The valley looked nothing like the one Ikenna remembered.
When he and Adaeze descended from the mountain after three days of travel, the once-lush fields of Riverstone Hollow had changed. The rice paddies still shimmered gold beneath the sun, but the air held a strange tension. The rhythm of the soil was off—too rigid, too… controlled.
Adaeze noticed it first. "Do you feel that?" she asked, scanning the field edges where mist hovered. "The qi here—it's… forced."
Ikenna knelt, pressing his palm to the earth. Immediately, a pulse ran up his arm. The soil was warm, but not alive—it pulsed like a wound stitched shut too tightly.
"This isn't natural," he muttered. "Someone's been tampering with the field's spirit veins."
They followed the unnatural resonance toward the village square. What they found made Ikenna's chest tighten.
A group of unfamiliar cultivators stood before the main barn, dressed in dark green robes marked with golden sigils. Around them, villagers stood in uneasy silence. At their center was Professor Udo, one of the first to study under Ikenna after his rebirth. But his expression now was grim, conflicted.
The leader of the robed figures turned as they approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his hair shimmered with faint silver streaks. His aura was calm but dangerous—like the quiet before lightning struck.
"Ikenna of the Living Soil," the man said smoothly, his voice carrying authority. "We've heard much about you."
Ikenna frowned. "And you are?"
The man smiled faintly. "Tari of the Verdant Circle. We are the keepers of balance—the true guardians of cultivation's harmony. We've come to ensure that the soil's new gift does not fall into corruption again."
Adaeze bristled. "You mean you've come to seize control of it."
Tari's smile didn't waver. "Control is such a harsh word. We prefer stewardship. Tell me, Guardian—after your recent… communion beneath the mountain, did you not feel the pulse of something awakening within you? Something dark?"
Ikenna froze. His pulse skipped.
Adaeze's hand went instinctively to her sword. "How do you know about that?"
"Because," Tari said, taking a slow step forward, "the Verdant Circle has guarded the Soil's Blood for generations. You disturbed an ancient seal. And now…"—his gaze flicked to the faint golden veins on Ikenna's arm—"…it lives inside you."
The crowd gasped softly.
Amara, standing near the barn doors, shook her head. "That can't be true. Ikenna would never—"
But Ikenna raised his hand. "Let him speak."
Tari's eyes gleamed. "The Devourer was never meant to be killed, Guardian. He was meant to be absorbed. You carry his remnant now. Every breath you take feeds it. Every seed you plant spreads its reach."
A murmur rippled through the villagers. Fear. Doubt.
Ikenna met Tari's gaze. "If what you say is true, then why hasn't the land turned to ash beneath my feet?"
"Because it's patient," Tari said simply. "And when it blooms again, it will do so through you."
Adaeze stepped between them. "Enough of your riddles. We won't let you turn this village against him."
"Turn them?" Tari chuckled. "Guardian, look around."
Ikenna turned—and his heart sank. The villagers he had taught, fed, and protected were stepping back from him, eyes wide with uncertainty.
He could hear their thoughts in the soil—like whispers through roots.
Could it be true?
He's glowing like the Devourer did…
What if he's changing?
Adaeze growled under her breath. "They don't understand—"
"No," Ikenna said quietly. "They do. They're afraid. And they have every right to be."
He turned to Tari. "You said you're here to ensure balance. Then help me control it."
Tari tilted his head. "Help you? Oh, Guardian… I didn't come to guide you. I came to contain you."
He lifted his hand. Instantly, green sigils ignited across the ground. Roots burst upward, forming glowing chains that wrapped around Ikenna's wrists and ankles. Adaeze shouted, slashing her blades through the bindings, but every root she cut grew back twice as strong.
"Tari!" Ikenna gritted his teeth, forcing his energy outward. "If you seal me, the Devourer's remnant will react—it'll lash out at everything near me!"
"That's a risk we'll take," Tari said coldly.
The ground trembled. The golden veins on Ikenna's arm flared, light spreading through the bindings. The soil screamed beneath them—a living force refusing to be caged.
And then, everything exploded.
Light and darkness surged from Ikenna at once—one side glowing green-gold, the other black as midnight. The shockwave threw everyone back, scattering debris and dust through the square.
When the haze cleared, Ikenna stood alone at the center. His eyes were glowing faintly—not golden anymore, but a deep, shifting amber. The earth beneath him was pulsing, alive, but uneasy.
Tari staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. "You see? You can't even stand without the corruption showing itself."
Ikenna looked down at his trembling hands. He could still feel it—the dark pulse coiled beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat. But he also felt the soil calling out, still trusting him.
"I am not your enemy," Ikenna said softly. "And I won't let you become mine."
He slammed his staff into the ground. Roots burst outward—not to attack, but to push Tari and his followers back, creating a wide ring of untouched soil around the barn.
"This land has chosen me," Ikenna said, his voice steady now. "And until I'm gone, I'll keep its peace—my way."
Tari's gaze hardened. "Then may your roots rot with your pride, Guardian."
He turned sharply, signaling his followers. They retreated, vanishing into the treeline, their symbols still burning faintly in the earth.
As the dust settled, the villagers stood silent, torn between awe and fear.
Adaeze placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can't stay here now. They'll be back—with more than words."
Ikenna looked toward the fields, their faint green glow still flickering through the damage. "Then I'll move before they strike again."
"Where?"
He stared eastward, where the river shimmered faintly under the rising moon. "To the ancient terraces. If the Verdant Circle wants balance, I'll show them what true harmony means."
Adaeze smiled grimly. "Then let's give them something to fear."
And as they walked into the night, the soil whispered again—soft, urgent, alive.
"The roots remember your name, Guardian… but so does the darkness."