The lizard's breathing grew uneven.
The pain wasn't sharp.
It was constant.
Layered.
Like thousands of whispers pressing against its skull at once.
Insects skittering beneath soil.
Wind threading through bark.
Distant stone settling.
The fox's heartbeat.
Everything.
All of it crashing inward without pause.
It clenched its jaws again, muscles trembling.
The fox watched closely.
"…It's not wounded," the fox muttered quietly. "It's overwhelmed."
Its gaze shifted to the lizard's white ears.
"They're taking in too much."
The fox's tail flicked once, thoughtful.
"Then stop trying to block it."
The lizard's golden gaze shifted slightly toward the fox, strained but attentive.
"You're covering your ears," the fox continued. "But that's not where the problem is. If you could hear me even when I wasn't loud… then the sound isn't just entering from outside."
It narrowed its eyes slightly.
"It's your focus."
The wind moved through the sparse trees again.
Leaves rustled.
The lizard flinched.
"There," the fox said softly. "You reacted before the sound even finished."
A brief pause.
"You're trying to hear everything."
The lizard's breathing slowed—just slightly.
"…So don't."
Silence stretched between them.
"You don't need every insect," the fox said more quietly. "You don't need every grain of dirt shifting."
It lowered its voice further.
"Pick one sound."
The lizard remained still.
The fox tapped one claw lightly against a small stone.
Click.
A tiny, controlled sound.
"Only that."
The world was still screaming in the lizard's mind.
Layer upon layer of overlapping noise, pressing inward like an unrelenting tide.
But beneath it—
There was the click.
Small.
Clear.
Closer than the rest.
"Anchor to it," the fox murmured. "Ignore the rest."
The lizard's ears twitched faintly.
The overwhelming noise didn't vanish.
But it dulled—just slightly.
Like turning a flood into a stream.
The fox noticed immediately.
"…Good."
It leaned back a little despite the sharp pain in its ribs.
"You don't shut it off."
"You narrow it."
The wind passed again.
This time—
The lizard didn't flinch as violently.
Still strained.
Still adjusting.
But no longer drowning.
The fox exhaled slowly.
"There you go."
Its eyes sharpened.
"Your body didn't grow those ears to torture you."
"It grew them to survive."
The lizard's golden gaze steadied.
It stayed very still.
Its paws slowly lowered from its ears.
The pain remained.
Not gone.
Not silent.
It could still hear everything.
The wind brushing against bark.
The faint scrape of the fox shifting its weight.
Insects tunneling beneath soil.
Even the subtle rhythm of the fox's breathing.
All of it remained.
But—
When it focused on one sound—
Just one—
The rest changed.
The fox's heartbeat.
Steady.
Close.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The lizard centered on it.
And something shifted.
The other noises didn't disappear.
They dulled.
As though a thin wall had formed between its mind and the chaos.
They were still present—
But distant.
Muted.
Manageable.
The pressure inside its skull eased slightly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Its golden eyes steadied.
Its breathing slowed.
So that's how…
It didn't need to block everything.
It just needed to choose.
Choose what mattered.
The wind passed again.
Leaves rustled.
But instead of flinching—
It stayed anchored.
Heartbeat.
Breath.
Close.
The rest became background.
The fox watched carefully and noticed the change immediately.
"…You figured it out," the fox murmured.
The lizard didn't answer.
But its ears twitched once—controlled this time.
No tremor.
No sharp recoil.
It could still hear everything.
But it no longer had to *listen* to everything.
And for the first time since waking—
The pain wasn't overwhelming.
It was something it could endure.
And that made all the difference.
The fox let out a faint breath when it saw the tension leave the lizard's body.
"…See?" it muttered, wiping blood from the corner of its mouth with the back of its paw. "I'm not that bad of a teacher."
Its tail flicked lazily despite the exhaustion.
"In fact," it added with a tired smirk, "I'm a very good teacher."
The lizard ignored the tone.
It focused.
The fox's voice.
Each word leaving its mouth was no longer just sound.
It was structure.
Waves.
Ripples moving through air.
The lizard released a faint exhale of its own—soft and controlled.
The sound traveled outward.
It bounced.
Returned.
And the world unfolded.
Not in light.
In contours.
In distance.
In texture.
The ground beneath them formed first—cracked stone, uneven terrain, scattered debris. Sparse trees stretched across a rocky expanse. Small burrows beneath the soil. Insects shifting within their tunnels. Loose pebbles rolling with subtle vibrations.
It wasn't blurry.
It wasn't vague.
It was precise.
Clearer than sight.
It could "see" behind itself without turning.
Above itself without lifting its head.
Around every angle at once.
Its golden eyes remained open—
But they were unnecessary.
This was better.
The fox shifted slightly.
That movement rippled outward.
The lizard perceived the shape of it immediately.
Every curve of its body.
Every tremor in its breathing.
Even the slight instability in its posture caused by internal injuries.
"…Where are we?" the lizard asked calmly.
There was no strain in its voice now.
The fox paused.
Its ears twitched as it scanned the horizon instinctively, even knowing how limited that was.
"…I don't know," it admitted after a moment.
Its tone was quieter now.
Less pride.
More calculation.
"The talisman tore through space. It wasn't a fixed-coordinate jump. Just distance."
It looked around again.
Sparse forest.
Rocky terrain.
No obvious sect markers.
No immediate spiritual pressure pressing against the air.
"We're far," it continued. "That's what matters."
It exhaled slowly and pressed a paw lightly against its ribs.
"But first…"
Its voice hardened slightly.
"We need to find somewhere safe."
Its gaze flicked to the lizard.
"I need to rest. Recover."
A brief pause.
"And you need to stabilize."
The wind moved through the trees again.
This time—
The lizard mapped it instantly.
The shifting leaves.
The hollow resonance inside a nearby tree.
A shallow cave formation roughly thirty paces to the west.
The echo returned differently there.
Denser.
Shielded.
Protected from the wind's direct path.
The lizard turned its head slightly.
"There," it said quietly.
The fox narrowed its eyes.
"…You can already locate shelter?"
The lizard didn't answer with pride.
Only certainty.
"There's a hollow. West."
The fox stared at it for a long moment.
Then a faint smile tugged at its lips despite the blood and exhaustion.
"…Yeah," it muttered.
"Definitely a good teacher."