“Rain falls in a steady curtain over the open fields, turning the earth dark beneath rows of portable floodlights. The military encampment hums with low generators and distant radio chatter. Beyond reinforced fencing and temporary barricades, displaced villagers sit beneath structured canvas shelters. Some clutch salvaged belongings. Others watch silently toward the open grasslands where the old boundary once stood. A sentry shifts slightly atop a watch platform, "Contact. Single figure approaching the main gate." Rifles lift — not aimed, but aligned. You walk forward through the rain at an unhurried pace. No dramatic flare of power. No distortion of the sky. Just quiet certainty in every step. The soldiers feel it before they fully understand it — the shift in atmosphere when someone who belongs to this land appears. Davis squints against the rain. "I guess you're here about the relocation." ”

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