Lucien woke to Elara's whole body doing that shaky thing against his ribs, sweat slick where her forehead pressed into his neck.
The straw mattress felt damp under them now, the kind of damp that sticks to your back and makes you remember you're not actually in some fancy inn.
Nyx was already up in fox form, ears flat against her silver-pink head, tail low and twitching like she'd smelled something rotten in the pocket universe air.
"The bond… it showed me stuff," Elara whispered, voice cracking at the edges like she'd been chewing on the words all night.
She sat up slow, one hand still clutching his tunic like letting go might make the dream stick harder.
"My father didn't come for me. The count promised him a small sect position, some minor cultivation spot with real resources. All he had to do was feed information about you. About the seeds, the fox girl, how fast everything changed here."
Nyx made a low sound in her throat, half growl, half sigh, and shifted back to human shape right there on the grass.
Her tail curled around Lucien's ankle without asking, warm fur brushing skin through the thin fabric.
"Traitor blood runs thin sometimes. Tastes like old coin left in a pocket too long."
Lucien didn't snap or curse. He just lay there a second longer, staring at the flat glow overhead that never changed no matter how many months they spent inside.
His mouth pulled into that crooked half-smile, the one that started back when his boss sent passive-aggressive emails at 2 a.m.
"Information is literally what I steal best. Kinda funny he thought he could sell mine cheaper than I can multiply it."
He rolled to his feet, muscles still loose from the long grind yesterday, golden scar itching faint over his eyebrow like the Greed Bloodline was already tasting the new angle.
Elara watched him, green eyes still wide but the tremble in her shoulders easing when he offered her a hand up.
The bond between the three of them hummed warmer than usual, pulling tight then loosening, like it was trying to decide if it should comfort or warn.
They stepped out of the pocket universe into the shack just as the village started waking.
Lucien didn't head straight for the square. He took his time instead, walking the dirt paths slow, stopping at doorways where people were already stirring.
Old Tomás was sweeping his step with that same worn broom, cap pushed back on his head.
Lucien leaned against the wall, arms crossed loose.
"Sleep better lately?" he asked, voice casual like they were talking about the weather.
Tomás paused, broom still.
"Fields don't fight back anymore. My back neither. Kids stopped asking when the next tax man comes."
He scratched his neck, eyes flicking to Elara then back.
"You did that. Don't know how, but you did."
Lucien shrugged one shoulder.
"Dirt works harder when nobody's squeezing it dry. Same as people."
He moved on like that, one conversation bleeding into the next.
The blacksmith wiped sweat from his brow mid-hammer and muttered about how his tools felt lighter in his hands these days.
A woman near the fountain handed him a chunk of fresh bread without being asked, crust still warm, and told him her daughter hadn't coughed since the seeds started pulsing.
Lucien listened more than he talked, letting the Greed sit quiet in his chest while the bond with Elara fed him little threads of their nervousness turning into something steadier.
Nyx stayed half-hidden behind him, tail occasionally brushing his leg, invisible to everyone else but close enough that he caught her soft snort when someone called him "the quiet one who fixes things."
By midday the square felt different under his boots, the packed dirt warmer, the air carrying that faint sweet-ozone trace from the mana seeds working overtime.
Lucien felt loyalty growing in the small stuff, not loud cheers or kneeling, just the way people stopped averting their eyes and started nodding like he belonged there.
It sat heavier than points ever did, quieter too, like finding an extra twenty in your jeans after washing them.
Back in the shack the smell of fresh bread filled the small space, crusty loaf they'd traded for earlier sitting on the wobbly table.
Nyx tore it apart with her claws, passing chunks around while Elara stirred a thin soup made from whatever greens the seeds had pushed up overnight.
The steam carried onion and something earthy that stuck to the back of your throat.
"Who burns water better, you or the fox?" Lucien asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching them bicker over the pot.
Elara shot him a look, spoon paused mid-stir, but her mouth twitched.
"At least I don't turn everything into glowing butterflies when I get mad."
Nyx laughed, bright and sharp, tail thumping the table leg.
