Lira stepped through the swirling blue portal, the air shifting around her like a sigh. She blinked as her feet touched the cool stone floor of the ruins again.
Thara was waiting just outside the archway. "You're back quickly," she said with a hint of surprise. "You just went in. Good you're safe. Do you want to stay here a little, or shall we leave?"
Lira looked around the quiet stone hall once more and shook her head softly. "We can leave. I got what was given to me for now."
Thara nodded and turned toward the exit. The two began walking side by side, the sound of their steps echoing gently.
At the edge of the ruins, just before the misty forest began again, a shape caught their attention.
The fox creature.
It stood still among the cracked stones, staring at them with unblinking eyes. Both women stopped.
Thara instinctively stepped in front of Lira, her arm slightly raised.
But the fox didn't pause. It walked calmly past Thara and went directly to Lira. Nose twitching, it sniffed her hand, then licked it once with a soft, warm tongue. Lira held her breath, stunned into stillness.
The creature looked up at her with strange, intelligent eyes, then turned and padded silently toward the darker part of the ruins, vanishing without another sound.
Thara broke the silence. "That's a first."
Lira still watched the spot where the creature had disappeared. "I helped a creature like it before. Near the greenhouse… it was hurt and hiding in the bushes. Maybe it remembers. Or maybe it just smells the herbs on me. I'm not sure."
Thara gave her a thoughtful glance, then nodded slowly. "Well… we should leave now. Or we'll be late, and night will fall."
Together, they stepped into the silver mist again. The fog clung to their clothes, soft and quiet. Lira followed close, trying to memorize the bends in the path, the way the trees leaned, and the hush of the forest.
Even so, part of her heart was still back in the grove.
The mist clung to their cloaks like soft vines, swirling around their ankles as they stepped carefully through the thick silence. The forest remained hushed, almost reverent, as if aware of the strange moment they had just shared with the fox-like creature. Lira's thoughts were still on its warm tongue brushing her skin, the intelligence in its eyes, and the odd calm it brought her. Something ancient lingered in that moment, and she felt it settle in her chest like a memory not yet formed.
Thara glanced back occasionally to make sure Lira was keeping close, her footsteps light but steady.
"That creature," Thara murmured after a long stretch of quiet, "was no ordinary fox. It felt... older. Like the forest itself sent it."
Lira nodded but said nothing. She didn't know what to say yet. Her hand still tingled where it had been licked, and the brewed potion in her satchel felt warm, pulsing slightly, as if alive.
As they emerged from the fog near the edge of the school's greenhouse garden, the sun was still in the sky, not far from setting.
"You've only missed an hour," Thara said, checking the shadows. "Elion was right about time passing differently."
Lira exhaled, feeling a quiet weight in her chest settle. "It felt like a full day," she whispered.
They entered the greenhouse briefly to rinse their hands and gather themselves. Lira placed the scroll gently into its case. The glow had faded now, but she could still feel the knowledge resting within it, like ripples waiting to surface.
Thara looked at her with a small smile.
"You've changed a little."
"I feel it," Lira said. "Like something inside me woke up."
"Rest tonight," Thara advised. "Dreams might follow you after stepping into a place like that."
Lira nodded, her eyes drifting toward the trees. Somewhere out there, the fox creature watched still. She could feel it.
Back in her room, Lira carefully unrolled a small scroll of her own and whispered a message to her rainbow-feathered bird, who chirped once and took off in a flash of shimmering light toward Grandmaster Elion's tower.
With that done, she lay down on her bed, the scent of herbs still lingering on her fingers. The moment her eyes closed, dreams curled around her like smoke, soft and slow.
When she awoke, the room was bathed in the soft gold of late afternoon. The light was warmer now, and a stillness hung in the air. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her thoughts drifting back to the grove, the potion, and the fox.
Feeling drawn to something familiar, she stood and made her way out to the greenhouse, where the flowers she loved always waited in quiet bloom. The school grounds were nearly empty, peaceful in their rhythm.
As she walked down the stone path toward the greenhouse, she slowed.
There, near the start of the fog line where the forest path began, sat the fox.
