And so Kage, ignoring the young lad's advice and the persistent nagging of the sovereigns, pulled out The Scrolls of Rejected Disciples, reading until drowsiness overtook him around late afternoon. Eventually, he surrendered to sleep.
The clear blue sky darkened, and the light of a colossal half-circle—like a distant reflection of the world itself—poured gentle silver across the coastal forest, illuminating the vicious night with the beauty of its glow.
After opening his eyes, Kage stared at the moonlight for a few minutes before finally standing. He lowered himself, grabbed the branch, and slipped down. He didn't fall—instead, he caught himself mid-descent. Then he released, landing softly, almost soundlessly.
He exhaled as he surveyed the forest. The air was warm, thick with the scent of salt. Distant waves crashed against the shore, blending with the background chorus of insects and birds chirping—almost like they were locked in serious conversation.
