Chapter 89: When the Ground Moves, Nobody Dances
The ground trembled under my feet. Not enough to spill a bowl, but enough that every kobold in earshot froze where they stood. All that festival noise—bickering, laughter, the last of Bitterstack’s singing—shrank to a pin-drop silence. I saw one of the Gen-2s stuck halfway through sweeping, holding a broom like it was a spear, eyes darting between me, the sky, and the yard stones.
Nobody said it, but everyone was thinking the same thing.
System message, dead center above the square, bright enough to wash out the dusk:
[ALERT: Substructure Disruption Detected – Source: Eastern Ridge]
[Threat Level: Unknown]
[Gorak Detected: Probable]
Bitterstack muttered something sharp under her breath, and even Cinders didn’t ask what it meant. Relay, halfway through her victory lap, tripped over her own feet and started frantically checking her runner tokens—"East post, north, south, central line—come on, work—"
Splitjaw locked eyes with me, posture all business, tail stiff. Quicktongue had her ledger open and a stub of charcoal in her claws. Embergleam didn’t move, but I saw her glance at every open flame in reach, measuring, waiting.
If you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the moment the square shifted from "home" to "defense." The air tasted different—smoke, sweat, cold fear. I thought I could smell moss, like the memory of rain on old stone.
Splitjaw cleared his throat, barely above a whisper. "Do you want the squads ready?"
"Hold," I said. "Not until we know more." No panic. Facts first. "Relay?"
Relay blinked, hands moving fast. "Signals are still coming through, but there’s... static. All the posts are up, but the lines are humming, boss. That’s not normal."