The sunrise was a lie. Instead of the warm, golden glow of a new day, the sky over the Okutama Mountains was a harsh yellow. It looked like the inside of a furnace. The golden ships of the God of Light were no longer hiding behind rifts, they were descending in a slow, rhythmic formation, like a closing cage.
Ren Hanshin sat on the porch of the main shrine, the wooden spoon in his left hand. His right arm was still a blackened, useless weight, but the sapphire core's resonance with Haru had stabilized his heart. He felt a strange, cold clarity.
[Divine Mana: 2 -> 5 / 150]
[Synchronization: 49.985%]
He had gained three points of mana from the mountain's natural energy over the night, but it was like trying to fill a bucket with a single drop of rain. Every time he breathed, he could feel the Weaver's presence. She was a physical sensation, a layer of silk wrapped tightly around his bones.
