The morning unfolded into a communal effort, a sowing ritual Naya suggested to honor the land and unite the villagers. They gathered around the plot, their faces a mix of hope and uncertainty, tools in hand. Kael, the elder, led the group, his gnarled hands clutching a staff as he chanted a Murim prayer, its cadence blending with the Indian rituals Arin knew so well. The villagers joined in, their voices rising in a song that echoed the Pongal chants of Arin's childhood, a melody of gratitude and hope. Children ran between the adults, carrying baskets of seeds, their laughter a bright thread in the somber air.
Arin worked alongside them, guiding the planting of more Amrita Grains, showing them how to channel small amounts of qi into the soil. The villagers were hesitant at first, their hands trembling as they touched the earth, but Arin's calm presence reassured them. "Don't force it," he said, kneeling beside a young woman named Lila, the mother who'd defended him days ago. "Feel the land. It'll guide you." Lila nodded, her hands sinking into the soil, a faint glow shimmering around her fingers. Her son, the boy Arin had fed, clapped with delight as a sprout emerged, its silver stalk glowing softly. "It's working!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.
Others followed suit, their confidence growing with each sprout. Kael planted a row of grains, his movements slow but steady, a smile creasing his weathered face. "I haven't seen the land respond like this since I was a boy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Even some of the skeptics joined in, their doubts softened by the sight of the growing field. But not everyone was convinced. Torin, the burly man who'd opposed Arin, stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed, his expression dark. Beside him were two others, a wiry man named Vren and a woman named Mara, their whispers sharp with fear. "This will bring the Iron Fang," Torin muttered, his voice low but audible. "He's putting us all at risk."
Arin overheard, his heart sinking, but he kept his focus on the planting. He couldn't force their trust—he had to earn it. Naya caught his eye, her expression reassuring. "They'll come around," she whispered, her hand brushing his as she passed him a basket of seeds. The touch sent a spark through him, a warmth he couldn't ignore, though he pushed it aside. There was too much at stake to let his feelings distract him.
By midday, the plot had doubled in size, a patchwork of silver sprouts glowing with qi. The villagers stepped back, their faces a mix of exhaustion and pride, and Arin felt a swell of gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice carrying over the crowd. "This is our field now. We'll make it grow together." The villagers nodded, some smiling, others clapping, but Torin and his group slipped away, their absence a quiet warning.