Later that morning, they returned to the Hearttree with their gathered herbs and a new intention. Feng Yin laid the basket down and drew a small circle into the dirt, using a slender bone stylus etched with runes.
"We're going to plant the new seed today," he said.
Tian Shen raised a brow. "You actually made one?"
Feng Yin smiled with a flicker of pride. From a pocket in his robes, he pulled a tiny bundle wrapped in cloth. Unfolding it revealed a seed—iridescent, shaped like a teardrop, and pulsing faintly with light.
"A seed made of memory, song, and starlight."
Tian Shen blinked. "You always surprise me."
"Good. If I didn't, you'd grow bored."
Together, they planted it in the center of the circle. Feng Yin chanted softly, ancient syllables meant not to command but to invite. Tian Shen placed his hand beside Feng Yin's in the soil, adding his qi—stable, grounding.
The seed accepted them both.
