Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Field
It was early spring when he came.
The sky was clear, wind soft, and spirit bees buzzing loud across the peach blossoms. Alex was in the herb patch, kneeling low, coaxing a stubborn little bloodroot to sprout.
"C'mon, buddy," he said, poking it with a stick. "You're late."
"Reminder: Bloodroot prefers shaded soul-rich soil. Current patch lacks optimal shadow."
Alex sighed. "I told you not to move the sunstones here…"
"Talking to the dirt again?" Meilin's voice drifted over.
Alex grinned without lookin up. "Yup. Dirt listens better than people."
She chuckled, but then paused. Her eyes narrowed, staring off past the treeline.
Someone was walkin up the dirt path.
Not a villager.
Not a trader.
A stranger.
Alex stood, brushing dirt off his hands. The man coming was limping, clothes torn, one eye swollen shut. He looked more like a ghost than a guest.
Meilin's hand dropped to her blade.
But Alex raised a hand. "Wait."
The stranger stopped just before the boundary stone, where the hill met the forest trail. He looked up, breathing heavy.
"You... the farmer?" he rasped.
Alex nodded. "Depends who's askin."
The man looked ready to collapse. "Name's... Jun. I ran. From Hollow Eye."
That name brought silence.
Alex's face stayed calm, but his fingers curled just a little.
"They're... hunting anyone who broke ranks," Jun said. "Said your land's cursed. Said you're a demon. But I seen it. What you did. You... you made them stop without killing them."
Alex walked forward, slow. "And what do you want?"
Jun dropped to his knees. "Sanctuary."
Later, after Jun had eaten and passed out on a hay bed, Meilin pulled Alex aside.
"You trust him?"
"No," Alex said. "But I remember bein like him once."
"Lost?"
He nodded. "Lookin for soil to put down roots in."
Meilin leaned back against the porch. "You think peace can hold? With more comin here?"
"It has to," he said. "That's the whole point."
That night, Alex sat under the memory tree again. A soft wind rustled the branches.
"Warning: presence of ex-sect member may attract hostile attention."
"I know," he whispered. "But if I turn away every broken soul… what kinda farmer would I be?"
The wind answered with a warm breeze.
And somewhere far off… beyond hills and rivers…
Another figure heard the name Still Wind Hill.
And smiled with hunger.