The sunlight felt foreign on Moyan's skin.
He paused at the crest of the hill, letting the warmth soak into his face. Behind them, the fissure had closed completely, leaving only a scar of upturned earth where the Gardener's chamber had been. Before them stretched rolling hills dotted with silver-barked saplings, their leaves shimmering like coins in the breeze.
Jian Luo kicked a pebble down the slope. "You sure we're going the right way? I don't see any—"
A thin column of smoke rose in the distance.
Haiyu's fingers twitched. "There."
Moyan nodded. The roots beneath his skin hummed in confirmation. "About three li east. Near that stand of young oaks."
Jian Luo squinted. "How can you tell from—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Right. Magic tree nonsense. Let's go before I change my mind."
---
The village wasn't what Moyan expected.
Instead of the clustered huts of the cliffside settlements, these structures were woven from living branches, their walls thick with new growth. People moved between them—not the hunched, wary figures of the Abyss, but men and women standing straight-backed in the sunlight.
A child spotted them first.
"Strangers!" The boy couldn't have been more than six, his bare feet kicking up dust as he ran toward them. "Strangers coming from the west!"
Jian Luo tensed. "Here we go."
The villagers emerged from their homes slowly. Moyan counted twenty-three—mostly elders and children, with a handful of hunters holding makeshift spears. Their eyes weren't fearful, but watchful.
An old woman stepped forward, her hands stained green from plant work. "You've come from the dark places." It wasn't a question.
Moyan inclined his head. "We have."
The woman's gaze flicked to his hands, where the golden tracery of veins showed clearly. To Haiyu's vine-twined wrist. To Jian Luo's too-sharp eyes. "You carry the old marks."
"Not so old," Jian Luo muttered.
A man with a hunter's scars pushed forward. "They're Warden-touched. We should—"
"Peace, Liang." The old woman didn't raise her voice, but the hunter fell silent. "I am Yuna. This is Green Hollow. What brings you from the dark?"
Moyan exhaled slowly. The roots in his chest pulsed—not painfully, but persistently. "The dark is gone. The land is waking."
A murmur ran through the villagers. The child who'd spotted them tugged at Yuna's sleeve. "Grandmother, look!" He pointed to Moyan's shadow—where the faint outline of branches could be seen in the late afternoon light.
Yuna's breath caught. "You've seen the Gardener."
Haiyu stepped forward, her hands moving in deliberate signs: "The false Wardens are gone. The roots remember their true purpose."
The hunter Liang scoffed. "Pretty words. How do we know they're not—"
A scream cut through the village.
Moyan moved before the others could react, his body responding to danger with that strange new certainty. He reached the source just as a young woman stumbled from one of the woven houses, her arms wrapped around a squirming bundle.
"Something's wrong with my boy!"
The child in her arms couldn't have been more than four. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, thin roots visible beneath its surface. His eyes—
Moyan's stomach clenched. The boy's eyes were the same amber as Jian Luo's had been.
Jian Luo pushed past the gathering crowd. "Let me see." His voice had lost its usual edge.
The mother hesitated, but Yuna nodded. "Let them help, Lian."
As Jian Luo examined the boy, Moyan felt it—a wrongness in the roots beneath them. Not the clean, golden network of the Gardener's making, but something twisted. Something familiar.
Haiyu's hands moved urgently: "False roots. Leftover from before."
Jian Luo's jaw tightened. "It's like what happened to me, but... younger. Fresher." He looked up at Moyan. "I don't know if I can—"
Moyan knelt beside them. Without thinking, he placed a hand on the boy's chest. The roots in his own arm responded instantly, glowing gold beneath his skin.
The boy gasped. His back arched—
—and the roots beneath the village square erupted.
Not the clean silver tendrils of the new growth, but thick, blackened things that stank of the old Abyss. They lashed upward, knocking villagers aside.
Liang shouted, raising his spear. "I knew it! Wardens bring nothing but—"
Moyan didn't hear the rest. The world narrowed to the struggling child, to the dark roots pouring from his small body, to the golden light answering from his own flesh.
"Hold him!"
Jian Luo pinned the boy's shoulders while Haiyu wrapped her vine-twined wrist around one thrashing arm. Moyan pressed both hands to the child's chest and let the Gardener's gift flow through him.
Gold met black in a shower of sparks.
The boy screamed.
His mother lunged forward, but Yuna held her back. "Wait!"
Moyan gritted his teeth as the roots fought back. This wasn't like the Gardener's chamber—this was messy, painful work. The false roots clung to the child's flesh like drowning men to rocks.
Jian Luo's claws extended involuntarily. "Moyan—"
"I know!"
A memory surfaced—the Gardener's touch, the way it had rewritten the roots within him. Not destruction. Transformation.
Moyan stopped fighting.
He exhaled, letting the golden light soften. Instead of burning away the corruption, he guided it, showing the roots their true shape.
The change was immediate.
The blackened tendrils lightened to silver. The boy's amber eyes faded to warm brown. His breathing slowed, deepened—
—and the attacking roots froze mid-lash.
For a heartbeat, the village square was utterly still.
Then the transformed roots withdrew, slipping gently back into the earth. The boy blinked up at them, his skin clear, his expression dazed.
"Ma? I'm hungry."
The tension shattered. Lian snatched her son up, weeping into his hair. The villagers murmured, some backing away, others stepping closer in awe.
Yuna approached slowly. She reached out, pausing just before touching Moyan's arm. "You're no Warden."
Moyan looked at his hands—at the fading golden light. "No. Something else."
Jian Luo helped him stand. "Took you long enough to figure that out."
Haiyu signed to the villagers: "There will be others like him. The old roots don't want to let go."
Yuna nodded, her expression grim. "Then you'll stay?"
Moyan looked at his companions—at Jian Luo's resigned smirk, at Haiyu's determined nod. The roots in his chest hummed agreement.
"For now."
As the villagers led them toward the largest dwelling, the boy in Lian's arms peeked over her shoulder. His eyes—now clear and bright—met Moyan's.
"Thank you, tree man."
Jian Luo snorted. "Tree man. I like that."
Moyan shook his head, but couldn't suppress a smile. The path ahead was unclear, the work unfinished. But here, in this first village of the reborn land, something had taken root.
Something that might just grow.