HS-7 Dream of the Seasons

He is immersed in his own battlefield.

The enemies he faces are unspeakable, his tongue rigid and dead inside his mouth.

The people he loved have already left, never to see the next spring.

He lifts his weapon high into the air. All he feels is that he has something he must protect.

But... what is it?

The sound of a flute slowly drifts in.

A long axe lodges itself in the chest of the strange monster. It struggles to get up, but at least, the silk strands fall apart and disperse onto the ground.

Long after the axe had been released, the lumberjack's hands remain fixed in the motion of throwing his weapon. Unable to see clearly, he lowers his head and turns his ears, carefully listening to the sounds around him.

The lumberjack continues to listen carefully, and looks toward Grain Buds.

He then picks up his axe again, and turns to head deeper into the woods.

Grain Buds brings her flute to her lips again, tries hard to steady her breathing, and begins to play another song.

The flowers have bloomed, so hurry on home~♪

Listen, listen, 'tis I who calls you back~♪

But, the lumberjack does not stop. Several monsters lie prone in the grass in front of Grain Buds.

His cloudy eyes are unable to discern the things in front of him, the world spinning endlessly before his eyes. The blood in his veins roars, drowning out all other sound.

Until a sharp cry pierces his ears like a needle.

Grain Buds turns to try to run, but then she raises her flute again, and a sharper sound reaches his ears.

The flowers have bloomed, so hurry on home~♪

Listen, listen, 'tis I who calls you back~♪

He takes a step forward.

A tiny white finger is holding his hand.

The red silk tied to his arm suddenly loosens and is blown away by the wind, floating lazily into the sky.

Large teardrops roll from the lumberjack's cloudy eyes, but Grain Buds does not notice.

A vast field sprawls in front of him, countless terrifying-looking monsters continuing to sprout from the ground.

Behind those two, a large number of people queue up in a long line and march slowly toward the city's center.

Cries erupt from the team. The Tumu Tianshis barely manage to erect a defensive line with their Originium Arts, standing between the people and the monsters.

The ground beneath their feet shakes, and a few more cries burst from the crowd.

Someone picks up a hoe left in the field, and turns to rush at an unknown monster. The hoe falls heavily upon the monster's head, causing the creature to stagger.

The farmers desperately pick up whatever objects lie at their disposal, throwing stones and farm tools at the monster.

A haphazardly-tossed bottle of pesticide shatters against it, causing the monster to whimper.

Others answer the call, more and more people picking up whatever tools they can get their hands on and joining the defensive line. Some even sing at the top of their lungs.

Let the wild plains, rivers and mountains come! Harsh is the east wind, the frozen moon, heavens fickle, raging thunder♪

May the scent of rice fill Heaven and earth, north and south, and fear neither drought nor flood! If only I was the wind and spring rain, bringing spring to the people♪

Her tiny body falls to the ground, the sound ringing in the lumberjack's ears. He braces himself and lifts his weapon again.

The golden eccentric looks around and reaches for her belt.

The strange fabric seems aware of the danger and hesitates, not daring to draw closer.

A billowing current of air sweeps up, the Tianshi's golden figure uplifting light and heat into a spatial distortion, incandescent white flames outlining the chasm in the wilderness.

She snaps her fingers lightly.

Long has she walked among us, countless demons has she subdued.

A fowlbeast flies by.

In a domain not meant for fowlbeasts. In this place, the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind, the frost, the rain, the snow, the mountains, the rivers—none of it is meant to exist in the first place.

But, this particular fowlbeast picks up an ear of rice, flaps its wings, and tarries on the peak of a hill.

Its heart beats, and beats, as if something is about to burst out––

A gust of wind blows by, causing the saplings to wobble.

The rivers flow without cease, the water coursing.

The mountains and rivers rise, the earth and soil rumbling.

The trees plant their roots, their shadows swaying.

As if sensing something, the fowlbeast takes flight once more with the ear of rice in its mouth, two seeds of rice falling into the boundless paddies.

Swish, swoosh... swish, swoosh––

A pair of eyes open.