The next morning, with the scroll safely tucked against her chest, Lira made her decision. She knelt by the window and whispered to her rainbow bird, stroking its feathers as she attached a note to its leg. With a burst of soft-colored light, the bird soared toward Grandmaster Elion. Not long after, it returned with a crisp parchment bound in a red thread. Elion's message was clear: "Thara the herbalist will meet you at the greenhouse. She will guide you to the old passage where the portal lies hidden. The Grove will protect you once you arrive, but the way there is shadowed and not without risk. You are excused from lessons today. The scroll must reach the Grove—let it teach you now."
Lira exhaled, her fingers lingering on the message. There was no turning back. She gathered her satchel, slung her cloak around her shoulders, and stepped quietly through the morning mist toward the greenhouse, where Thara stood among the curling vines and morning blossoms, waiting.
As Lira approached, the herbalist looked at her with a warm, knowing smile.
"Are you excited for your new journey?" Thara asked, brushing her hands clean on her apron. "You never know what you'll see—or what might see you."
They exchanged a quiet nod of respect, and then set off together down the winding trail that led toward the forest. The path soon narrowed, veiled in a silver fog that clung low to the earth. Trees loomed, their trunks twisted with age.
As they crossed into the fog-bound woods, Thara's voice grew soft but firm. "Stay close, Lira. Do not drift far from me. This forest has long memories and curious spirits. We'll walk for a while before we stand before the old ruins."
As the fog thickened, weaving between twisted roots and low-hanging branches, the silence deepened. Only the sound of their steps on damp earth echoed through the stillness—until a flicker of movement caught Lira's eye.
She froze. Just ahead, veiled partly by mist, stood a creature that resembled a fox—but not quite. Its fur shimmered faintly with strands of silver, and its eyes glowed like moss under moonlight. Thara stopped as well, raising a hand gently.
Lira's breath caught in her throat. Something about the creature stirred a memory—by the greenhouse, a bush rustling softly, a wounded being with fur like this one. She had crouched beside it, pressing healing energy through her fingers into its side. It hadn't made a sound. Only blinked at her once, then slipped away into the brush like a whisper.
Now, the fox-like creature stared at her, head tilted ever so slightly, as if recognizing her too. A long moment passed between them. Then, silent as mist, the being turned and disappeared into the forest's folds.
Lira and Thara exchanged a glance but said nothing. Whatever it was, it had chosen peace.
They walked on.
The fog thickened around them like a winding veil. Time blurred. Lira couldn't tell if minutes or hours had passed. Her sense of direction had long dissolved into the grey. She kept her gaze fixed on Thara's back, her boots steady and unhesitating.
Just follow. That was all she could do now.
At last, the fog began to thin, and shadows of ancient stone emerged from the mist like sleeping giants. The ruins stood nestled in a hollow of moss and ivy, crumbling but proud. Nature had claimed much of it—roots threading through cracks, vines draping the edges—but pieces of its former glory still clung to the walls. Carvings half-faded by time showed swirling patterns and elemental glyphs: flames, waves, stones, winds.
Thara slowed her steps. "We're here."
Lira followed her into the quiet gloom of the ruin's entrance, the air cooler inside. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the worn stone hall, past arched alcoves and half-fallen beams. It felt like the forest had grown over the memory of this place, but not erased it.
At the end of the hall, nestled between two massive stones etched with elemental symbols, swirled a glowing blue portal. It shimmered softly, casting gentle light across the cracked floor.
Thara turned to Lira. "This is the passage. The Grove of Echoes lies beyond."
She gestured toward the runes. "This portal can't be crossed by just anyone. It was sealed with intention—only those carrying a mark of permission or an item of resonance may enter. The scroll you received—" she nodded toward Lira's satchel, "—serves as such a key."
Thara's expression grew serious. "Even students of the academy aren't allowed here. Too many wandered before, seeking answers they weren't ready for. The school decided to guard it… keep it distant from curious minds. But for you, the way is open."
The portal hummed, low and steady, like it knew she was near.
Lira took a steadying breath and stepped forward. As she touched the scroll to the carved stone near the portal's edge, the blue light pulsed gently, and a sound like wind and chimes echoed through the ruin. Then—silence, a heartbeat, and everything shifted.
