Hylisi returned home. She barred her door, lit a single lamp, and sat beside her sleeping son. For the first time in years, her shoulders loosened. No footsteps lingered outside. No shadows waited near the window.

That night, she slept deeply.

Not from exhaustion–but from safety.

Kiaria turned away without a word.

He did not look at Mu Long.

Did not acknowledge the Chief.

Both remained kneeling where they were, heads lowered, unmoving. The others understood without explanation. This was not punishment for today alone. This was penance–extended until meaning took root.

Kiaria walked back to his tent in silence.

He entered, drew the curtain closed, and finally released a slow, heavy breath. The kind that only escaped when vigilance was lowered by force, not choice.

Diala had been sitting alone, idly tracing patterns in the dirt with a twig. She looked up at him, eyes sharp despite the quiet.

"Kia," she said softly, careful not to let her voice carry. "You're still thinking about the treasure hunters… more than Lady Hylisi and her son, aren't you?"

Kiaria did not answer immediately.

He sat down, resting his forearms against his knees, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. The fire outside crackled faintly, its glow seeping through the fabric.

"You know me best," he said at last. "And you already know the answer."

Diala waited.

"In this world," Kiaria continued evenly, "strength speaks first, and it speaks last. Dominance rules. The recessive are suppressed. That is the wild law everyone follows–even when they pretend otherwise."

His fingers tightened slightly.

"Those who defy it become enemies of the world itself. We've seen them. People once branded as enemies by empires, hunted and erased." His voice lowered. "But today… you saw it too."

Diala's gaze softened.

"They are also blood of the suppressed," Kiaria said. "People who once carried sparks of light. But generation after generation, through words, through actions, through survival… they changed."

He exhaled slowly.

"The dark smoke devours the spark of light. Eventually, they don't even realize they've become the same thing that crushed them."

Diala smiled faintly.

"You're right," she said. "And smart too. Otherwise you wouldn't have used that dark smoke itself to light the world today–through dominance, to deliver justice."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with quiet mischief.

"So… are you planning to make them kneel the entire night?"

Kiaria's lips curved just enough to show amusement.

"Maybe," he replied. "Maybe not."

He glanced toward the tent entrance, where shadows moved faintly beyond the fabric.

"Until the others understand that Chief and Mu Long aren't kneeling only for themselves–but for everyone who stood silent today–they'll remain there."

Diala nodded slowly.

Sister Lainsa said the same thing, she thought.

And for once, the adults were painfully aligned.

Kiaria rose to his feet.

"Sleep early, Dia," he said gently. "I have a small matter to take care of."

She looked up. "The gift?"

"Yes."

She smiled, already curling back into her blanket. "Take care."

Kiaria stepped out of the tent and let the curtain fall closed behind him.

Without another glance toward the camp, he turned toward the forest. The trees stood quiet, their silhouettes layered in moonlight and shadow. Somewhere within them lay what he needed–not just material, but intent.

A gift was not merely protection.

It was a declaration.

And Kiaria walked into the forest with that purpose forming clearly in his mind.

Kiaria entered the forest with a monochrome gaze.

He did not walk.

Nor did he rise high into the air.

He floated at a height just enough that the grass beneath him did not bend, just enough that his presence left no footprint upon the ground. Each movement was unhurried, deliberate, as though time itself had agreed to slow around him. The Golden Berry Beads were beneath his awareness, and he would not disturb them.

His gaze moved calmly through the forest, searching not with urgency, but with discernment.

He sought abundance.

Not of flesh or fruit–but of spirit.

As he drifted deeper, something subtle caught his attention. A monochrome-white stream of spiritual energy flowed between the trees, thin yet uninterrupted, like breath passing through a sleeping body.

Kiaria followed it.

With every step–or rather, every silent glide–the weight upon his shoulders loosened. The unseen burden of Patron authority, of judgment and consequence, peeled away in layers. The lonely whistles of night insects, the slow creaking of ancient branches, the distant calls of unseen creatures–these were familiar sounds.

At the heart of the flow stood a tree.

From root to crown, it pulsed with spiritual energy. Not violently. Not greedily. It flowed as blood flowed through veins–constant, nurturing, patient. Its fruits were unlike anything he had seen before. They did not grow in clusters, nor did they compete for space. Each fruit existed independently, scattered across branches as though chosen individually by the tree itself.

Kiaria lowered himself before it.

He placed his palm against the bark.

Warmth answered him.

