In the stillness of the night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, Eric sat alone by the burning furnace at the gathering spot. He already stored the newly forged Rank 5 sword inside the spirit pearl.
As the flames flickered and danced, Eric's thoughts were swept away to a time marred by loss and anguish – the war where his family, the Lionhearts, had suffered a devastating defeat. The cries of his fallen comrades echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of the cost of conflict. The Immortal Sovereign of the Shaw family loomed large in his recollections, a formidable adversary whose actions had changed the course of the war.
The appearance of the Snow Clan's heirloom blade had unexpectedly unearthed these memories, stirring a well of emotions deep within Eric. The fire before him seemed to morph into a canvas, each ember telling a story of bravery, sacrifice, and the unyielding spirit of his people.
Lost in his reverie, Eric barely noticed the passage of time. The night slowly gave way to dawn, its arrival heralded by the softening of the sky and the gentle chorus of the forest waking up.
As the first rays of the guardian sun filtered through the trees, painting the camp in hues of gold and amber, the disciples of the Clark Sect began to emerge from their tents. They stretched and yawned, the events of the previous day a distant memory in the comfort of the morning light.
Yet, amidst the stirrings of the camp, no one approached Eric, who sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the dying flames. Every one ignored his presence as they were busy in their own acts.
It was Ria's gentle touch on his shoulder that finally broke his trance. Her slender hand, warm and reassuring, brought him back to the present. Her smile, bright and full of understanding, was a balm to his wounded heart.
"You've been here all night," she said softly, her voice laced with concern.
Their eyes met, holding a conversation that needed no words. In that brief exchange, Ria offered strength and solace, a reminder that he was not alone in bearing the weight of the past.
Without a word, he left the warmth of the fire, his steps leading him towards Princess Lanner's tent. Duty beckoned, and Eric was ready to attend to the needs of the day, carrying with him the quiet resolve shaped by the night's reflections.
As he walked away, the forest seemed to watch over him, its ancient trees standing guard over the secrets and stories that unfolded within their embrace. The dawn marked not just the start of a new day, but also the continuation of a journey – a journey marked by resilience, the pursuit of redemption, and the quiet strength found in moments of solitude.
_
The morning in the spirit forest was bustling with activity. Eric approached Princess Lanner, inquiring about his duties for the day.
Without a word, she tossed him a spirit ring filled with water and cleaning utensils, instructing him to prepare the horses and ready the chariot for a potential departure in the evening. The Mad Witch plant, a mysterious flora of the forest, was showing signs of flowering, an event that warranted attention from all within the camp.
"Do you know how to operate a spirit ring?" Princess Lanner asked, her tone laced with doubt as she scrutinised Eric's plain appearance.
Eric simply nodded in response, unfazed by her skepticism. Her opinion of him, likely clouded by his unassuming exterior and low cultivation level, did not concern him. The only judgment that mattered to Eric was that of his wife, Ria.
As the day progressed, the disciples congregated around the periphery of the Mad Witch plant's dry patch. The plant began its rare flowering process, a spectacle of nature that drew everyone's attention.
In the bright afternoon sun, the plant started shedding its excess buds, discarding those unfit for the final bloom. The chosen bud would be the sole focus of the plant's energy, a single flower destined to bloom in majestic isolation.
The air was filled with the fluttering of discarded buds, each carrying its own unique potential. In the nine realms, these fallen buds were known for their ability to imprint green-hued tattoos on the skin, a mark that could last for years. Skilled cultivators often used them to create intricate patterns and designs on their bodies.
The disciples eagerly began collecting the drifting buds, excited by the prospect of adorning themselves with these natural tattoos.
Richard, ever the opportunist, picked one of the buds and approached Princess Lanner with a proposition. He boasted of his skill in tattoo artistry, offering to etch a beautiful design on her skin. After a moment's consideration, the princess extended her wrist, consenting to a modest design at its end.
Around them, similar scenes unfolded, with other male disciples vying for the attention of their female counterparts by offering to create tattoos. Madam Frost watched the interactions with a keen eye, her gaze moving from one disciple to another, observing their artistic prowess.
Meanwhile, at a quieter corner of the camp, Ria picked up one of the drifting buds and made her way towards Eric, who stood apart from the festivities. In her hand, the bud was a vibrant splash of green against the backdrop of the forest.
As she approached, Eric turned to her, his expression softening at her presence. She held out the bud to him, a silent request in her eyes.
"Could you...?" Ria began, her voice trailing off as she gestured to her arm, indicating where she wanted the tattoo.
The request was simple, yet intimate, a moment of connection amidst the larger celebration of the plant's flowering. Eric took the bud from her, his fingers brushing against hers in a fleeting touch. The air around them seemed to still, the hustle of the camp fading into the background.
Carefully, Eric held Ria's arm, his focus entirely on the task at hand. As he pressed the bud against her skin, it left a trail of intricate, green patterns, blossoming into a work of art under his skilled touch. The tattoo was a reflection of the forest itself – elegant, mysterious, and alive with the essence of nature.
Ria watched the design take shape, a smile playing on her lips. In this simple act, there was a sense of closeness, a shared moment that spoke volumes of their bond.
_
Note: Don't forget to vote the Power Stones. Thank for reading...
PETERPAN