The next day began with nervous calm.
Most villagers stayed indoors, but a few returned to their normal tasks. They moved stiffly, glancing toward the Lowwood every few minutes.
Aren walked toward the southern fields, where the farmers had gathered. Even from a distance, he sensed their agitation—short movements, hushed tones, quick glances.
He stopped at the edge of the field.
Something was wrong.
The crops at the center—healthy just two days earlier—were blackened. Not burned. Not withered. Almost… drained.
As if the life had been pulled out of them in one motion.
Farmers whispered urgently.
"Look at this.""Is it spreading?""This wasn't natural.""Dao beasts don't do this."
One man pointed at the soil. "Even the ground's cold."
Aren stepped closer, kneeling to inspect the dead plants. He touched one of the blackened stalks. It crumbled instantly into dust.
Lio appeared beside him. "Aren—don't touch that!"
Aren rubbed the dust between his fingers, watching how it fell. It didn't feel like disease. Or decay.
It felt empty.
Hollowed.
He pressed his palm to the soil.
The Dao threads here were thin. Stretched. Weak.
Almost as if something had passed through them and taken more than it should.
Aren said softly, "This happened last night."
A few farmers turned.
"What did he say?""Last night?""How would he know?"
Lio stepped in front of him. "Ignore him—he's just—he didn't mean anything by it."
But Aren wasn't done.
"The tree felt it," he added.
Silence.
Cold, heavy silence.
A farmer's face twisted. "The Willowshade Tree? Again?"
Another stepped forward. "Are you saying that thing caused this?"
Aren looked up at him. "No."
The man relaxed slightly.
"Something else used it."
And the murmurs exploded.
"Used the tree?""What does that mean?""This boy speaks nonsense!""He was at the tree last night—I saw him!""No wonder this happened!"
Suspicion sharpened like a blade.
Someone jabbed a finger toward Aren. "Ever since he started pokin' around that tree, weird things keep happening. First the tremors. Now this."
Another farmer added, "He's always staring at the ground, talking about threads and shifts. Sounds cursed to me."
Lio flared. "He's my brother! He hasn't done anything!"
But Aren stood still, absorbing every word.
Fear.Ignorance.Assumption.
Patterns he had seen all his life.
They didn't upset him. If anything, they helped him understand the villagers better.
The elder arrived moments later, walking briskly.
"What's going on?"
The crowd parted. The elder crouched beside Aren, examining the soil.
His face darkened.
"This… is not the work of a common beast."
A farmer gestured at Aren. "He knew when it happened. He said the tree felt it."
The elder's eyes flicked to Aren. "You did?"
Aren nodded. "The Dao threads weakened just before dawn."
Lio squeezed his shoulder in warning, but Aren didn't stop. He rarely did.
The elder stared at him for a long moment. Not with fear—he'd seen enough to recognize that Aren wasn't lying. But understanding him was another matter.
"If the tree reacted," the elder said quietly, "then something moved through the Dao paths last night."
He stood and addressed the farmers.
"This is not Aren's doing. Whatever passed through the soil was strong and… deliberate."
But the reassurance didn't settle the crowd.
People still looked at Aren with unease—some with outright suspicion.
A woman muttered, "He talks like he knows these things too well."
A man added, "Maybe the forest is speaking to him."
The elder raised a hand sharply. "Enough."
His voice carried authority, forcing silence.
But suspicion lingered behind every stare.
As the farmers dispersed, Lio pulled Aren aside.
"Why did you say all that? They're scared, Aren. You know how they get."
Aren met his gaze. "They asked questions."
"That doesn't mean you have to answer every one," Lio snapped. "You keep talking like you're… connected to it."
"I am not connected," Aren said. "I am observing."
Lio dragged a hand down his face. "That's not how they see it."
Aren looked toward the Lowwood. "That is their mistake."
Lio opened his mouth, then stopped. He knew better than to argue with that tone—not cold, not rude, but final.
Before they returned home, Aren knelt once more and touched the soil.
The weakened Dao threads flickered.
Then something pressed back.
Not strong.Not violent.Just… aware.
As if touching his hand through the earth.
Aren stood slowly.
The forest was not just watching anymore.
It was responding.