It rested calmly, tail curled neatly around its feet, amber eyes watching her with quiet intelligence. Its fur shimmered subtly—there was something more than animal in its presence.
Lira stopped.
They stared at each other for a few long seconds. No fear, no urgency. Just stillness.
Then, with her heart beating a little faster, Lira continued walking—past the fox, toward the greenhouse. The fox remained seated, turning its head slightly to follow her with its gaze.
She reached the door and hesitated, glancing back once more.
Still there.
Watching.
Inside the greenhouse, the warmth and scent of earth embraced her. Lira moved gently between rows of blooms and vines, checking on the plants as if greeting old friends. She touched petals, adjusted leaves, and whispered soft encouragements. The potion-making had left her attuned—she could feel more clearly which flowers needed water, which herbs were reaching too far toward the sun.
Her eyes landed on the small patch near the back—where she had once found the wounded fox creature, hiding beneath a bush. The leaves had regrown, but she could still picture the creature's eyes looking up at her in pain.
A flicker of memory passed through her. That same gaze… from the fox outside.
She knelt there for a moment, wondering.
Then a familiar flutter broke the quiet.
Her rainbow-feathered messenger bird glided through the open greenhouse window and landed on the edge of a planting table. It rustled its wings, and a scroll tied with green thread slipped from its claws.
Lira untied it carefully and unrolled the parchment.
Elion's handwriting, steady and clean:
"Your message reached me. I am glad you have returned safely from the Grove. What you witnessed there must be recorded in your inner journal, not only for memory but for growth. The potion you brewed may soon be needed—keep it close.
As for the fox… I have my thoughts, but they are only guesses for now. If it returns again, observe. Do not chase it away.
Rest when needed. The journey of learning has only just begun."
Lira held the scroll in her hands, rereading it slowly.
She looked out the window again. The fog had thickened along the edge of the woods. But the fox was no longer sitting there.
She felt no fear. Only curiosity—and a strange sense that the fox, like the grove, held a thread that led further into her path.
The sky was softening into evening hues when Lira left the greenhouse. The scent of herbs clung to her hands, calming and grounding. She walked slowly back through the academy paths, her footsteps light, the recent events playing quietly through her thoughts.
By the time she reached her room, the golden light had turned dim and cool. She closed the door gently behind her, the familiar scent of parchment, dried lavender, and her old blanket welcoming her like a friend.
She set the scroll from Elion on her desk, removed her boots, and curled into the bed without changing clothes. Her body still hummed with quiet energy, but her limbs were tired. The potion, the grove, the fox—it all blurred like a distant dream as her head sank into the pillow.
The room darkened with the coming night, and the only sound was her slow, even breath.
She drifted into sleep almost immediately.
And in her dreams, the fog moved again… and something with golden eyes waited just beyond the trees.
Lira's sleep was deep, but not empty. The dream found her again, as if waiting in the folds of night.
She stood in the grove once more—its light soft and silvered. Ahead, the woman was at her brewing table, hair swept back, sleeves rolled, movements practiced and calm. The clinking of glass and the rustle of herbs filled the air. Lira stepped closer this time, drawn to the woman's voice as she spoke aloud while working.
"Ashleaf to calm the nerves… three parts lavender for clarity… and always a drop of starroot essence last—never first," the woman murmured, as if teaching someone beside her. Her hands moved with care, layering petals and crushed stems, stirring clockwise three times.
Lira listened, heart thudding quietly, absorbing every word.
But as quickly as the scent of the potion lifted, the grove began to dissolve around her—like fog retreating before the morning sun.
She awoke with a soft inhale, light now spilling through her curtains. Her body still and warm beneath her blanket. For a moment, she lay there, holding onto the fading edges of the dream.
Then something caught her eye.
The green book on her desk—the one Grandmaster Elion gave her—was open. She hadn't left it that way.
Lira sat up slowly, heart fluttering. On the page lay a detailed recipe: ingredients, method, exact stirring rhythm, even a small drawing of the finished bottle.
It was the potion from the dream.
She reached out and traced the ink gently with her fingers. It was real. The dream had left its mark.