"Our home isn't much," she admitted, folding her hands in her lap. "Just this hut, the river nearby, and the forest that surrounds us."
James listened, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but his mind alert.
She continued, her voice quiet, steady. "Grandfather and I have lived here for as long as I can remember. It's peaceful, away from trouble. No one comes here—except for those who wander too far into the forest and lose their way." Her gaze flickered toward him meaningfully.
James let the words settle. "So, this place is hidden?"
Aria nodded. "Mostly. Grandfather prefers it that way."
James looked toward the ceiling, his thoughts swirling. A secluded home deep in the woods, untouched by the outside world. Was that by choice? Or was there a reason they stayed so far from others?
Aria watched him for a moment, then spoke again, her tone lighter this time. "It's not much, but it's safe. The river provides everything we need, and the forest offers its own gifts—if you know how to look."
James exhaled, considering her words.
James let the conversation settle for a moment before speaking, his voice steady despite his lingering exhaustion. "Why do you live out here, away from everyone else?"
The question hung in the air, and Aria hesitated, her expression unreadable. But before she could respond, the old man let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
"You're too weak," he said bluntly, crossing his arms. "Knowing too much might just get you killed. If—when—you get strong enough, and you're still interested in finding out, I might tell you."
James frowned but didn't argue. The elder's words carried weight, as if the truth he guarded was something far more dangerous than James was ready for.
Instead, James adjusted his approach. "Then what about you?" he asked. "Your class?"
The old man exhaled, his sharp eyes assessing him. "Herbalist."
James raised an eyebrow. Not the answer he was expecting—but it piqued his interest nonetheless. A class built on knowledge, survival, and healing.
Before he could ask more, the old man turned to Aria. "Give him the books about the basics."
Then, without another word, he strode toward the door and stepped outside, leaving James to process what had just happened.
Aria sighed, standing up. "I'll get them," she murmured before walking toward a small shelf near the corner of the hut.
James exhaled, glancing at his wrapped wounds. Maybe learning the basics wouldn't be such a bad idea.
James watched as Aria returned, carrying a small stack of worn books bound in faded leather. She placed them beside him, their weight solid against the bedding.
He wasted no time.
Ignoring the dull ache in his limbs, James reached for the topmost book, flipping it open with careful fingers. The pages were covered in precise handwriting, diagrams of plants, roots, and mixtures sketched neatly in the margins. Some entries were simple—basic healing salves, remedies for fever, ways to treat wounds—but others hinted at more complex applications.
The deeper he read, the more intrigued he became.
Herbalism wasn't just about healing. It was about understanding the natural world, harnessing its properties, manipulating effects beyond simple recovery. With the right knowledge, one could create powerful tonics—or poisons.
He thumbed through another section detailing defensive applications—smoke bombs, paralysis powders, remedies for resisting toxins.
James exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to the page.
A simple herbalist wouldn't need this depth of knowledge.
Yet the old man had it.
And now, so did James.
James kept his focus sharp, flipping through the pages, absorbing the knowledge within. His injuries still ached, but the information before him was too compelling to ignore.
He studied every detailed sketch, every carefully written explanation—how to refine healing salves, how to recognize poisonous plants at a glance, how certain mixtures could enhance physical strength or sharpen the senses. The more he read, the more he realized that herbalism was not just survival—it was power.
His fingers trembled slightly as he turned another page, exhaustion creeping in. His vision blurred at the edges, but he pressed on, determined to commit as much as possible to memory.
Finally, his body won.
The book slipped from his grasp, landing softly onto the bedding beside him. His head grew heavy, his thoughts sluggish, and before he could fight it, his eyes closed.
Sleep took him.
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the thatched roof, casting a soft glow across the hut as James slowly stirred. His body still ached, but the pain had dulled, no longer the overwhelming force it had been the day before.
Just as he fully opened his eyes, the door shifted, and Aria stepped inside, carrying a wooden bowl filled with fresh berries and sliced fruit.
"You're awake," she said, approaching him with quiet steps. She set the bowl down beside him before helping him sit up, her touch light but firm, ensuring he didn't strain himself too much. "How are you feeling?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
James started to answer, but his gaze caught onto her features—truly taking them in for the first time. The way the golden light touched her skin, the slight curve of her lips, the way her eyes—clear and sharp—held an unusual warmth.
For a brief moment, he was entranced.
Aria blinked, then noticed his lingering stare. A faint crimson bloomed across her cheeks, and she quickly glanced away, fussing with the edge of the bowl. "I—Eat," she mumbled, pushing the fruit toward him with more force than necessary.
As James reached for a berry from the bowl, his gaze lingered on Aria again—not just on her face, but on the way she moved. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an underlying strength in the way she carried herself. The subtle curve of her frame, the delicate way her arms rested as she held the bowl, the way her simple dress draped over her form—all of it added to the quiet, effortless grace she possessed.
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