They descended the hill slowly, their steps measured, senses sharp.
As they crossed the invisible boundary into the town, the air itself seemed to shift—warmer, denser, alive with quiet awareness. The paths beneath their feet adjusted subtly, roots settling into place as if acknowledging their presence.
At first, no one stopped them.
But eyes followed.
From beneath leafy hoods, from behind long ears that twitched in curiosity, from golden pupils set in faces both familiar and entirely alien. Conversations softened. Movements slowed just a fraction. A fox-eared merchant paused mid-gesture. A pair of flower-bodied children froze, petals trembling as they stared.
Lira felt it immediately—the weight of being noticed.
She kept walking.
Renkai stayed close, his hand never leaving hers, his posture calm but alert. "Don't stare back too much," he murmured. "We don't want to look… challenging."
"I know," Lira whispered. "Just… breathe. Walk like we belong."
And in a way, they did.
