“Significantly.”
Elle glances at me.
I feel the shift in her thoughts. Not excitement, but the grim calculation of someone who understands exactly what it means when someone hands you a weapon and tells you where the enemy will come from.
The last stop is the tunnel network beneath the root system.
Wide passages connect every major structure in the inner rings. Escape routes. Supply lines. Defensive positions accessible from below ground.
Bioluminescent growth along the walls provides steady illumination. At every junction, directional symbols are carved into the wood so that even someone fleeing in panic could follow them.
Every detail is deliberate.
“How many people can the inner rings hold?” I ask.
“Twelve thousand,” Thalia says. “The entire population.”
“And during a siege, the outer ring evacuates first.”
“Within the first hour.”
She pauses at a junction before turning toward me.
“You are thinking about what happens if the third ring fails.”
“I always think about what happens if the line fails.”
She nods once.
“Good.”
Something in her expression shifts into something that almost resembles approval.
“The third ring has failed twice before,” she says. “Both times the Heartwood held long enough for us to push the Cathedral back. But we lost people in these tunnels who should have survived.”
Her hands clench briefly.
“I rebuilt the entire network after the second failure. Added secondary exits. Widened passages. It will not happen again.”
I believe her.
The tunnels are immaculate. Maintained and clearly marked. This is not the work of someone who delegates responsibility and hopes for the best. This is the work of someone who walks these passages herself.
There is a specific leadership that comes from personal loss.
Thalia rebuilt these tunnels the same way I rebuilt my own defenses after every failed iteration. Not with hope, but with grim determination to ensure the same mistake never happens again.
When we finally climb back to the surface, Elle speaks.
“How long have you been doing this, Thalia?”
Thalia takes a moment before answering.
“A long time,” she says quietly. “Longer than most people here remember.”
Elle and I share a look. We both feel the same quiet suspicion that something about Thalia remains deliberately unsaid.
But neither of us pushes the question.
