The cold wind swept through the Grove as peak night hours settled in.
Fael folded his arms and exhaled a thin cloud of breath.
Winter is coming.
"Alright, time to sleep, you three."
Sevah stepped into the gazebo. Her long-untied silver hair—threaded with a few delicate braids—flowed like a veil in the wind.
"Okay," all three of them said at once, their voices overlapping in perfect harmony.
They waved each other goodnight as Lark reached out and ruffled Fael's hair, shaking his head around like a ball—a goofy little ritual that had become his signature farewell.
Fael giggled and then took Sevah's hand. Together, they walked quietly back to their room.
Though they always ended their evenings together, Lark and Myne didn't sleep in Sevah's room with Fael.
Lark, as Zuli's apprentice, stayed with her in the upper quarters near the training grounds—close enough to rush to patrol if needed.
Myne, on the other hand, lived inside the great Tursim tree library, under the quiet supervision of Mrs. Marie. Her sleeping quarters were nestled between the second and third floors, where the scent of old parchment and dried herbs lingered even in the night.
"Fael," Sevah looked at him with a smile. "How was your first day at the library?"
"It was really fun!" Fael beamed. "I also learnt a spell that makes butterflies! I'll show you tomorrow." He jumped with excitement, nearly skipping alongside her.
Sevah chuckled softly. "Then I'll be waiting for it."
After a few minutes of walking, they reached a quiet part of the Grove, where several tall Tursim trees stood side by side—each one carefully carved into a dwelling. The soft glow of moss lanterns illuminated the area with a dim, greenish hue. A few druids were still awake, quietly tending to chores or whispering amongst themselves, while the rest had already retired for the night.
Sevah stepped up to one of the carved doors and opened it. Fael followed her inside, the familiar scent of dried herbs, aged wood, and whatever she had brewed earlier that day filling his lungs. It was the smell of home.
Inside, the room was quietly charming. Paintings of various shapes and sizes hung from the walls, each filled with intricate imagery—gentle landscapes, starry skies, and scenes that felt pulled from dreams. Sevah had painted them all. Her art was beloved throughout the Grove, not only for its beauty but for the joy it brought both to her and to those who saw it. Across from the entrance stood a built-in closet carved directly into the wood, its shelves neatly holding robes, satchels, a pair of old wooden mandolins and carefully arranged jars of herbs and supplies. Nearby, an area set aside for utensils and daily use items was stocked with cups, bowls, and hand-carved tools. To the right, an arched wooden doorway led into the bedroom, where soft blankets and a woven mat waited.
Sevah turned off the lamp, letting the soft shadows of the room settle as Fael leapt eagerly onto the bed. Sevah followed, pulling the covers over them. Fael turned to her with eyes gleaming, expectant and full of warmth, as if waiting for a nightly ritual to begin. Sevah gently smiled and began to hum a familiar tune. It was the same lullaby she had sung since the day Fael was found. Before long, his eyes fluttered shut, and sleep claimed him.
***
Splash!
Fael jolted upright, gasping as cold water trickled down his face and soaked into his hair, the droplets falling like tiny beads onto the blanket. His eyes flew open, wide and disoriented, scanning the room in confusion. His breath came in short bursts as he tried to understand what had just happened, the lingering warmth of dreams quickly swept away by the sudden chill of reality.
"How long do you plan to sleep, huh?" Lark stood at the foot of the bed, barely able to hold back his laughter, a small wooden bucket still dripping in his hand. "Wake up, young warrior! You've got training with me today!" His voice was filled with a mischievous pride, clearly pleased with his unconventional method of waking someone up.
Please stop waking me up this way...
Fael thought with a tired pout, water still dripping from his hair, still half-asleep as he dragged himself toward the basin to brush his teeth, his footsteps slow.
Fael scooped a bit of green paste onto his brush and began scrubbing his teeth with quiet determination. The fresh, earthy scent filled his nose—a reminder of the natural herbal blends the druids were known for. Their handmade products, crafted from roots, leaves, and rare sap, were said to be among the most effective remedies in all of Theryndal. Once finished, he rinsed off, wiped his face with a clean linen towel, and, before stepping out, snatched a cookie from the basket near the door.
The first rays of sunlight stung Fael's eyes as he stepped outside, blinking against the warm glow that poured through the trees. The Grove was already stirring with life. Gentle chatter floated in the air as druids went about their morning routines, and the songs of birds echoed through the canopy. Fael quickened his pace, the cool breeze brushing against his cheeks as he made his way along the winding path. Reaching the familiar gazebo, he took a sharp left, where Lark stood waiting, arms crossed and a playful grin tugging at his lips.
Lark handed a wooden sword to Fael, they began their warm-ups—repeating basic forms and stances. Lark moved with ease, correcting Fael's posture now and then with casual flicks of his fingers or a nudge to the knee. Not far behind them, Master Zuli sat quietly on a tree stump, a clay cup of steaming herbal tea nestled in her hands. She watched their training in silence, though her relaxed posture gave the impression she was merely enjoying the morning.
"Feet apart. No, like this. Are you trying to dance or fight?"
