After breakfast, Khael and Lord Lito walked toward the family's fields. The air smelled of damp soil and wind—clean, but heavy with quiet disappointment.

The once-lush crops now bowed low under the pale sunlight, their leaves withered at the edges. Khael knelt, brushing the dirt between his fingers.

"Our harvest…" he murmured.

Lito nodded beside him, his voice steady but laced with fatigue. "Sadly, it wasn't good this year."

A crow cawed from the far fence post, black wings cutting through the silence. Khael lifted his gaze toward it.

"A crow," he said softly.

Lito's eyes followed his. "An omen, perhaps. If it weren't for your older siblings sending supplies from the military, things would've been difficult this season."

Khael's hand tightened on a stalk of brittle wheat.

(So this is how fragile this world still is… Even after all the battles, all the heroes—something as simple as bad soil can break peace.)

He closed his eyes. Memories flickered behind them not from this life, but another.

(When I was ten… back when I was Shigeo Smith…)

He remembered the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The faint hum of machines. The stack of books on his bedside table, volumes on biology, agriculture, and the slow rhythm of life he would never fully live.

(I was terminally ill… weak, fading. But I kept reading. I wanted to understand how things grew. How the world healed itself. Maybe because I couldn't.)

Khael stood, brushing the soil from his palms, eyes now calm and certain.

(Shigeo Smith was fragile… but he was a learner. A dreamer. That knowledge—his will—didn't die with him.)

He looked toward the wind-ruffled horizon.

(This time, I'll use it. I'll heal this land, too.)

The crow took flight, its wings slicing through the morning light rising, just as Khael's resolve did.

Khael's eyes scanned the fields once more, tracing the wilted roots and pale veins of the crops. A slow breath escaped his lips.

"I think… I know what the problem is." he said quietly.

Lito turned toward him, one brow rising. "Hoh?"

There was curiosity in his tone warm, patient, the kind of hoh that came from a man who'd seen battlefields and still found wonder in the small things.

Khael knelt again, pressing his hand against the soil. A faint glimmer of Shinrei rippled beneath his palm, stirring the loose grains.

"The soil's exhausted," he murmured. "Its life force—its breath—is thin. You can tell by the way the roots don't drink deeply anymore. The wind moves here, but the ground doesn't answer it."

Lito crouched beside him, studying the motion of his son's hand. "You speak as if the land itself has a pulse."

Khael smiled faintly. "It does. Everything that breathes has one. The wind carries energy… but the earth stores it. When one grows weak, the other can't balance."

Lito crossed his arms, nodding slowly. "Heh. You sound more like a scholar than a knight."

Khael chuckled softly. "Maybe both. My other self…"

Lito blinked. "Other self?"

Khael only smiled and stood, brushing off his knees. "Let's just say I learned a lot before I became who I am now."

The breeze picked up, dancing between father and son. Dust and sunlight twined like whispers of life.

Khael looked at the field again. "If we restore the balance between air and soil, the harvest will recover. I'll handle it."

Lito's eyes softened, pride flickering behind his grin. "Hoh… so my son's not just a Dragon Knight, he's a farmer too, eh?"

Khael laughed under his breath. "Something like that."

He walked deeper into the field, where the wind brushed against the dry stalks like a tired sigh. The soil cracked beneath his boots, lifeless and weary. Khael knelt once more, pressing his palm into the earth.

He dug his fingers deeper, closing his eyes. A faint golden glow began to bloom from his palm warm, steady, and alive. The light spread through the cracks of the dry field, flowing like veins of sunlight beneath the earth.

The air shifted.

The breeze that once carried only dust now hummed with life. The crows scattered, startled by the sudden rush of wind spiraling upward, circling Khael and his father. Tiny motes of green Shinrei drifted from the soil, drawn to the pulse of his power.

Lito's cloak rippled behind him as he watched. His heart tightened not from fear, but from awe.

(My son... to think you've become this strong... it feels like I don't even know you anymore...)

