That night, as the village recovered, Arin sat by the river, the journal open in his lap. The attack had shaken him, but it had also shown him the power of the land—and the village's potential. The Whispering Vines had saved them, but he needed to do more, to strengthen the fields and the people. Naya sat beside him, her staff resting across her knees, her expression thoughtful. "They'll come back," she said, her voice low. "The Iron Fang doesn't give up easily."
Arin nodded, his fingers tracing the journal's pages. "I know," he said. "But we'll be ready. The land… it's stronger now. So are we." Naya's gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. "You're giving them hope," she said. "That's more than anyone's done in years." Their eyes met, the air between them charged with unspoken feelings, a slow burn that neither acknowledged but both felt.
A sudden pull of qi drew Arin's gaze to the sky. The silhouette of the Eternal Seed appeared, its glow brighter now, pulsing with a rhythm that matched the land's heartbeat. Images flashed through his mind—a lush valley, fields of glowing crops, a seed descending from the heavens, its light banishing the darkness. A grove materialized in the vision, hidden deep in the valley, its trees ancient and brimming with qi. A voice, the same one from his transmigration, whispered, "Seek the Grove of Beginnings." Arin blinked, the vision fading, but the weight of it lingered, a clue to the valley's past and his own destiny.
He turned to Naya, his voice low. "The Eternal Seed… it showed me a grove. The Grove of Beginnings. Do you know it?" Naya's eyes widened, her hand tightening on her staff. "My mother wrote of it," she said, her voice trembling. "A sacred place, where the valley's qi was born. It's been lost for centuries, hidden by the sects' wars. If it's showing itself to you…" She trailed off, her expression a mix of awe and fear. Arin nodded, the journal heavy in his hands. The path ahead was clearer now, but no less daunting.
The stars glittered above, mirroring the qi sparks in the soil, and Arin felt the land's heartbeat, stronger now, a testament to their resilience. The Iron Fang would return, and Torin's betrayal loomed, but for now, the field stood, a symbol of hope. Naya's hand brushed his, a quiet gesture of support, and Arin felt the stirrings of a harvest—not just of crops, but of trust, of strength, of something enduring.