Talia woke to the sound of… nothing.
Or rather, not the usual pre-dawn orchestra of children plotting mutiny, researchers whisper-fighting over specimen jars, and someone inevitably using another's washing water without refilling it.
A slow exhale left her chest.
They're sleeping. Miracles exist.
Across the camp, voices drifted in soft clusters instead of the usual hollering. The early scout teams were already gone—Dav's squads moving like ghosts before sunrise, cartographers trailing behind them with their heavy paper rolls slapping against their hips.
She dragged herself out of the tent, stretching carefully. Her thigh tugged, a ghost-pain from the claw wound, but her adjusted muscles didn't scream the way they had on first arrival.
A few adults shuffled past with mugs.
"Morning, Lord," one mumbled, hair in full betrayal mode.
"I'm not awake enough to lord anything," she returned.
Small departmental meetings formed mid-morning. People sat in circles—cooks checking remaining food stock, medical staff reviewing injuries, research teams arguing over fungus.
Talia overheard:
"We have three days of dried meat."
"If researchers would stop feeding half of it to whatever eats rocks, we'd have four."
Grandpa Lev indignantly responded, "It was studying mineral digestion! A noble cause!"
"No one needs a noble cause that poops gravel," a mother snapped.
Camp life.
Talia detoured toward the night-watch ring, where the last of the guards were swapping shifts. Most were bleary-eyed, sipping bitter tea like it was liquid salvation. Cael and Dom stood over a sketch in the dirt—claw marks, impact dents, and tracks.
"Rough night?" she asked.
Cael huffed. "Two beasts tested the perimeter. Small ones—Stone Rabbits, probably young. They tried to headbutt the supply crates."
Dom pointed at a cracked crate. "We reinforced it with vines. They still won."
Talia blinked. "They headbutted sealed hardwood?"
"Repeatedly," Cael said flatly. "With enthusiasm."
She dragged a hand over her face. "Of course they did."
Dom continued, "Bigger problem was the noise to the east. Something large was fighting out there. Maybe two somethings."
Talia stilled. "How large?"
"Large enough that the ground shook," Cael answered. "Sounded like boulders smashing together."
Across the camp, other guards nodded grimly.
"And…" Dom lowered his voice, "scouts again."
Talia's head lifted.
"Beastfolk or wildlife?" she asked.
"Not wildlife," Cael murmured. "Two silhouettes at the treeline during second watch. Stayed out of range. Watching. Careful."
"Same direction as yesterday?" she asked.
Cael nodded.
"Yeah. South ridge."
Talia absorbed that silently. If they were Beastfolk scouts, they weren't ready for contact. If they were something else… she would rather know before it introduced itself by removing someone's spine.
"Eyes up," she instructed. "Double rotation tonight. And if those shadows get closer—wake me."
"Already planned," Cael said.
She left them to their patrol handover, the uneasiness settling in her ribs like river-cold water.
Resting beside a small sewing circle Talia began to check her gear, halfway through a runner sprinted over, breathless.
"They found it, the site. It's a big river, clean flow, three kilometres southeast—Dav says you need to come right now!"
That was enough to make even her half-awake brain snap upright.
She stored her spear out of habit—Joel jogged beside her, Tegan caught up from the med tent, and Dav emerged from the trees looking impatient enough to carry someone under each arm.
"Show us," Talia said.
They took off through the forest.
The river wasn't hard to find.
It announced itself with sound first—deep rushing water, the kind that vibrated through your boots long before you saw it. Thick, rich air rolled off the water like breath, cool and green and alive.
When they broke through the last line of brush, Talia skidded to a stop.
"Oh," she whispered.
The river cut a clean path through the land—wide, swift, powerful. Broad stones dotted the edges, moss clinging in thick mats. The water was clear enough to see long, waving strands of aquatic plants and shadowy fish big enough to make her eyebrows climb.
"Drinkable," Dav said immediately after testing. "Cold. Fresh."
Joel washed his hands and flinched. "It's freezing, Dav."
Tegan was already scanning the banks. "Stable flow… no immediate threats… but." She pointed at the slopes on either side, and the flat grasslands at the base. "No flat land around it, and the base although suitable defence wise, no expansion value. We can't build on either bank. Too narrow, too exposed. Flooding risk."
Dav nodded. "As a water source, incredible. As a settlement site? No."
They walked the shoreline for about half a kilometre before the land confirmed it—nowhere wide enough for a village, let alone a territory core. Just river, steep walls, and thick forest.
Disappointing, but not surprising.
They turned back toward the camp.
Talia tried to resign herself to more scouting, she really did. But the universe had other plans.
It began with a glint.
