The lizard stood for a brief moment, water still clinging to its scales, steam rising faintly from its body.
Then it **shook**.
Once.
Hard.
Its entire frame rippled—wings flicking, tail snapping, muscles contracting—as droplets scattered in every direction. Water flew free in a fine spray, the lingering steam tearing apart and curling away as the last moisture was thrown from its body.
The lizard stilled.
Dry enough.
Satisfied.
It turned.
And began to walk.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Its claws made soft, faint taps against the stone as it crossed the chamber, guided by the familiar warmth and pressure of the Qi-Gathering Array. The fox's presence was easy to find—dense, steady, unmistakable.
The lizard approached the array but did not enter.
It stopped just at the edge.
Then lowered itself.
Crouching.
Close to the fox.
Not touching.
Not intruding.
Just… there.
Its wings folded neatly against its sides, tail curling in close around its body. Its head lowered slightly, posture relaxed but alert.
The fox remained deep in cultivation—eyes closed, breath slow, tails resting around its form. The formation hummed beneath it, runes glowing steadily, spirit stones dull and cracked.
The lizard watched.
Its blurred vision could not make out details, but it did not need them. The warmth, the rhythm, the steady pull of qi were enough.
It settled.
Quiet.
Still.
Beside the fox.
No words.
No signals.
No intent beyond proximity.
The room returned to silence.
Two creatures—one refining, one waiting—side by side in the glow of the formation, while beyond the sealed walls of Moonveil Pavilion, the world continued on.
---
The lizard remained crouched beside the fox.
Still.
Quiet.
Breathing slow and even.
From the outside, it looked calm—almost empty of thought. Just another resting beast in the light of the formation.
But inside…
Its mind moved.
Not chaotically.
Not emotionally.
But **precisely**.
The memory surfaced without warning.
The battle.
The cultivators.
The way the air had screamed when their techniques collided. The pressure. The killing intent. The moment when its body had been overwhelmed—crushed, nearly torn apart.
The moment—
*…I almost died.*
The thought was not fearful.
It was factual.
The sequence replayed in clean fragments.
The ambush.
The restraint.
The sudden surge of killing pressure.
The soul attack—fired too forcefully, too recklessly.
The backlash.
The darkness.
The blindness.
Its claws flexed faintly against the stone.
*If not for the fox…*
The thought did not finish.
It did not need to.
The image was clear: the fox intervening, disrupting, buying space, preventing the final strike. Without that interference, the outcome was obvious.
Death.
Absorption.
End.
The lizard did not feel gratitude in the human sense.
But it recognized **causality**.
*I survived because of it.*
That was enough.
Its thoughts shifted.
To the soul attack.
To the way it had relied on it—too much. As if it were absolute. As if nothing could withstand it. As if it carried no cost.
The result was still inside its head.
The lingering damage.
The blurred world.
The long recovery.
*…I used it recklessly.*
The realization settled cleanly.
No self-blame.
No emotion.
Just adjustment.
*It is not a tool for everything,* it concluded. *It is a weapon for targets stronger than me.*
A pause.
*Not for every fight.*
Another pause.
*Not for desperation.*
Its breathing remained steady.
The lizard's posture did not change.
But something inside it did.
The instinctive reliance **shifted**.
The soul attack was no longer its first answer.
It was a last one.
A calculated one.
A weapon to be used only when the return was worth the cost.
Its tail curled in closer.
*I will not blind myself again for prey.*
The thought was calm.
Cold.
Certain.
The lizard stayed beside the fox, unmoving, eyes open to a world still blurred and distant—while inside, a predator that had nearly died was quietly rewriting its own rules.
---
The lizard remained crouched beside the fox, body still, breathing slow.
Inside, its thoughts shifted again.
From survival…
To observation.
To comparison.
*The humans…*
Not with disdain.
Not with envy.
Just recollection.
The cultivators.
The way they moved.
The way the ground obeyed them.
Hands forming seals.
Qi surging.
Earth rising.
*They make snakes from the ground,* the lizard recalled.
*Hands… walls… restraints…*
The images were blurred in memory, just like its vision now—but the **effects** were clear. The way stone had twisted. The way soil had flowed like water.
Its tail twitched once.
*…I only make spikes.*
Sharp.
Simple.
Direct.
The system's words echoed faintly in its mind.
*Earth gene.*
Its claws flexed.
*If I have the earth gene… then I can also do what they do.*
The thought was not hopeful.
It was logical.
A pause.
Then another realization surfaced.
*But they use techniques,* it considered. *They train. They learn. They refine.*
Its head tilted slightly.
*I did not learn the spike.*
The memory was clear.
The earth tortoise.
The way the ground had erupted beneath it.
The instinctive mimicry.
No instruction.
No guidance.
Just… observation.
Then execution.
*I saw it… and I did it.*
The lizard's breathing remained steady.
Its thoughts sharpened.
*So if I see them make hands… snakes… walls…*
A pause.
*…I should also be able to do it.*
The conclusion settled cleanly.
Not excitement.
Not arrogance.
Just **understanding**.
*I do not need to learn like they do,* it realized.
*I need to observe.*
Its tail curled tighter.
*Their techniques are patterns.*
Another pause.
*And patterns can be copied.*
The lizard remained crouched beside the fox, unmoving, eyes unfocused, mind working—quietly, relentlessly, already adapting.