By the seventh dawn, the rain had ended.
Mist still clung to the valley, rising like breath from the soil, and the air shimmered faintly, heavy with the scent of blossoms long past their season. The world felt new again—new, yet ancient. As though something beneath the roots had turned in its sleep.
Sakura and the spiritwalker could feel it even in their bones.
Every heartbeat carried an echo of something deeper—a hum that vibrated not in the air, but within their souls.
They were no longer alone in hearing it.
---
The first to arrive was a young woman from the river villages to the south.
She came walking barefoot through the mists, following the sound of the humming roots as though drawn by instinct. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes torn by bramble, but her eyes shone with purpose.
When she saw Sakura, she fell to her knees.
> "You're real," she whispered. "The goddess from my dreams."
Sakura froze. It had been so long since anyone had called her that.
> "I'm no goddess," she said gently, helping the girl stand. "Just someone who remembers what gods once were."
The girl shook her head. "No—you were in my dream. You stood beneath a tree made of stars, and you said, wake the roots, or the sky will fall asleep."
The spiritwalker and Sakura exchanged a glance.
> "What's your name?" he asked.
> "Rei," the girl said. "I'm just a potter's daughter, but for a week I've heard this song in my sleep. When I hum it, the clay listens—it shapes itself."
She held up her hands; faint traces of gold dusted her fingertips.
Sakura felt a tremor of recognition. "She's touched by it," she murmured. "The roots are reaching through her dreams."
---
Others came in the days that followed.
A wanderer with eyes the color of dusk who claimed he could hear voices in the wind.
A boy no older than twelve who painted symbols in the dirt that glowed faintly before fading.
A scholar from the far north who had lost her voice, but when she sang silently with her hands, flowers bloomed from stone.
All of them shared one thing: they had dreamed of petals falling in reverse, rising back into the trees.
Sakura watched them gather in the valley, uncertain whether to be afraid or awed. The air felt denser each day—alive with quiet energy, as if creation itself was remembering its own first breath.
The spiritwalker built a fire that night. The travelers sat around it, their faces lit by its soft gold glow.
Rei hummed the melody of the roots—the haunting, beautiful rhythm that had drawn them all here. Slowly, one by one, the others joined in.
It wasn't a song in words, but in memory. The forest responded.
Petals lifted from the ground, circling them in a spiral of light and shadow. The trees trembled as if bowing.
And then the roots answered.
The hum deepened, reverberating through the valley until even the fire quivered. The sapling on the hill glowed brighter, its blossoms shedding motes of gold that floated into the night sky like fireflies.
The spiritwalker rose, his voice barely audible.
> "It's calling to them. The world remembers the gods—but not as gods anymore. As dreams."
Sakura watched the glowing petals drift into the stars. "Dreams are powerful," she said softly. "They can remake what's been broken."
> "Or unmake what we've rebuilt."
She turned to him, and for a moment, the light flickered between them—the pink warmth of Sakura's grace and the dark shimmer of Kurozakura's shadow.
It was then that Rei looked up from the fire, eyes wide.
> "Someone else is dreaming," she whispered. "Not like us. Deeper. Beneath everything."
Sakura's pulse stilled.
The air shifted. The forest grew silent.
And from far beyond the hills, beneath the soil and the stone, the hum grew louder—no longer gentle, but mournful.
> "Child of the Bloom…"
The voice echoed faintly across the valley. It was neither male nor female, neither divine nor mortal.
> "You bound the cycle, but you did not end it. Something must sleep so that life may wake. Choose again."
The travelers gasped as the fire flared white, petals scattering like sparks.
Sakura felt the voice within her chest, pressing against her heart like a second heartbeat.
She whispered, almost to herself, "It's not the gods. It's the world itself."
The spiritwalker stepped forward. "Then maybe the world is asking for help."
Sakura met his gaze. "Or warning us."
The rain began again—soft, steady, endless.
And somewhere deep beneath their feet, the roots sang louder, weaving the world's memory into a new song—one that would change everything they thought they had saved. 🌸🌑