The next morning dawned with lazy sunrays poking through Arietta's divine orchard, filtered by the translucent sky of her pocket realm.
Birds that didn't exist in any real plane chirped melodies that harmonized with your spiritual frequency—one of those unnecessary divine features no one asked for but still kind of appreciated.
Raven sat cross-legged on a stone platform with a silver teacup balanced on his knee and the Soul Kiln Purification technique spinning in his core. Around him, his whole team was scattered across the vast ethereal garden like oddly placed lawn ornaments—all in various stages of deep cultivation.
Arietta hovered midair behind a floating tea table, sipping delicately while watching them like a hawk mom watching her unruly ducklings.
"Don't slouch," she told Clara, who was sitting a little too comfortably with her back leaning on a mossy rock.
"I'm still circulating my mana," Clara replied, eyes closed.
