The sun had barely crested the eastern peaks when Still Heart Village exploded into color.
It wasn't a gradual awakening. It was as if someone had uncorked a bottle of compressed festivity. The scent of woodsmoke was replaced by the sweet, cloying aroma of roasting chestnuts and fermented rice wine. The earthy browns and greens of the village were rapidly disappearing under a tsunami of crimson silk.
Arthev found himself balanced shakily on the ridge of the tallest granary roof, holding a spool of thick red ribbon that weighed as much as a small boulder.
'You look ridiculous,' Shukaku cackled in his mind. 'The host of a Tailed Beast, clinging to a roof like a frightened cat, hanging decorations.'
'I am not clinging,' Arthev retorted internally, his face impassive as he looked down at the thirty-foot drop. 'I am utilizing high-ground positioning to assist the logistical operations of the indigenous population.'
'You're hanging a ribbon, Arthev,' Matatabi purred, her tone amused. 'There is no need to make it sound like a tactical mission.'
"A little more to the right! No, the other right!"
Arthev looked down. Lian was standing in the dusty street below, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and pointing aggressively with a half-eaten skewer of candied hawthorn in the other.
"Precision is key, Wolf-boy! If it's crooked, the luck slides off!" she shouted.
Arthev sighed, the sound lost in the wind.
'Luck is a statistical anomaly, not a fluid dynamics problem,' he thought.
However, he didn't argue. He channeled a trace of Soul Power into his feet and defied gravity, leaning horizontally off the edge of the roof. His dark eyes, the pupils constricted, focused on the microscopic grain of the wood beam opposite him.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the heavy ribbon flying across the gap. It didn't flutter, it cut through the air like a whip.
He caught the end around the opposing beam, tied a knot that would hold a frantic Spirit Beast, and dropped back onto the roof in one fluid motion.
"Perfect geometric alignment," Arthev muttered, admiring the symmetry.
He dropped from the roof, falling thirty feet. He didn't bend his knees, he simply landed light as a feather, the impact absorbed entirely by his controlled Soul Power flow.
'7.5 out of 10,' Matatabi critiqued. 'You overcompensated on the landing impact. A true cat lands silently.'
Lian clapped, a small puff of dust rising from her hands. "Show off. You just saved us three ladders and an hour of arguing."
"Efficiency," Arthev said, dusting off his sleeves. "What's next?"
"Next? Next is the best part," Lian grinned, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the village square. "Next is tasting."
----------
The village square had been transformed into a maze of stalls. The "Stone of Serenity" sat in the center on a raised dais, currently draped in a white cloth, waiting for the ritual tomorrow. But around it, life was vibrant and loud.
Arthev felt out of place. His black travel clothes stood out against the bright festival garbs. He walked stiffly, his eyes darting to the sides, tracking movement.
'Three men at the forge,' his analytical mind droned. 'Boiling oil at 3 o'clock. Child with sharp object at 9 o'clock.'
'Ooh! That smells like meat!' Shukaku interrupted the analysis, sniffing loudly through their shared senses. 'Forget the threats! Get the meat!'
"Stop it," Lian said, nudging him with her elbow.
Arthev blinked, his analysis interrupted.
"Stop what?"
"Stop analyzing everyone like they're going to ambush you. That's Old Man Chen, the most dangerous thing he has is his breath after garlic buns."
Arthev relaxed his shoulders. "Old habits."
"Well, get new ones," she said, steering him toward a stall where steam billowed in thick, savory clouds. "Grandma Li! Two bowls of Golden Carp soup! And make them spicy!"
An elderly woman with a face like a dried walnut cackled, ladling out thick, golden broth into two clay bowls. "Lian! You brought the stray! Look at him, skin and bones. Eat, child. Put some meat on those ribs."
She shoved a bowl into Arthev's hands. It was hot, scaldingly hot.
Arthev looked at the soup then took a sip. The flavor exploded, ginger, wild onion, river fish, and a kick of chili oil that warmed his chest instantly.
'What is this sensation?' Isobu asked, his voice bubbling up from the depths. 'It burns... but in a good way?'
'It's called flavor, turtle-brain,' Shukaku grumbled.
"It's..." Arthev paused, searching for a word that wasn't adequate. "It's good."
"Just good?" Lian rolled her eyes, blowing on her own spoon. "This is the taste of Still Heart! We only make it for the Serenity Festival."
They found a quiet spot on the edge of the square, sitting on a stack of hay bales. The noise of the festival washed over them, drums starting a rhythmic beat, children laughing, the clinking of ceramic cups. Arthev ate in silence,
"Why the Stone of Serenity?" Arthev asked suddenly, gesturing with his spoon toward the covered statue in the distance. "Spirit Hall worships angels. The Empires worship power. Why a rock?"
Lian swallowed a piece of fish and looked at the dais. Her expression softened, becoming reverent.
"It's not just a rock, Arthev. Legend says the valley used to be a chaotic storm, uninhabitable. The Stone... it anchors us. It tells time to sit down and behave."
