The dry winds had arrived early.
They came as ghostly breaths through the trees—warm and hollow, carrying the scent of brittle leaves, sun-baked bark, and the distant cry of migrating beasts. The villagers of Nareen knew what this meant. The Season of Division was beginning.
Yet amid the unease, the village prepared for a cherished tradition—the Festival of Seeds.
Charlisa stood at the edge of the square, watching as baskets were brought from every hut. Carefully wrapped in palm husks or leather satchels, the seeds represented life's continuity—millets, beans, forest herbs, medicinal roots. Each family had their heirloom seed, passed down through generations.
Kael joined her, holding a bundle of violet seeds from the lavender hill. "We'll plant these near the eastern slope," he said. "Where the light lingers longest."
Charlisa smiled, but her gaze drifted beyond the treetops, where the wind stirred the sky in dry swirls. "The air feels… different," she murmured.
"It's the Winds of Ash," said Elder Maro, approaching with a gourd of honey wine. "They signal both ending and beginning. A trial and a blessing."
The villagers circled the central hearth, where an elder woman—one of the village's last seedkeepers—began the invocation. Charlisa listened to the rhythmic chants. They didn't merely bless the soil; they honored the seed's patience, its silent knowledge.
Charlisa had studied botany with her mother and grandmother in another world, but here the science breathed through ritual. She realized:
Soaking seeds overnight mirrored the hydration process to awaken enzymes.
Burying them at different moon phases subtly aligned with gravitational moisture shifts.
Rotating planting zones around the village followed sound permaculture logic.
She whispered as much to Kael, who looked at her with pride. "You see their meaning," he said. "And now you give it form."
As the seeds were planted in small community plots, each child helped press them into the earth. Charlisa was asked to guide the youngest group. She showed them how to cup the soil gently, how not to press too hard, and whispered blessings in her native tongue.
But celebration was briefly interrupted.