Hàorán moved long after the others had settled, when the island's heat still clung to the stones and the air hung thick within his lungs.

This land breathed differently. Welcoming, or unsure of their presence, he had yet to know.

Warmth rolled off the mountains in slow waves, carrying the scent of ripe fruit and damp stone, of blossoms crushed beneath hooves and waterfalls whispering somewhere higher above. The air around him felt heavy—humid, close, alive with insects and unseen movements behind the too-thick brush. It could suffocate the unprepared, but for him, it felt...grounding. Honest, and at peace.

There was no sharp cold here to cut thought into neat lines.

He moved carefully along the lower slopes where tropics met rock, letting scent guide him. Vines curled lazily around trunks, their sap sweet and faintly spiced where bark had split. Somewhere above, water thundered and fell, a softened mist drifting down the mountainside like breath escaping a sleeping giant.

Even in a place unknown, he knew what he was searching for.

Not something overpowering. Not a mark of dominance. Rìhé did not need to be claimed by force—she never had—and more than that, he had no desire to. What he wanted was something subtler, a scent that would settle into her den like warmth into skin. Something that might stay without pressing, linger without demanding.

He passed fallen fruit, potent with age and lack of freshness—a sweetness too cloying, too loud. He paused by a warm pool fed into by a narrow waterfall—mineral, clean, lush. He moved on.

At last, he stopped beneath a flowering tree growing from the mountainside, clinging to stone like one too strong wind might rip it from where it rested. The blossoms were pale, waxy, and heavy with heat and honey. Their scent was slow and comforting rather than sweet and beneath them, the earth was dark and rich.

Enduring. Changed. Alive.

He gathered what the land had already offered—fallen petals bruised by heat, a piece of sun-warmed bark slick with honeyed sap, and a few strands of broad grass pressed into damp soil. He carried them gently, unsure beneath his skin, still, as he turned.