She giggled at her own description. "Elder Mu says it keeps the seasons right. Without it, the mist would eat us."
'Matatabi,' Arthev projected a silent query. 'Is she telling the truth?'
'She believes it is true,' the Two-Tails replied, her voice serious. 'But scientifically... she is correct. I can sense the background radiation. The space here is artificially compressed. That Stone is leaking a massive amount of stabilization energy. It is a powerful seal.'
'So if it breaks?'
'Boom,' Shukaku supplied helpfully. 'Big boom.'
"Do you believe it?" Arthev asked.
"I believe it keeps us safe," she said simply.
Then she looked at him, her dark eyes piercing. "Like you. You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look of someone who wants to be safe, but doesn't know how to stop running."
Arthev froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He looked at her, really looked at her. The resemblance to his past-life sister was physically striking, but in that moment, she sounded exactly like her too.
'You run too much, Arthev. Sit down. The world won't end if you rest for five minutes.'
The memory overlay the reality. Arthev felt a sharp pang in his chest, a mixture of grief and a strange, desperate hope.
"Lian," he started, his voice barely audible over the drums. "Have you... have you ever dreamt of another place? A place with tall towers of glass? Iron carriages that move without horses?"
He held his breath. 'Please say yes. Please tell me you remember.'
Lian blinked, confused. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Glass towers? Like... made of crystal?"
"Concrete and steel. And lights that never go out."
She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head slowly. "No. I dream about flying sometimes. And once I dreamt I ate a watermelon the size of a house. But no glass towers."
She smiled apologetically.
"Is that where you're from? The city of glass?"
Arthev exhaled. The tension left his body, replaced by a hollow ache. She wasn't her. She was just Lian. A girl who liked spicy soup and red ribbons.
"No," Arthev lied softly, looking down at his empty bowl. "Just a story I read once."
" sounds lonely," she murmured. "Too much glass. You'd see everyone, but couldn't touch them."
'Glass prevents sand from entering,' Shukaku mused. 'I like glass.'
'Quiet, Shukaku,' Arthev thought, feeling a pang of sadness.
"Hey!" A group of children ran past, waving sparklers that left trails of silver light in the dusk. "Lian! The Lantern Floating is starting!"
Lian jumped up, dusting hay off her skirt. She extended a hand to him. "Come on. You have to make a wish."
"I don't wish," Arthev said, staying seated. "I plan."
"Plans are boring. Wishes are for the things you can't plan." She grabbed his hand, her grip was surprisingly strong, and pulled him up. "Come on, Wolf-boy. Humor me."
---------
The river was glowing.
Hundreds of small paper lotuses, each holding a flickering candle, drifted downstream, turning the dark water into a mirror of the starry sky. The villagers lined the banks, hands clasped in prayer.
Arthev stood a little apart, holding the paper lotus Lian had forced into his hands.
"Just close your eyes," she whispered, standing next to him. Her face was illuminated by the warm candlelight, making her look ethereal. "Think of what you want most. Not what you need. What you want."
Arthev looked at the candle.
'What do I want?'
'Power,' Shukaku hissed. 'Destruction. Worship.'
'Safety,' Isobu countered softly. 'A shell that cannot break.'
He looked at the villagers. He saw the blacksmith hugging his son. He saw Elder Mu laughing with the baker. He saw Lian, eyes closed, lips moving in a silent prayer, looking so completely at peace that it made his heart ache.
'I want this,' the thought surfaced, unbidden and terrifying. 'I want to stop looking over my shoulder. I want to stay.'
He closed his eyes. For a brief second, he let his guard down completely. He didn't circulate his Soul Power. He didn't scan the perimeter. He just stood there, a boy holding a paper flower.
He knelt and placed the lotus in the water.
'A dangerous wish, little host,' Matatabi said, her voice tinged with a sadness Arthev didn't understand yet. 'Roots are hard to pull up once they grow deep.'
"What did you wish for?" Lian asked, opening one eye.
"Secret," Arthev murmured.
They watched the lotuses drift away into the mist at the edge of the valley.
"Maybe," Lian said softly, bumping her shoulder against his, "you could stay? Until the harvest?"
Arthev watched his lotus drift. It didn't sink. It just floated peacefully, keeping pace with Lian's.
"Maybe," Arthev said.
And for the first time, he meant it.
---------
High above them, perched on the jagged, wind-swept peak of the "Dragon's Fang," a shadow moved.
It wasn't a cloud. Two figures stood there, cloaked in robes that seemed to drink the moonlight. They were perfectly still, watching the glowing river of lanterns below.
They did not speak.
One of them turned slightly, revealing the back of their cloak.
Embroidered in silver thread was a strange, unsettling symbol: A perfect circle, shattered into three uneven shards, pierced by a single vertical line.
The figure raised a hand, pointing a finger toward the glowing Stone of Serenity in the distant square. Then, they signaled to their companion.
They turned and vanished into the darkness, descending toward the village like silent vultures. The festivities continued below, loud and joyous, unaware that the executioners had just arrived.
To be continued.....