The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled light on the small campsite where Shennong, Romina, and Mandira sat. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the faint sweetness of the stew Shennong had prepared. The pot sat in the center of their makeshift camp, its contents barely touched, steam still rising lazily from the surface. Shennong leaned back against a tree, his broad frame relaxed, though his sharp eyes darted between the two women sitting across from each other, their silence louder than any words.
"Didn't it taste good?" Shennong asked, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. He gestured at the stew, eyebrows raised. "I put some effort into this, you know."
