After leaving Thara's greenhouse with dirt still under her fingernails and a mind buzzing with ideas, Lira crossed the garden path toward the second greenhouse. The glass panes shimmered with faint enchantments, and inside it, her rarer plants, those from Merlin and other strange places, quietly thrived.
As she pushed open the greenhouse door, the air changed.
Soft warmth. A hum of energy. The faintest sound of chimes, though no wind stirred.
From behind a flowering orchid, a small glowing figure rose like a summoned spirit. Her wings shimmered, delicate as stardust silk, her posture proud and precise.
"You arrive," the fairy announced, hovering in front of Lira. "As expected."
Lira smiled, recognizing her. "Regala Lysanthe of the Bloomed Veil."
The tiny queenly figure gave a pleased nod. "You remember. Good. Your hands smell of true earth. Show me what you bring."
Before Lira could answer, another flutter of movement zipped in from behind a leafy fern. Murell appeared, arms crossed and expression already skeptical.
"Oh great, another dramatic entrance," she muttered, glancing sideways at Regala. "I hope you're not planning to have her recite oaths again. We've got soil to turn and moss to mend."
Regala lifted her chin. "The Orchid Court accepts nothing less than respect. But we will proceed."
Lira chuckled quietly, her heart warmed by their strange companionship. She knelt and opened her seed pouch, revealing the strange and varied collection inside. Both fairies fluttered down, inspecting them with curiosity.
Regala Lysanthe pointed at the large, pitted seed, the one even the old market woman said had never sprouted. Her eyes narrowed with interest.
"This one slumbers. Deeply."
Murell frowned. "Or it's just dead."
"It is dreaming," Regala corrected smoothly. "But perhaps too long."
Lira looked between them. "I want to try them all. I want to see what I can grow."
"You may," Regala replied, voice lighter now. "We shall watch. The Orchid Court remembers who tries."
"I'll help," Murell added gruffly, "but only if you don't name every sprout after yourself."
Lira grinned and bowed her head slightly. "Deal."
She carefully stored the seeds in a moss-lined box on one of the upper shelves near her rare plants. After checking each of the magical specimens Merlin had gifted her, a few sprouting unusual colors or curling in curious patterns, she bid the fairies goodbye for now.
As she left the greenhouse, the scent of rare blooms followed her. She made her way once again toward Master Therin's potion chamber.
The scent of bubbling brews met her even before she opened the door.
Inside, steam curled through the air like ghostly vines, carrying the sharp, tangy notes of herbs and minerals. Master Therin was hunched over a wide cauldron, sleeves rolled up and hair sticking out in all directions.
"Ah," he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "Just in time. I've got something new to show you."
Lira stepped forward, tying her hair back with a practiced motion. "I'm ready."
For the next hour, she worked at Therin's side, helping to crush dried ingredients, stir mixtures in precise rhythms, and measure each component with care. He narrated every step like a storyteller weaving a tale.
"Add the waterweed oil slowly, or it sulks," he said, nodding toward the flask. "Then a pinch of crushed moonroot, no more. Any more and you'll be floating for days."
They brewed three potions together: a healing tincture with a soft green glow, a pale-blue elixir for clarity of thought, and a new formula that intrigued Lira most, a nightvision tonic. It shimmered darkly in the light, like melted onyx.
"Not too bitter, not too sweet," Therin said, handing her a finished vial. "You'll need this, I think."
"For what?"
He only smiled. "You'll see."
Lira turned the vial in her hands, watching it catch the light, and tucked it safely into her satchel.
Then she hesitated, fingers lingering on the leather strap. "Master Therin… there's something I need to ask you."
His eyes flicked up from the cauldron. "Sounds serious."
She gave a small nod and reached into the same satchel again, this time drawing out the soft pouch of seeds. "I met someone strange in the market today. An old vendor I've never seen before. She gave me these."
Therin wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped closer. Lira opened the pouch, and the contents caught the light — the strange assortment of shapes and textures, some familiar, some almost humming with quiet tension.
"This one," she said, picking out the large, pitted seed that seemed to drink in the light, "feels… asleep. Or watching. I don't know how to explain it."
Therin studied it without touching. "Some seeds do sleep. Some dream. And a few… wait. For the right place, or person, or time." He folded his arms. "Where was this vendor?"
"At the far end of the market, near the weavers. Another told me about a flower that only grows in the foggy forest, under the light of a blood moon. Said if I bring him that flower, he'll give me a pouch that holds as much as I want, without weight. I think it's enchanted."
Therin let out a low whistle. "The foggy forest," he said, more to himself. "I haven't heard anyone talk of the blood-moon bloom in years. Most think it's legend."
Lira nodded. "But what if it's not? And what if it's connected to this seed? I… I think I'm supposed to go."