"Butterflies taste better than your soup, princess. Admit it. My fire makes things crispy on purpose."
They ate straight from the pot, spoons clinking, bread tearing messy between fingers.
Lucien chewed slow, tasting the salt and the faint smoke from the fire, feeling something settle in his chest that wasn't just the Greed purring.
Elara's laugh came easier now, the kind that started in her belly and reached her eyes without getting stuck halfway.
Nyx kept stealing the biggest pieces, complaining between bites that the bread multiplied better than it tasted, but her ears stayed perked forward the whole time.
Random thought hit him sideways—back in São Paulo he'd eat cold delivery pizza alone scrolling webnovels, now he had two girls fighting over who burned dinner worse and it felt… normal. Weird kind of normal.
Later in the afternoon Lucien crouched by the dried-up fountain in the center of the square, the last multiplied seed warm in his palm.
The stone felt rough under his fingers, moss still clinging in the cracks from years of neglect.
He pressed the seed into the dirt at the base, pushing a thin thread of mana through the Greed Bloodline until it took root.
No big glow. No dramatic rumble. Just a faint pulse that traveled outward slow, the kind you felt in your teeth more than your ears.
Villagers paused what they were doing, heads tilting like they'd caught a distant song they couldn't quite name.
The air got thicker for a second, mana settling into the ground like it planned to stay.
Tomás nodded from across the way. The blacksmith set his hammer down and wiped his hands, staring at the fountain like it might start spitting gold.
Even the kids stopped running long enough to feel it, one little girl tugging her mother's skirt and pointing.
Nyx appeared at Lucien's side once the pulse faded, tail curling around his calf again.
"They feel it now. Roots going deep. Harder to pull up when the count tries again."
Before Lucien could answer, hooves sounded on the main road—single rider this time, moving slow like the horse knew it was carrying bad news.
The baron dismounted at the edge of the square, cloak still torn at the hem from last time, face pale and sweaty.
He walked straight to the center, boots scuffing the dirt, and dropped to one knee right there in front of the fountain.
No guards. No sword. Just him, hands open and empty.
"I betrayed you," he said, voice rough, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Told the count what I saw. The seeds, the changes, how fast the girl took to you. Thought it would buy me a way out. But I want to fix it. Tell me what it takes."
The square went quiet again, people watching from doorways but not moving closer.
Elara stood stiff beside Lucien, the bond between them pulling tight then loosening like it couldn't decide whether to yank her forward or hold her back.
Nyx's tail tightened around his leg once, sharp.
Lucien looked down at the kneeling man, the golden scar itching sharper now.
He could feel the Greed calculating—how much this apology was worth in points, in loyalty, in whatever came next.
The baron's shoulders shook a little, not from cold, just the weight of showing up alone with nothing left to bargain.
"Get up," Lucien said finally, voice low.
"Fixing starts with telling me exactly what the count still wants. No pretty words. Just the truth this time."
The baron pushed to his feet slow, knees cracking, and started talking—low, halting, about promised sect spots and whispered threats and how the count's protection had always come with strings made of other people's necks.
Lucien listened, letting the words sink in while the mana from the new seed kept pulsing faint under their boots.
Later that evening, back in the pocket universe where the silver grass felt cooler after the long day, the system blinked in the corner of his vision without warning.
[Conquest Bond with random villager stabilized. Bonus: shared vision activated.]
The vision hit sharp, like someone shoved a window into his skull.
Mira—short brown hair messy, patched clothes flapping—running hard down the road away from the village.
Shadows chased her, not the count's riders but something thinner, darker, moving wrong against the evening light.
They didn't have faces. Just hunger in the way they stretched.
Lucien sat up fast, the bond with Elara and Nyx pulling taut between them.
Elara stirred beside him, still half-asleep. Nyx's ears shot straight up.
The grass stretched quiet around them, but through Mira's eyes the road felt endless and the shadows closer than they should be.
He didn't say anything right away.
Just tasted the new complication on the back of his tongue while the pocket universe kept its clean, endless glow overhead, waiting for whatever came next.