Fortitude doesn't have a good context for dealing with explosions. The last one was a couple of winters ago in an event that has been slanderously hypothesized to have something to do with Rinley and all of those missing fireworks. This results in a population profoundly unprepared to handle a detonation of enormous size and ferocity coming from the old lighthouse. Some people raise their heads and hands to look off into the distance. Plenty of birds make the decision to get into the air and circle around, squawking urgently. A couple of dogs howl and bark because they were just looking for an excuse. A cat falls off a windowsill and pretends he meant to do that.

But there are no followups. No kaiju monsters or sustained firework aftershocks or invading star-eyed Riders from beyond, so everyone mostly just goes back to their own business afterwards and assumes that it'll sort itself out. Fortitude is that kind of place.

There is now a crater besides the lighthouse, and a white-hot shattered hole of molten stone that cuts right through the structure. The ground is burning, the sand is fusing to glass, the rocks have shattered, gouts of steam erupt from the lake where little fragments of molten fire have landed. For all the energy of the scene, though, the excitement has worn off a little bit too - the occupant of the crater has been lying there for about thirty minutes now and it's gotten to the point where a couple of enterprising birds have landed on nearby trees on the off chance there's a snack to be had. They're only metaphorically correct.

A hand the colour of Baharat spices reaches for the edge of the pit. Jasper Inkra emerges, standing, blinking, staring in all directions at the quiet Fortitude afternoon. It doesn't matter from how close or far away you see her, her face is always indistinct and her eyes are always perfectly, agonizingly in focus. There's tears in them - hurt, confusion, fear. But then they fix upon the lighthouse and they harden with resolve and compassion.

She steps towards the old stone structure. Lays her hand upon it, body alight with divine energy. And she speaks unto the building, "I am very sorry, sir, that I struck you. I swear that it was unintentional and I shall work with all my strength to restore you to your former grace and glory."

There is no reply. That is okay. It is only polite to wait. She is in the wrong here, after all, and will accept whatever judgement this strange giant chooses to pass upon her.