One single grain of rice. Perfect. Translucent. Humming a soft, silly tune.
The stomach walls convulsed. White blood cells shaped like angry soybeans oozed from the walls. But these weren't warriors—they were digestive enzymes . One touch, and Kestrel would dissolve into nutrient paste.
"Not bad," said the grumpy radish spirit, chewing its single grain. "But tomorrow, we farm. And no complaining about the fertilizer."
"It will take a year to grow," the elder said. "But the land will heal."
The village gathered. There were 47 people. One bowl of rice.
A parchment materialized in Kestrel's hand, written in rice-grain ink:
Elder Mochi closed his eyes. "Then we perform the Rite of the Empty Bowl ."
That night, Kestrel used Rice Recall for the first time. A single bowl appeared. White. Fluffy. Steaming.