Evening settled softly over the village. The fading sun brushed gold across the roofs and fields, and the laughter of children rang through the square. Elior stood at the edge of the play area, watching the others run in circles, shouting, chasing one another.“Elior, come on!” a boy called. “You can’t just stand there again.”He hesitated. His thoughts were elsewhere—on that strange, faint hum he’d felt earlier, the pull that connected everything to everything. But before he could answer, several children surrounded him.“You’re playing,” a girl said, grinning.A hand grabbed his wrist, another pushed his shoulder, and suddenly he was in the middle of the game whether he liked it or not.“You’re it!” someone shouted, tapping his arm before sprinting away.Elior blinked, then sighed, and chased after them.For a while, he forgot about everything else. His breath came fast, his feet kicked up dust, and the others’ laughter filled the air. He even laughed once or twice himself, surprise

Morning came with a stillness that clung to the air like dew. The entire village seemed to know what day it was. From the eastern ridge to the far rice paddies, a quiet excitement pulsed beneath the usual rhythm of chores. Children woke early, faces washed and clothes brushed, waiting for the chief’s call.Elior stood near the edge of the square with the others, his hands behind his back. He had not slept much. His dreams had been full of shifting lights, countless threads of energy weaving through darkness. He had woken before dawn with his heart still racing, the faint warmth of the Book resting quietly in his chest like a sleeping flame.Today was the second sensing day.On the first, they had learned what the Laws were. They had sat by the stone formation while the chief explained that every living thing had its own rhythm, that those rhythms were fragments of greater truths. Most children had only managed to feel vague warmths or faint colors. But after a week of guided meditatio

The morning light filtered weakly through the thin curtains of their small house. The warmth of the sun brushed against the wooden floor, but Elior felt none of it. His small hands rested on his knees as he watched his father at the low table, carving a block of oak. The knife moved smoothly across the grain, shaving away curls of wood with rhythmic precision. Every motion was deliberate, careful, and measured.“Patience, Elior,” his father said quietly, without looking up. “Carving is like cultivation. One wrong motion can ruin everything.”Elior mimicked his father, pressing the knife lightly against the wood. A small splinter pricked his finger. He hissed and pulled back. His father smiled, dabbing the spot with a cloth. “Do not flinch. Even the smallest discomfort is part of the process.”The boy nodded silently. He was used to his father’s quiet teachings, but today felt different. Today was not about wood or patience. Today was about the Law.When the carving was done, his fathe