The world around her blurred.
Then she was standing beneath towering silver trees, their bark shimmering like moonlight, their leaves whispering even without wind. Soft light filtered from above, though no sun could be seen. The air felt still and ancient. The Grove of Echoes.
A subtle hum vibrated beneath her feet, like the forest was alive with memory.
Behind her, the portal shimmered within an arch of twisted roots and stones—but it was fading already, becoming part of the landscape. She was here.
The scroll in her satchel warmed slightly, as if it recognized the grove. Ahead, a narrow path wound between the trees, toward a clearing she couldn't yet see—but something was waiting. A sense of being watched settled in, though not in a threatening way. More like… expectation.
As Lira stepped onto the path, the humming deepened, almost like a low song beneath the soil. Each step felt lighter, almost like walking in a dream. Then, without warning, the light around her changed—becoming golden, the trees casting longer shadows.
A soft breeze curled around her ankles, and the world shimmered. She blinked.
She was no longer alone.
Before her stood a woman—graceful, older, with features strikingly like her own. The woman moved confidently among herbs and earthen jars in a grove ringed with stones. She murmured to the soil, and vines responded. She stirred potions that glowed faintly, their scent drifting like warm honey. Villagers and cloaked travelers approached her humbly, asking for help—healing, guidance, protection. She smiled, listening deeply, never asking for gold.
The scene shimmered, and the woman lifted her eyes—looking directly at Lira, though Lira wasn't truly there.
Then, wind rushed again.
The grove vanished, and Lira now stood before a tree. Not just any tree—this one reached higher than the canopy, its bark layered in shifting hues of bronze and green. The roots curled deep into the earth like ancient claws. Something about it radiated knowing. A guardian, maybe. Or a witness.
The scroll pulsed with warmth again.
Lira took a slow step forward.
The scroll in Lira's hand shimmered, then slowly unfurled on its own. Symbols glowed softly on the parchment, shifting and rearranging into intricate brewing instructions—lines curving like vines, diagrams of flowers and roots dancing in motion.
Before her, the earth stirred.
Stone and moss gave way to an ancient alchemist's table. It rose from the ground as if awakened, already set with crystal vials, a mortar and pestle, and bundles of herbs that looked freshly picked. The air filled with the sweet, earthy scent of lavender, fennel, and something rarer—like rain on stone.
Then a voice, gentle and clear, echoed through the glade. It was a woman's voice, warm and knowing.
"You came again. It has been a long time since you were here."
Lira's heart jumped.
"You seem younger now. But you are always welcome. This grove remembers your touch. You may practice potion-making here. Time flows differently—it will feel like hours to you, but only minutes will pass beyond the portal."
The breeze curled around her again like a whisper.
"Let me remind you: no one else may enter with you. This is a sanctuary meant only for your hands and heart."
"There is a water spring near the roots of the great tree. Use it when needed. It is the purest water you will ever find."
Lira stepped closer to the table. Flowers lay across its surface—vivid and whole, as though picked just moments ago. Their fragrance calmed her nerves and stirred something deep within her, something old and familiar.
Lira reached out and picked up a delicate flower from the table. Its petals shimmered with a faint bluish glow, and the moment her fingers brushed against it, a quiet warmth pulsed through her hand.
An urge rose within her—gentle but certain. Brew it.
As the thought formed, the scroll beside her lit up again, its surface rippling like water. Symbols shifted and glowed, arranging into clear steps for a potion she had never seen before.
She blinked in surprise, then smiled, a thrill rising in her chest. Quickly, she gathered what she needed: crushed petals, drops of spring water, a pinch of silver moss. The tools were already there, as if waiting for her.
The air filled with the scent of the fresh bloom—floral, bright, but with a grounding earthy undertone. Lira focused, heart steady, hands sure. The world around her faded: no portal, no trees, no questions—only the work in front of her.
Time slipped.
When she finally looked down, a small glass bottle stood on the table, swirling with a soft blue glow. The potion shimmered faintly, like moonlight on water.
A thought whispered to her—maybe from the scroll, maybe from something deeper:
"This will cloak you from the eyes of ill intent. While you walk in dangerous places, let this keep you unseen."
Lira held it up to the light, marveling at what she had created.