The moment Neil declared the renovation complete, everyone scrambled up from the ground, faces alight with excitement. Their home—reborn—was waiting. The air was charged with anticipation, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Before Neil could say a word, Lyra dashed straight for the iron door. Her boots scraped against the stone floor as she ran, her braid flying behind her like a banner. She grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled with all her strength. The muscles in her arms strained, her jaw tightened, but nothing happened. The heavy iron door didn't budge a fraction.
"Ugh! Why won't it open?" she muttered, tugging harder. Her voice echoed faintly in the chamber, frustration dripping from each syllable.
When brute force failed, she spun on her heel and beckoned. "Orion! Come help me!"
Her older brother strode over with an easy calmness, though his brow furrowed as he placed his large hands against the cold metal. Together they shoved, pulled, and even tried lifting as if the weight might yield to persistence. Still, the iron door stood unmoved, as steady as a mountain rooted in the earth.
Lyra stepped back, cheeks flushed pink, puffing like a cornered cat. She crossed her arms and huffed. "It's stuck."
Others began to rise, concern etched on their faces, ready to lend a hand, but Neil quickly raised his voice, sharp but not unkind. "Wait! Everyone, listen to me first."
At that, they paused. Even Lyra—though still glaring at the stubborn door—tilted her head toward him, impatience clear in her tapping foot.
Neil inhaled, steadying himself. "This isn't a wooden door. Wooden ones, anyone can push open. But this—" he tapped the iron frame with a hollow clang "—is different. Iron doors need a redstone source. In simple words, they need energy to open."
The family blinked at him, silent. The words meant little to most, though they trusted the boy who spoke them.
He went on, his tone careful, steady, like a teacher guiding curious students. "There are a few ways. A button gives power only for a short moment—it'll open, then shut right after. A lever, though, can keep it open as long as you want. But…" His gaze swept across them, lingering on each face. "We have to be careful. If we place a button or lever outside, anyone who finds it could walk right in. Even worse with a pressure plate—an animal could step on it and open the door by accident."
That earned thoughtful frowns from the adults. An image flashed in their minds: wild beasts wandering in, or worse, strangers with no goodwill. For a while, no one spoke. Even the children stilled, sensing the weight of his words.
Then Lyra broke the silence, placing her fists on her hips. "Neil! Why didn't you say that earlier? Do you enjoy watching me look stupid, struggling with a door after all my training?" Her cheeks were still flushed with effort, but now also embarrassment.
Before Neil could answer, she marched up and smacked him lightly on the head.
"Ow!" Neil yelped, rubbing his scalp. "It's not like that! You rushed before I could explain. Not my fault!"
"What do you mean, 'not your fault'?" Lyra shot back, jabbing a finger at his chest. "It's your fault for being so slow to speak!"
As the two squabbled like cats swiping at each other, Orion rolled his eyes and brushed past them. Without breaking stride, he gave Neil a smack of his own.
"Hey! What was that for?!" Neil cried, but Orion ignored him.
The adults, meanwhile, were deep in thought. Finally, Grandma Linnea spoke, her voice soft but firm, carrying the calm of years. "We should use a lever. It's safer. Imagine if a door closed while someone was halfway through. That could hurt badly. With a lever, we can control it."
Her reasoning silenced the room. Heads began to nod slowly, one by one. The weight of her wisdom settled over them like a blanket.
"Only one question remains," Grandpa Eldrin added, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. His eyes gleamed with cautious foresight. "Do we put levers on both sides, or only inside?"
They debated, voices rising and falling like waves. Safety against convenience, risk against comfort. In the end, they chose safety. Only inside. As Grandpa explained, "Even before the storm, someone always stayed in the village. If needed, we'll take turns. Better safe than sorry."
Resolved, Neil nodded. His hands moved with practiced certainty as he opened his crafting grid. Two sticks, two stones, combined in his crafting screen, and soon reality followed—two levers, solid and ready. He walked to the iron door, placed one neatly at its side.
But just as he reached for it, a thought struck him. He turned, eyes flicking toward Lyra. "Big sister… how about you do it?"
Lyra blinked, momentarily stunned. Then a slow grin spread across her face. "Finally, you're acting like a cute little brother." She strutted forward proudly, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes.
The others smiled quietly, amusement softening the tension. Even Orion's lips twitched at the corners.
Lyra gripped the lever dramatically and pulled it down with a flourish.
Click.
The heavy iron door swung open smoothly, silent yet powerful, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Gasps filled the air.
Neil slipped inside first, placing another lever just beyond the doorway. He tested it, then carefully broke the outside one and replaced it within. Now the entrance was secure, controlled only from the inside. The iron doors stood open at last, like guardians bowing them through.
And so, the family surged forward eagerly.
The first sight stole their breath—a lantern glowing warmly from the ceiling, its golden light spilling across stone walls. The air felt different inside: softer, welcoming, almost alive, worlds apart from the cold breath of the outside world.
"It's like stepping into another world," Father Anil murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His breath still puffed in the chill behind them, but here it seemed to melt away.
Grandmother Linnea leaned against Eldrin's arm, whispering with awe, "It feels alive now."
The lobby stretched before them, open and glowing, with a stone table at its center surrounded by sturdy chairs. It was simple yet strong, a symbol of permanence.
Father Anil brushed his hand across the table's smooth surface. "A place for all of us," he said softly, pride swelling in his chest.
Mother Maya touched Neil's shoulder gently, her eyes warm. "You thought of everything."
Neil ducked his head, embarrassed, though a smile tugged at his lips despite himself.
The children scattered with shouts of joy, their laughter bouncing off the walls as they explored. Each corner, each hallway revealed new wonders—rooms ready, shelves carved, small touches carefully placed. From the kitchen came Aunt Seraphina's delighted voice: "Shelves! A real counter! Neil, this is wonderful."
Uncle Kael crouched near the chimney, studying the thin trail of smoke. He nodded, satisfaction plain. "Smart. Very smart."
Even Grandpa Eldrin's face cracked into a rare smile. "Good work, Neil. Brilliantly done."
Neil's chest swelled. His heart beat fast, not from strain but from joy.
The family gathered again in the glowing lobby, their faces lit soft by lanternlight. Caspian flopped into a chair with a laugh. "Finally, a table big enough for us all!"
"Not that it'll stop you from stealing my seat," Orion teased, drawing chuckles all around.
Neil stood quietly, watching them. Their smiles, their laughter, the way his grandparents leaned together, the way his parents' pride shone—it was everything.
This was why he had built it. Not just for safety. Not just for shelter. But for this: family, warmth, and home.
And in that golden light, Neil knew with certainty—this was only the beginning.