The wind over the ridgeline was not the mountain's.
It came from nowhere, from no proper direction, curling in on itself like a restless predator's tail. The air thinned, and in that absence, something ancient stirred.
Deep within the labyrinth of stone spires beyond the orchard, a figure stood barefoot on black rock, unmoving as the cliff's shadow. The wind pressed at his back and front both, as if the world leaned toward him.
His eyes were shut. His hearing, however, reached far — over valleys, over forests, over the orchard where Tian Shen now stood.
The pulse of a new core's birth rolled through him. Not just any core, but one honed with precision. Dense. Dangerous. Controlled.
A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"So, the boy lives."
The wind stilled.
...
Back at the Orchard. By noon, the Scouts were scattered into their drills. The sun burned bright above the orchard, its heat sinking into the damp soil, coaxing the fresh shoots from the ground.
