Ethan stood still at the edge of a broken chain path, high above the central mesa of the region.
The cold wind tugged at his crimson sweater, the fabric fluttering gently like a flame held in check. His black baggy trousers swayed with the breeze, and his sneakers remained rooted to the cracked stone beneath him. His hands remained tucked calmly in his pockets, golden eyes narrowed as he scanned the world around him.
He said nothing.
But his senses spread.
Not in a wave — not like some brute force projection — but like a veil of silk unraveling across the region. Layer upon layer, breath after breath, every ripple of life was recorded and studied.
He sensed the children first — playful and unaware — the tempo of their hearts like dancing feathers.
Then the warriors — disciplined, sharp-edged in spirit, their auras like carved blades of heat and stone.
Then the elders — slow-burning flames of ancient strength wrapped in stillness.