Spiritual currents curled around his hand and arm, not probing, not resisting–welcoming. The cold of the night faded, replaced by something steady and alive.

"May I take a branch of yours," Kiaria said quietly."I know it will hurt you. But for the sake of a suffering family, I need it. Only you can bear my energy."

The tree trembled.

Not in fear.

Leaves across its entire body rustled at once, a wave passing from crown to root. A single branch lowered itself, angling forward–offered.

"Thank you," Kiaria said.

He cut it cleanly.

Sap bled immediately, thick and luminous. The tree bore the pain in silence, neither recoiling nor resisting. Kiaria took out a Golden Berry Bead–the one Hylisi had given him on their first meeting, the one he had never used.

He placed it beneath the flowing sap.

The reaction was instant.

As sap touched the bead, it behaved exactly as blood had. The Yin yolk solidified, revealing the Yang bead. Kiaria crushed it against the wound. Spiritual energy surged violently for a brief moment–then stabilized.

Minutes passed.

The severed wound closed.

The lost branch regenerated.

And the branch in Kiaria's hand… lived.

He bowed once more to the tree.

Then he cut the branch's wider parts into two logs. He kept logs. The remaining, he planted near the tree's base. From his relic, he poured a drop of spiritual spring upon it. Roots burst forth instantly, sinking into the soil as if they had always been there.

The forest accepted it.

The tree's leaves waved again.

Before Kiaria left, several fruits detached themselves and floated gently toward him. He accepted them without ceremony and departed.

When he returned near the camp, his steps slowed.

Around his tent, every surviving treasure hunter was kneeling.

No one spoke.

No one looked up.

They did not know he had returned. They did not sense him pass. Kiaria entered the tent silently, the curtain falling without a sound.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Good," he murmured to himself."The will of life does not lose easily to darkness."

He sat cross-legged.

Diala was already asleep, her breathing steady, untroubled.

Kiaria closed his eyes.

His consciousness descended inward.

The Dragon Cauldron did not appear in the outside world. Instead, it manifested within his sea of consciousness. He placed one of the logs inside. Earth Core Green Fire ignited beneath it, melting the wood not into ash, but into liquid essence.

He stored it in a vial.

Then repeated the process with the second log.

Only then did he turn.

"Grandfather," Kiaria said respectfully, "teach me how to shape this into a bangle. I want to learn forging."

A snort echoed.

"Little brat," the Azure Dragon Emperor replied. "So you finally remember me."There was a pause."Since you asked properly, I'll help you once. You've improved. You realized wood cannot be refined like metal. Good."

Cold blue dragon flame emerged.

It lifted one vial, forming a stable flame platform within the cauldron while maintaining precise temperature control with flame outside cauldron. A strand of flame condensed into the shape of a hammer and struck the liquid rhythmically.

The liquid essence did not scatter.

It obeyed.

Slowly, gently, it formed into a bangle.

"Now," the Emperor said, "show me what you've learned."

Kiaria took the second vial.

He replicated the process flawlessly. His control was calm, refined by countless hours of alchemy and failure. The second bangle emerged slightly smaller–but alive, adaptive, capable of resizing at will.

He bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Grandfather."

The sea of consciousness receded.

Kiaria rose and stepped outside.

"Go to sleep," he said quietly.

Everyone bowed at him and left silently.

When the camp settled, Kiaria ascended into the sky. One of the nine crescent rings detached from the Crescent Loop Moon Blade and hovered before him. It split–then split again–becoming two identical rings.

They rose higher.

Clouds gathered.

From the sky, countless miniature crescent rings rained down, each rings attracted by both bangles. Bangles absorbed them completely, structure strengthening without losing balance.

Finally, Kiaria released a massive drop of spiritual spring.

The two crescent rings reflected the bangles.

From the reflection, two more formed.

Perfect pairs.

"Finally," Kiaria said softly.

He stored the two pairs of bangles in his spatial ring and returned to the tent.

The night passed quietly.

And something irreversible had been prepared.

Night ended quietly.

Not with celebration.Not with fear.

It ended the way exhausted land ends a difficult day–by breathing.

Before the sky fully brightened, before sunlight reached the mainland, movement stirred at the outskirts of the market. One by one, figures gathered. Merchants who had closed early the previous day. Hunters who had witnessed punishment. Men and women whose tongues had been taken–and who had returned with bandages, silence, and lowered heads.

They did not shout.

They did not argue.

They gathered.

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