Above the hill in Tlangthar, the square came alive with laughter, music, and scents of cooking. Here was a place where tradition and camaraderie blurred hierarchy lines; the Chief, Zakop, and his advisors mingled freely with people to share bread, stories, and laughter. It was an ancient tradition, a way of celebrating community which ensured that leaders of Xiaxo did not drift too far from the lives of those they served.

He walked toward the square, his heart brightened by the familiar scene. The stone-paved expanse was bustling with activity. Fires crackled as villagers gathered around large iron pots and woven mats. Children darted between the adults, carrying bamboo cups filled with steaming broths and fragrant teas.

In one corner, a group of elders was preparing sticky rice mixed with ferrowseeds and lynchleaves. The rice sparkled in the firelight, the ferrowseeds giving a faint metallic sheen and the lynchleaves a subtle earthy aroma. Another group was nearby, expertly tossing fried rice in wide pans over roaring flames. Bamboo shoots and magical herbs crackled as they hit the hot iron, releasing bursts of vibrant fragrance. Each herb had a story to tell-from mana root and vigor, shimmerblossoms and lucidity of thought, to duskfern and dreams of yesteryear.

It was a deep respect for the ingredients. Each cooking was a ritual, a moment to pay respects to the earth, so lavish with her provision. Smoked meat of wild game cut into wraps with riverweed that preserves the moisture of it. Stone ground spices full of mana and were put there with the colors so vivid in a splattering way as it painted the food with Xiaxoan magic.

Near this little bunch of villagers, Myrith and Lysara stood and every one of them carried a quite very long bamboo tube. The notches hollowed out made the stout bamboo seem to be quite the thin cup. The wine poured into these Amawi rice. Smoothed out, gently aglow with magic cloth, brewed from this particular Amawi rice, held sweet with an underlaying scent of earth, a very agreeable gentle warmth lapped along the tongue.

"This Amawi rice wine is quite yummy," said Lysara as she sipped it slowly while smiling. "We should probably bring some home for the family."

Myrith gazed up at the sky. She smiled weakly. "The family would like it. These Xiaxo. they remind me of some of our people's older traditions. But they are unique, completely their own. I do not think we have anyone like them anymore-so tied to the land. Maybe we did, a long time ago. Civilizations like ours stretch back millennia, and things get. lost. People come and go.".

She nodded, and a softness swept over her features. "It is true," she said. "There's something timeless about this place. Like the land holds their traditions alive.".

Larin arrived, carrying his own bamboo tube of rice wine. His face was masked in a calm smile as he watched the way Myrith and Lysara slid so easily into the scene. They still stood out - both taller and brighter than any Xiaxoan - but nobody gawped or stared. They had become used to seeing them, welcoming them as part of the throng that filled the busy town.

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"Lady Myrith, Lady Lysara," Larin greeted them warmly, bowing his head slightly. "I hope the night has been kind to you."

"It has," Myrith said, her somber expression lightening a bit. "This place… it's extraordinary. There's a sense of life here that feels almost sacred."

Lysara raised her bamboo tube a little in a jesting toast. "And the wine certainly helps. What about you, Larin? Enjoying yourself?"

Larin smiled. "I am. Seeing my people like this, so full of life—it reminds me of why we fight to preserve it.".

They fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, sharing observations about the night. Myrith was marveling at the way people of Xiaxo wove magic into everything they did. Lysara shared a hilarious tale of the first time she tried to eat steamed lotus pods and how that caused the villagers great amusement.

You know, Larin said, switching to a slightly more serious tone, "I wanted to talk with you both about something important."

Myrith and Lysara turned all the way toward him, looking at him inquisitively.

I have been thinking about this trip to Dryad at Natural Spring, continued Larin. She asked us to bring you and her both in next time, She gave me some kind of intuition regarding outside world of Xiaxo-about the people you folk call Auquans-and somehow I feel like you should yourself listen to their words.

"Ay, said Myrith narrowing her gazed slightly; "Dryad is it to whom you credited Sinlung Breath Control?"

Larin nodded. "She is incredibly wise and well connected to the land in a way I have never seen. I feel she may well hold answers we haven't yet thought to ask.".

But Lysara warned herself. "A Dryad. they are not so common, even in civilizations as old as our own. And if she's as strong as you say, then to see her will be a priviledge.

Myrith curled her lips up into a slight smile. "An honor, yes. And also a burden. If she knows as much as you feel, then we must tread warily and humbly. We will follow you, Larin. I must see this Spring of Nature and meet the one who wields the power of Sinlung's knowledge.".

Between practicalities of their visit to lighter, more personal topics, the conversation flowed on. Lysara laughed as she came close to the end of her second tube of rice wine- having acquired a new, much-relished Xiaxoan delicacy-and accepted them teasing her about it. Myrith spoke of home among the Seafoam, comparing their traditions with the Xiaxoans'.

As the night fell deeper, the square became silent, subdued, and the hum of activity was drowned in soft murmurs and the occasional laugh. Larin, Myrith, and Lysara stood together looking out over the city. Before them stretched Tlangthar, a patchwork of warmth and life lit by its thousand lights.

"There's something special about this place," Lysara whispered, her voice barely audible over the night sounds. "It feels. timeless. Like it will endure, no matter what."

Myrith laid a hand on the shoulder of Larin, serious but gentle as she spoke. "You have built something magnificent here, Larin. Your people, your land-they are worth fighting for. And you can depend on us to stand with you."

Larin smiled, his heart swelling full of gratitude. "Thanks. It means more than I can ever say."

They stood in amiable silence as the last fires dwindled down and stars shone brightly above them. That night in Tlangthar reminded them of what they were fighting for or rather why they were fighting for: protecting a way of life, a connection to the land, and a future worth believing in.