation. In this space, excuses were weakness and not acceptable.
She turned slightly. "Everyone out. Dav stays."
Her people moved immediately, understanding the danger now woven into the air. There was no protest, no lingering. The chamber felt smaller once they were gone — heavier.
The Moss-Badger Lord studied her in silence.
"Deepway is young," he said at last. "Weak. You endure only because the land has not yet tested you."
"True," Talia replied evenly. "But we are still growing."
His gaze sharpened. "Whitefreeze will be your first test from Vaelterra."
Dav frowned and Talia asked "Whitefreeze? Vaelterra?"
"The cold season coming is called Whitefreeze and The world you stand upon is Vaelterra," the Lord said.
Talia nodded in understanding, while he continued speaking,
"You rule among your people and work beside them. You do not stand above." He paused for a moment, "Softness kills clans."
Talia met his gaze without flinching. "So does rigidity."
Moss-Badger Lord studied her, "Come Skyfall," he said slowly, "We will have an answer."
Silence stretched — not hostile, but weighing.
Talia let that stand. He had more experience in this land and she also was fighting for survival and had no experience surviving the elements in this land.
When she requested trade, his answer came without pause.
"No food, water or winter supplies."
No negotiation or apology. Simple and straightforward
"Our stores protect our survival first."
"Understood," Talia said.
Then she inquired about salt, she did not soften their truth. "We will run out in early winter."
"There is no local source," he replied. "We trade for it."
"And would you sell?"
A pause, brief but measured.
"Limited," he said. "As a gesture of goodwill."
She accepted it without hesitation.
When she requested knowledge exchange — craft, survival methods, cultural understanding — his response was cautious, but not dismissive.
"Supervised," he said. "Controlled."
His steady gaze focused on her
Then, quieter: "You live close to the land, yet you bear no Deity's mark."
A grunt of something like amusement. Or interest.
Before she could ask—
He stood.
The audience was over.
Orders followed, sharp and immediate, warriors already moving. He did not wait for acknowledgement, expecting the order to be followed.
The Lord's authority was absolute.
As they were being guided away, a presence shifted at the edge of her awareness. A Moss-Badger woman stepped into view, flanked by guards.
Her bearing was humble but absolute, power held in restraint rather than command. She inclined her head toward Talia.
"Lord of Deepway," she said formally.
Every being followed and bowed. Warriors, elders and Workers.
Talia's group stood in shock not quite realizing until now how much the title of 'Lord' carried weight around here.
The woman rose and offered guidance to their quarters, voice calm and controlled. It wasn't in welcome but a diplomatic gesture.
As Talia followed, relief settled in her chest—slow, careful. They had survived first contact.
Unease followed close behind. This world was older than she had understood, It was stronger, more structured and had a set culture and structure that they had to decipher quickly.