Khael exhaled, his voice calm, his aura steady. "I'm not forcing it. Just... reminding the soil what it once was. Everything in this world has memory even the land."

The field shimmered faintly. The dull, brittle crops began to stir, straightening, their colors deepening into green and gold. The faint scent of life of rain, growth, and morning dew filled the air once more.

The dragon mark along Khael's neck flickered with azure light, his Shinrei merging with the natural flow around him.

Lito took a slow step forward, boots sinking slightly into the newly softened earth. His eyes reflected the glow of the field. "You... healed it."

Khael shook his head gently. "No. I just helped it remember how to breathe."

A long silence followed, the kind that carried more meaning than words ever could.

The wind brushed past both men, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world exhaled with them a quiet sigh of balance restored.

Lito looked at him again not as a warrior looking at his heir, but as a father seeing the man his son had become.

(My son… once the boy who chased wind and dreams. Now, he commands both.)

The wind still whispered through the golden field when soft footsteps approached from behind.

Lady Maricar stood at the edge of the crops, her pale robe brushing against the stalks, the morning sun glinting off the silver clasps in her hair. Beside her, Ren and Lyra followed, their eyes wide as they felt the lingering hum of Shinrei still vibrating through the air.

The whole field shimmered faintly, as if the soil itself breathed in rhythm with the wind.

Ren blinked, awe painted across his young face. "Mother… what is this feeling?"

Lyra clutched her small hands together, her Shinrei-sensitive veins glowing faintly blue. "It's warm… and sad at the same time. Like… like the earth is crying and smiling."

Lady Maricar's lips parted slightly. Her healer's instincts stirred, she could feel it too. The flow of Shinrei was pure and alive, the kind that only existed in legends where dragons once walked among men.

She stepped forward, the faint green light reflecting in her eyes. "This aura…" she whispered. "It feels like a hymn. A song of healing, woven into the soil itself."

Khael straightened, turning to face her. The faint glow on his hand faded, and the field slowly returned to calm only now, it lived.

"Mother," he said with a gentle smile. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Lady Maricar nodded, her voice trembling between pride and wonder. "Yes… and it frightened me for a moment. Not because it was dangerous but because it was beautiful."

Ren tilted his head. "Brother… did you do this?"

Khael smiled softly, brushing the dirt from his gloves. "The land was just tired. I gave it a little reminder to wake up."

Ren gawked. "A reminder? You practically turned the whole field into light!"

Lyra giggled, her silver braid bouncing. "See, I told you! Big brother's Shinrei feels different now — it's not sharp or wild… it's gentle. Like the wind when it plays with the leaves."

Lito chuckled quietly beside them, crossing his arms. "Gentle, huh?"

Lady Maricar smiled faintly, but her eyes lingered on Khael not with worry, but with a deep, knowing ache.

"There's something in your aura, Khael," she said softly. "It doesn't feel like just you anymore. It feels… older. Wiser. Almost ancient."

Khael looked away for a moment, watching the wind ripple across the reborn field. His dragon mark flickered faintly beneath his collar.

"Maybe that's true," he murmured. "The dragon's blood doesn't just give power — it gives memory. I feel… echoes. Of lives, of ages before mine. It's as if every breath I take is shared with something far older."

Ren frowned, confused. "Doesn't that scare you, brother?"

Khael's lips curved into a calm, bittersweet smile. "It used to. But now… it feels like I'm never alone."

Lady Maricar stepped forward, resting her hand gently on his cheek, her touch steady, glowing faintly with Shinrei warmth. "You were never alone, my son. You have your family. You have us."

The wind stirred again softer this time, as if bowing to her words.

Lito smiled at the sight of them, voice low with pride. "Hah… look at this. My son healing the land, my wife lecturing dragons, and my crops finally standing straight. What a day to be alive."

Laughter rippled through the family light, warm, and alive.

And for a fleeting moment, as the sun broke through the clouds, it felt as if even the world itself paused to watch the Corzedars a family reborn beneath the blessing of wind, earth, and dragonfire.

To be continue

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