On the fourth night after the silence broke, the tide shifted without moon or wind. The villagers on watch saw the waves swell unnaturally, foam curling black under starlight. Drums rolled faintly over the water, slow, deliberate, each beat like a hand pressing against the heart.
Children stirred in their sleep, sparks flickering. The Guard took their posts along the dunes, palms glowing, but no sails broke the horizon. Only the water rose higher, as though the ocean itself were leaning toward them.
Hei Long stood on the unfinished Temple steps, cloak dragging. The Origin's glow in his chest pulsed faintly — weaker than before, but steady. His three flames gathered close.
"They're not waiting anymore," Qingxue said. Her sword rang as she drew it.
"They're reaching straight for the hearth," Yexin murmured, foxfire guttering in her hand.
Yuran's glow trembled but did not falter. "They want to see if we can keep it without you."
Hei Long's gaze never left the sea. "Then you must."
