The first sensation was not light. It was weight.
The gentle, familiar pull of gravity settled into Lin Ke’s chest. It pulled his shoulders down against the iron floor of the capsule. The crushing artificial slope was gone, replaced by a smooth, unbending 1.0g baseline that felt like stepping onto the quiet lawn of a mortal temple.
Then came sound: a soft, rhythmic thump inside his ribs as his heart kicked back to life, pumping warm living blood through his veins.
In the pitch-black capsule, Lin Ke drew in a sudden, deep gasp of fresh, cool air. The bitter taste of stall and ozone had vanished, replaced by the faint, earthy fragrance of damp clay and morning mist.
Beside him, Meng Shan coughed. It spat out the residue of Apothecary He’s bitter hibernation paste onto his gauntlets. Shen Yue took a shivering breath. Her dual intent threads flickered like gentle candles as she tested her vision.
And from the corner of the iron box, Elder Wu DeZheng groaned softly in the dark, his hands right away patting his robes to ensure his retirement vouchers were still intact.
“Are we... Alive?” Shen Yue whispered, her voice trembling in the dark.
“Listen,” Lin Ke said, his voice raspy but calm.
