The silence was the first thing Ren noticed. It wasn't the heavy, artificial silence of a Divine Domain, nor the terrifying quiet that precedes a Sovereign's strike. It was just the silence of a mountain at dawn. A bird chirped somewhere in the distance. The wind rustled the charred leaves of the pine trees.
Ren opened his eyes. The ceiling of the shrine's infirmary was made of dark, aged cedar. For the first time in years, the edges of his vision weren't pulsing with status windows or flickering with the Weaver's crimson text. He tried to sit up, and a bolt of hot agony shot through his right side.
"Ugh..."
A small, warm hand pressed against his chest, gently pushing him back down.
"Don't move, Niisan. Please."
