The fox held the lizard's gaze.
Steady.
Unblinking.
"…Is it going to recover," it asked quietly, "or is it permanent."
Silence.
The lizard did not answer at once. It remained still, blank eyes forward, posture unchanged.
The fox's tails slowed.
Its ears tilted.
"…Well?" it prompted.
The lizard finally spoke.
"Yes."
The fox's expression shifted instantly.
Relief.
Sharp.
Unhidden.
"Good," it said at once, a faint smile touching its muzzle. "Then that's fine. If it's going to heal, I can work around it."
It leaned back slightly, already calculating routes, contingencies, protections.
"How long?" the fox asked casually. "Days? Weeks?"
The lizard answered, voice even, emotionless.
"**One hundred and sixty days.**"
The fox froze.
"…What."
It blinked once.
"…How many?"
The lizard repeated, unchanging.
"**One hundred and sixty.**"
The fox stared.
Then slowly—
"…One hundred and sixty," it echoed.
Silence.
The room felt very quiet.
The fox's tails stilled completely.
"…That's," it began, then stopped.
Restarted.
"…That's more than five months."
It looked at the lizard again.
At its perfect posture.
Its stable breathing.
Its unblemished scales.
"…You look like you just walked out of a bath," the fox said slowly, "and you're telling me your eyes need *half a year*."
The lizard did not react.
It did not defend.
It did not explain.
It simply stood there.
The fox exhaled through its nose, sharp but controlled.
"…Hmph."
It turned its gaze away briefly, ears flicking as it processed.
*Soul-linked injury,* it thought. *Backlash. That damned attack…*
Its eyes narrowed.
"…You really are a mess," it muttered.
Then, calmer:
"…That's longer than I expected," it admitted. "But still… manageable. You're not helpless. You can still use divine sense, so it's not like you're actually blind."
The lizard turned its head slightly.
"No," it said.
The fox blinked.
"No…?" it echoed.
The lizard's voice remained level.
"My divine sense is not working."
A pause.
"I do not have divine sense."
The fox did not move.
Did not blink.
Did not breathe for a moment.
"…What."
The word came out quiet.
Too quiet.
The fox's eyes sharpened, ears angling forward, body going still in a way that meant danger.
"…What do you mean you *don't have divine sense*," it asked slowly.
The lizard did not answer.
It simply stood there.
Blank-eyed.
Silent.
The fox stared at it, mind racing.
*No divine sense?*
That was…
That was impossible.
Even beasts had it.
Even crude demons had it.
Even half-formed spirits developed it by instinct.
Divine sense was not a technique.
It was **a sense**.
Like hearing.
Like smell.
Like awareness.
"…That's not how that works," the fox said quietly. "Every cultivator, every beast, every awakened thing has divine sense. Even if it's weak. Even if it's crude."
Its gaze sharpened.
Its ears flicked sharply.
"…You mentioned something like this before," it muttered. "When you asked me to erase the imprint on that pouch…"
It looked at the lizard again, more carefully now. Not just seeing scales and posture—but structure. Flow. The way qi moved… or didn't.
"…No," the fox said slowly. "That's not possible."
It shook its head once.
"Every cultivator awakens divine sense upon reaching **Foundation Establishment**. It's not optional. It's not a technique. It's a stage."
Its eyes narrowed.
"And you're in the **third layer**," it added. "Which means you should have had it for a while now."
It studied the lizard again.
"…Not having divine sense at your level is basically unheard of," the fox said quietly.
A pause.
Then its expression softened slightly.
"…Which means you probably just don't know how to use it yet."
It straightened.
"Different species. Different awakenings. Different instincts," it went on. "You rely on perception, instinct, spatial awareness… you might be using it without realizing."
The fox's gaze sharpened with decision.
"…That's fine," it said.
Then, firmly:
"I'll teach you."
The lizard stared at it.
Blank.
Still.
The fox met its gaze without flinching.
"You might be blind," it said calmly, "but you're not going to be helpless. Not on my watch."
A pause.
Then, almost casually:
"And if you really don't have divine sense at all…"
its eyes glinted,
"…then you're even stranger than I thought."
Silence settled again.
But now…
It was a **focused** silence.
Because something fundamental had just been uncovered.
And the fox was already planning how to break it open.
---
The fox shifted its posture, tails drawing in as it sat more squarely in front of the lizard. The surprise had passed. What remained was focus.
"Alright," it said calmly. "Then listen."
Its tone was no longer casual. It was instructional. Precise.
"Divine sense—also called spiritual sense, soul perception, higher awareness—it is **not sight**," the fox began. "And it is not hearing. It's closer to… an extension of your existence."
It lifted one paw slightly.
"When a cultivator reaches Foundation Establishment, their soul stabilizes. Not fully matures—but stabilizes. That stability allows the soul to **extend outward**."
The fox's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That extension is divine sense."
It tapped the floor gently.
"It lets you feel space. Not see it—**feel** it. You can perceive shapes, movement, spiritual fluctuations, killing intent, formations, hidden presences, even emotions if you're refined enough."
Its ears flicked.
"You don't need eyes. You don't need light. You don't even need sound."
A pause.
"Blind cultivators can fight. Deaf cultivators can detect ambushes. Because divine sense doesn't care about physical organs."
The fox leaned forward slightly.
"It spreads from your soul like a field," it continued. "Think of it as… pressure. Wherever your existence can reach, you can perceive."
It gestured in a small circle.
"For me, right now, my range is about fifty meter so so clearly. Fuzzy beyond that. Elders can reach hundreds. Ancestors? Entire cities."
It glanced at the lizard.
"When something enters that field… I feel it. Even if it's invisible. Even if it's hidden. Even if it's behind a wall."
Its voice lowered a fraction.
"That's why ambushes stop working after Foundation Establishment. That's why assassins die young. That's why formations must block divine sense, not just sight."
A pause.
Then, more carefully:
"You should already be using it," the fox said. "Even unconsciously. When you reacted to killing intent. When you sensed danger before impact. When you tracked prey without seeing it."
Its eyes searched the lizard's face.
"That was likely divine sense."
A beat.
"But," it added slowly, "you might be channeling it through instinct instead of awareness."
It leaned back slightly.
"Different species awaken differently," the fox said. "Beasts often manifest it as territorial pressure. Predators feel intrusion. Ancient bloodlines manifest it as dominance fields. Some don't even realize it's happening."
Its tails swayed once.
"But to say you *don't have it at all*…"
it shook its head,
"…that's abnormal."
Not judgment.
Observation.
Then its gaze sharpened.
"Which is why I'm going to teach you how to **feel for it directly**."
It looked at the lizard steadily.
"No guessing. No instinct. No relying on your eyes."
A small, confident smile touched its muzzle.
"We're going to wake it up properly."
The room was quiet.
The fox had finished explaining.
And for the first time, the lizard wasn't just blind.
It was being told that an entire **layer of perception** might be sleeping inside it—waiting to be touched.