Lark's teasing continued as Fael groaned, adjusting his stance once more. They locked blades. Fael lunged. Lark parried easily, then ruffled Fael's hair before stepping back.
"You're getting better. Six months of training with me will pay off—mark my words, Fael," Lark said with a confident grin, twirling his wooden sword before resting it on his shoulder.
Fael glanced down at his own blade, sweat dripping off his brow. "I still don't feel like I've improved much," he replied flatly, the usual spark in his voice dulled by self-doubt.
Lark stepped closer, his expression shifting. His amber eyes locked with Fael's. "Listen, Fael. Real fighting... it's not just about strength or skill. It's about knowing why you're willing to raise the blade in the first place. That reason will carry you further than technique ever could. Remember that—always."
Yeah, I understand what you mean.
Fael nodded with a serious face.
"Now, for the final duel—ready yourself!" Lark shouted, stepping back and raising his sword once more.
Their wooden blades clashed almost instantly, but then, in a perfectly timed and absolutely unintended twist of fate, Lark's sword went flying several meters into the air. He spun around like a ballerina, staggering before collapsing dramatically onto his knees.
From the stump nearby, Zuli let out a slow sigh and facepalmed, her tea forgotten for a moment.
Fael narrowed his eyes and stared at Lark, clearly unconvinced. "Your techniques won't fool me anymore. You keep losing on purpose, don't you?"
Lark shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Don't worry, you'll beat me for real one day."
Just then, a calm but firm voice entered the conversation. "Yes, you will." Master Zuli stepped up behind Fael, her presence as composed as ever. She gently took the wooden sword from his hand and inspected it briefly before glancing down at him. "You'll be joining the daily training from tomorrow. You'll be seven by then."
Fael's eyes lit up with surprise and excitement. A wide smile formed on his face as he stood a little straighter. "Understood!"
As soon as the training ended, Fael dashed off toward home. Today, he and Sevah were scheduled for an herb-collecting session, something he always looked forward to—but more than that, he was eager to show off his newly learned spell. The thought of seeing his mother's reaction filled him with excitement.
Sevah was already by the door, adjusting the strap of her woven basket when Fael pushed it open and stepped inside. Her silver hair caught the morning light, and a gentle smile curved her lips the moment she saw him.
"Alright, let's go," she said warmly.
Fael gave an eager nod.
They followed the winding forest trail, sunlight gently filtering through the canopy above. The forest opened into a lush green garden, blooming wildly with flowers and scattered bushes. Sevah stepped ahead, her eyes scanning the undergrowth with practiced ease. She knelt beside a gnarled tree with long, orange roots hanging loosely from its base. Running a hand along the bark, she spoke softly. "This is Timeizha root. It's excellent for treating burns. The older it gets, the stronger its properties."
Fael, eyes wide with curiosity, pointed toward another tree nearby. Its branches drooped with clusters of small, teardrop-shaped fruits, glistening faintly in the light. Sevah turned, a fond smile blooming on her face. "Ah, those are Sourve. They're quite the treat—sweet when picked in winter, but sour in the summer. They're my favourite fruit during the cold months."
They ventured deeper into the forest, where the trees grew thinner and taller. As they walked, Fael's gaze caught on something strange—large, crimson buds nestled in a dense bush, their petals tightly shut.
What are those huge, closed flowers?
He turned to Sevah with a curious look. She smiled gently.
"You must speak to it first," she said.
"Speak?" Fael echoed.
"Not with words," she replied, "but with intention. Everything in this forest listens if you know how to ask."
Fael crouched before the bush, hesitating a moment before placing his hand on one of the flowers. After a moment of silence, the flower shuddered with a soft rustle and its petals slowly unfurled, revealing a glimmering cloud of golden dust that shimmered in the light. The scent was sweet and calming.
Sevah leaned in and carefully collected the golden pollen in a clean glass vial. "Crimson Flower Pollen," she explained. "Lark loves this sprinkled over his desserts. Myne used to crave it as a child—though now she's more into sour things."
The sight of the golden dust stirred something in Fael's memory. He straightened up, his face lighting up with excitement.
"Can I show you the spell now?" he asked with a grin.
Sevah let out a warm laugh. "Of course. I've been waiting to see it."
Fael eagerly took her hand and pulled her toward a small clearing. He stepped forward and began tracing glowing symbols in the air, mumbling the incantation just as he remembered it. Sevah watched with interest, a gentle smile on her lips.
When the spell was finished, nothing happened for a few moments.
Then-
Still nothing happened.
Sevah tilted her head slightly. "What happened?"
Fael gave an awkward smile and repeated the whole process, constantly welling up thoughts of whether he is doing it correctly. After redoing it for the second time, he swinged his hand in a flair just as he finished chanting the phrases.
Still nothing happened.
Fael stared at his hands.
Sevah placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It happens. You just learned the spell yesterday, remember? You'll get there. Just keep practicing."
He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, that must be it. Maybe I'll go take a short walk. Clear my head or something."
Without waiting for a reply, he jogged toward the quiet lake nearby, his pride slightly bruised. Sevah chuckled softly, watching him go.