He studied her for a moment, then turned, stepping to the back shelves. "Then you'll need more than nightvision," he said. "That forest feeds on misdirection. Sounds echo wrong. Paths vanish. People get turned around and never return. If you're serious, we'll make a clarity draught, strong, anchored to your focus and your will."
Lira followed him, helping to gather what he named: whisperleaf, thornberry extract, dried memory sage. He worked quickly, hands sure.
"And this," he said, pulling out a small jar of blue powder, "is ground dreamlace. It binds the mind's edge. Keeps your own thoughts from slipping."
Together they brewed it, the potion swirling into a clear silver-blue. When it was done, he poured it into a long, slim vial and sealed it with wax.
"Drink it just as you enter the mist," he said. "Not before. It sharpens your truth, but opens you wide. Too early, and the world will overwhelm you."
Lira accepted the vial solemnly, her fingers brushing his.
"Thank you, Master."
He gave her a tight nod. "You're brave to go. But more importantly, you're ready. Bring back that flower — and whatever truth lies with it."
Lira returned to her quarters with a quiet urgency, the soft clink of the potion vial echoing faintly as she moved. Her room was small but warm, with dried herbs hanging near the windows and a carved wooden shelf filled with journals, sketches, and her vials of potions.
She knelt by her travel pack and began sorting quickly. She set aside what she wouldn't need, extra ink and took her heavier cloak. The foggy forest required light steps and quiet presence. No clutter. No noise.
She fastened the vial from Therin into a leather loop on her belt, checked the small knife tucked into her boot, and smoothed her hands over the front of her tunic. Her fingers lingered there a moment, grounding herself.
This was not a lesson. Not a quiet garden walk. This was real.
With a final glance around, she slipped out the door.
The upper tower was quiet at this hour, the stone halls bathed in golden afternoon light. Lira climbed the winding staircase, stopping in front of a large door.
She knocked once, then stepped in when she heard the voice.
The Grandmaster sat at his wide desk, pale parchment rolled open before him and a bowl of gently steaming tea at his elbow. His eyes, as sharp as ever despite his age, lifted to meet hers.
"Lira," he said calmly. "I thought I might see you today."
She bowed slightly, then stood straight. "Grandmaster. I'm leaving for the foggy forest."
He blinked once, slow and thoughtful. "I see. Has the time come, then?"
She nodded. "There's a flower I need to find. Under a blood moon. I believe it's connected to a dormant seed I found. Therin helped me prepare a potion, clarity draught, strong enough for the illusions."
The Grandmaster stood slowly, moving to the window. He looked out at the horizon, where clouds gathered faintly on the edges of the sky.
"You've grown," he said after a pause. "Not just in skill, but in instinct. You feel the turning beneath the surface now."
"I'm still afraid," she admitted softly.
"Good," he replied, turning back to her. "It means you're awake. But fear must walk beside courage, not ahead of it."
He stepped forward and reached into a drawer, pulling out a small talisman of woven thread and ashwood. "For protection," he said, pressing it into her palm. "Not magic. Just memory. A reminder of home."
Lira held it tight, her throat thick with something unsaid. Then she nodded once more.
"I'll return," she said. "With the flower."
The Grandmaster smiled faintly. "Or with something even rarer."
The light shifted as Lira walked down the sloping path past the outer gardens. Here, the air smelled cooler—more damp, more alive. The stone walls of the hall faded behind her, replaced by soft earth and the song of wind in the trees. Her boots made little sound on the moss-lined trail.
At the edge of the forest, the trees grew tall and close, their trunks twisted like dancers frozen mid-spin. The Foggy Forest had many names in old texts—The Veil, The Hollowing, The Sleepwood—but all of them carried the same weight: mystery, danger, ancient breath.
Fluffy, her ever-loyal companion, padded silently beside her, his white fur ghosting along her leg. She paused, resting her hand lightly between his ears.
Then, from the shadowed edge, a flicker of moved like fire through leaves.
The fox.
It sat waiting, half-hidden in fern and bramble, eyes sharp with something older than speech. Its coat shimmered as always, too bright for the woods, its gaze unreadable.
Lira took a few slow steps forward, then knelt on one knee before the creature. She looked it in the eye, not commanding, not pleading. Just asking.
"Today," she said softly, "I need to go into the foggy forest. There's a flower I must find, one that blooms only under the blood moon. Will you guide me?"
The fox blinked once, slowly, and its ears flicked back.
It huffed.
A puff of breath, unmistakably annoyed.
Lira tilted her head. "I know. It's not safe. It's never simple. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
The fox let out a low growl,not hostile, just displeased, and then rose. With a flick of its tail, it turned toward the forest's edge.
Fluffy gave a quiet little chirp of encouragement and trotted after the fox.
Lira stood and followed.
As she stepped past the first layer of trees, a faint mist curled around her ankles like curious fingers. The temperature dropped slightly, and the usual birdsong vanished into silence.
The forest had accepted her.
Or perhaps… it was simply watching.
And the journey had begun.