A flicker of light reflected at an odd angle off the stone face of the mountain wall far south of the river. She paused.
"…did you see that?"
Dav squinted. "See what?"
"There." She pointed.
A thin line—an unnatural vertical split in the rock, just barely wide enough that sunlight slipped through like a blade.
Joel muttered, "That's not erosion."
Tegan frowned. "Cave entrance?"
"Not shaped like any cave I've ever seen."
Curiosity overcame oxygen needs. They detoured.
As they approached the fissure with slow, wary steps. Up close, it wasn't just a crack—it was a wound carved into the mountain, draped in thick sheets of vine and moss that clung to the stone like curtains trying to hide an inconvenient secret.
Talia pushed aside a trailing vine, revealing smooth stone beneath.
Too smooth.
Not weathered, not chipped, not eroded. Ground.
Polished.
Something massive had slid along this stone repeatedly, smoothing it into the shape of its passing. The walls bore long, shallow grooves—parallel, rhythmic, like ribs pressed against earth from the inside.
Joel let out a low breath. "This wasn't made by tools."
"No," Tegan whispered, tracing a faint curve. "This is… biological."
Talia's mind supplied an image before she could stop it—a colossal serpent or worm, thick as a house, forcing its way through the mountain, the pressure and movement grinding rock into glassy smoothness.
A shiver ran down her spine.
"One big creature?" Dav asked quietly.
"Or generations of them," Joel added. "No recent tracks though, seems like an old site." pointing to the vines and plants growing around the path.
The vines shivered in the breeze, and for an instant the tunnel seemed to breathe.
The entrance yawned before them—tall as three people, wide enough for a wagon, its interior walls glimmering faintly with residual mineral sheen. The air flowing from within was cool and damp, carrying a strangely clean scent, as though the depths circulated their own wind.
If a beast carved this path, it hadn't returned in a very long time.
"Light up, let's explore." Talia said softly, voice steady despite the goosebumps rising on her arms.
They stepped inside.
The tunnel stretched ahead of them like a ribbed throat—wide enough for three people side by side, the stone ceiling arching in gentle curves. Moisture glimmered like stars on the walls. Their footsteps echoed.
Joel whispered, "This is either the best idea or the plot of every nightmare spelunking movie ever made."
They walked.
Ten metres.
1km.
By 5km, they were doubting if they had made the right choice.
8km.
Then—
Light.
Not torchlight. Not reflected glow.
Full sunlight, blooming around a bend.
They stepped out.
And the world opened. A gasp tore itself out of Tegan. Joel staggered forward. Dav froze mid-step. Talia felt her heart stop.
The valley stretched before them like something carved from myth.
A vast basin framed by towering cliffs on all sides—stone walls rising hundreds of metres, unable to see the peaks and curved like a protective cradle. The sky above was rich blue, framed by soft, misty clouds.
On the right, a forest spread out—tall, old trees with dense canopies and dark, fertile soil beneath.
On the left, a wide meadow glowed gold-green in the sun, dotted with flowers the size of dinner plates. Wind rippled through knee-high grass like a living sea.
Straight ahead—
A waterfall.
A monstrous, staggering waterfall pouring from a cliff so high they couldn't see the top. The fall sprayed mist across the valley like fine rain. Rainbows arched and re-formed endlessly in the shifting light.
And carved into the valley floor, splitting forest from meadow, was the river.
The same river.
Flowing from the waterfall, through the valley, and disappearing under the southern ridge—they'd just walked over it without realising this was its source.
Birds flitted overhead—bright reds and greens, wings humming like violins. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a low bellow echoed and faded.
No buildings.
No smoke.
No territorial markers.
No beast dens near the entry.
Empty.
Joel whispered, "Holy… Talia…"
Tegan covered her mouth with both hands. "It's… it's perfect."
Dav turned slowly in a circle, scanning terrain, escape routes, possible defensive positions.
"We can defend this," he said finally. "One tunnel entrance. High ground on all sides. River access. Food sources. Timber. Stone."
Talia didn't speak.
She couldn't.
"If we seal the tunnel mouth, this whole basin becomes a fortress," Dav added, scanning the surroundings.
Talia walked forward until the breeze from the waterfall hit her face—cool, misty, sweet. The air here smelled like green things, like newness, like the world waiting.
Her chest tightened.
Her vision prickled.
She didn't cry.
She did not.
A tiny sniff escaped her anyway.
Joel pretended not to notice. Tegan patted her shoulder with trembling excitement. Dav just nodded like he could finally breathe for the first time since Earth.
Talia looked at all of it—the cliffs, the river, the open land, the forest.
Their chance.
Their beginning.
Her voice came out steady, low.
"Call them in," she said. "We've found our new home."