Later that day, after Maelin left with a warm hug and the cooling potion safely tucked in her bag, Lira turned back to her green book. It rested quietly on her desk, its cover humming faintly with a strange warmth—as if it breathed when she wasn't looking.
She opened it to one of the newly revealed pages. A delicate illustration of a flowering root stretched across the top, with handwritten instructions below in a soft, flowing script. Whisperbloom Elixir – Enhances intuition during nightfall.
Lira gathered the herbs they had picked earlier, adding a few extras from her small stash, and set everything up on the simple potion table in her room. She lit the flame, measured ingredients, and followed the instructions as carefully as she could. The scent was pleasant, the color nearly right—but when she bottled it and held it up to the light, something felt… off.
She tried another recipe. Then another. And another.
Each potion came out almost correct. Functional, maybe even passable—but not the vibrant, resonant magic she had felt back in the grove. There, everything had been perfectly aligned: the tools, the water, the silence, the space itself.
She looked around her room. The table was small, the air dry, the flame too close. She tapped her fingers on the wood and sighed.
It's not enough, she thought. I'm missing something.
Her mind wandered back to the grove—the scent of flowers, the rich, cool air, the gentle hum of magic under her feet. The spring beneath the tree. The voice that welcomed her.
Maybe she needed to go back.
Just for a little while. To center herself. To learn deeper.
She closed the book slowly. The page shimmered faintly, as if agreeing with her decision.
Lira stood, reached for her satchel, and carefully packed only what she needed. A few vials. A flask for water. The green book.
And then she glanced out her window toward the forest, toward where the fog began to gather again.
Tomorrow, she would ask Thara.
---
The next morning, Lira found Thara outside near the courtyard, inspecting a crate of soil samples. She waited patiently until Thara noticed her and smiled.
"You need something?" Thara asked.
Lira hesitated. "I… I'd like to return to the grove. Just for a little while. The potions feel different there, and I think… there's more for me to understand."
Thara studied her, then gave a slow nod. "Alright. I'll come with you. Just in case."
They set off quietly, slipping past the outer paths of the school toward the misted border of the forest. Fog was already gathering in soft, curling layers—just like before. The trees whispered with familiar sounds, and Lira felt a soft flutter in her chest. Excitement, maybe. Or the sense of being watched.
Then, from the brush ahead, the fox stepped out.
Its fur was burnished with silver and amber tones, and its eyes were bright with intelligence. It looked at them for a moment—at Lira, specifically—then turned and began to walk.
Right down the narrow path toward the grove.
Thara tensed at first. "That's the same one, isn't it?"
Lira nodded, a strange calm washing over her. "Yes. It's leading us."
They followed without speaking, the fox always just a few steps ahead, glancing back now and then to make sure they were still behind. As they reached the old ruins, the fox paused, then walked straight through the swirling portal.
It didn't vanish. It passed through like it belonged there.
Thara raised an eyebrow. "Did you see that?"
"I did," Lira whispered. "It… knows the way."
The portal shimmered open again as if recognizing Lira, and the path to the grove welcomed her in.
Lira stepped carefully across the moss-covered ground, her eyes fixed on the great tree that rose like a giant protector in the center of the grove. The air was rich—softly humming with life—and as she neared the brewing table nestled among the roots, she paused.
There, curled up against one of the thick roots, lay the fox.
Its eyes flicked open as she approached, golden and calm, then slowly closed again as it nestled its head onto its paws with a sigh.
Lira tilted her head, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "You live here?" she asked quietly.
The fox didn't answer, of course. But it didn't run either. It just blinked once and settled deeper into the soft root-bed, as if it belonged to this place more than the trees themselves.
Taking that as permission, Lira turned to the brewing table.
Fresh herbs lay in neat bundles—lavender buds, soft chamomile, curled mint leaves, and two blue-tinted petals she didn't recognize. Everything looked as though it had been gathered moments ago. No wilting, no dust. Even the tools were arranged precisely, as if someone had been expecting her.
She ran her fingers gently across the leaves, marveling at their dew-kissed texture. "It's like the grove breathes magic," she whispered to herself. "Nothing decays here."
Above, the tree's branches shifted slightly in the breeze, and the scent of the herbs deepened around her. The scroll in her satchel pulsed faintly, warm against her side.
Lira set her hands on the table, her thoughts already drifting toward the potion she wanted to try next—but her eyes slid back to the fox.
Still asleep. Still watching, in its own way.
"Guess I'm not alone, after all," she murmured.
And then she began.
Lira took a steadying breath and began with what she knew. Her hands moved with quiet precision—mixing petals, crushing roots, and adding exact drops of water from the spring near the tree. The fox under the roots barely stirred, only twitching its ears now and then as she worked.
She brewed the potion for calming nerves first, then one to soothe burns, and then the gentle sleeping draught she had practiced for weeks. Each one shimmered a little more than usual, its scent clearer, its color more vibrant. When she held them to the light, she saw tiny sparkles inside—like stars in liquid.
"Something's different here," she murmured, tilting the vial with a smile.
Encouraged, she opened the green book. Its pages had shifted again, revealing new recipes. Some had dreamlike notations—curved handwriting that wasn't hers, softly glowing ink that faded in and out. She chose a recipe she'd never dared attempt outside: one for a potion that boosts clarity of thought, requiring a careful layering of three herbs she had only recently begun to study.
But here, her hands felt guided.
Hours passed, or at least they did for her. Outside, time barely moved. She brewed quietly, absorbed in her task, feeling the air pulse softly with magic around her. Every movement became smoother, more confident. And as she poured the latest potion into its bottle, she noticed something subtle—a gentle gleam, a purer scent, a stronger energy.
Her potions weren't just working.
They were improving.
Not drastically, not in ways a novice might notice—but enough that Lira knew. And she smiled.
She looked up at the great tree, then over to the fox who now watched her, awake but calm.
"Thank you," she said simply. Whether it was to the grove, the magic, or the silent fox, even she wasn't sure.
But something heard her.
The air shimmered with golden light and the familiar scent of herbs and warmed petals filled her senses. She stood once again in the quiet glade of memory, the large brewing table glowing under the canopy of leaves. And there she was—the woman. Cloaked in robes that seemed stitched from starlight and moss, she stirred a swirling blue potion with steady, skilled hands.
Lira stepped closer, unable to resist the pull of the moment. The woman looked up, and for the first time, their eyes met.
"You return," the woman said with a soft smile. Her voice was rich, ageless. "That is good. Come more often. This place remembers you."
Lira stood frozen, awe silencing her voice.
"You are not just meant to brew," the woman continued, gently pouring a potion into a vial that gleamed like a sapphire. "You are meant to heal, to protect, and to bring light where it is needed most. There are many who will look to you one day."
She stepped closer, eyes kind but firm. "Come here to grow, and you shall. Come here to learn, and the lessons will shape your future. But be cautious. The path of power is not without shadows. Always keep your guardian near."
"Guardian?" Lira asked, but her voice sounded distant, dreamlike.
"You already know it. Trust the signs. You will understand more soon."
The woman raised a hand and touched Lira's forehead gently. "Now wake, and carry this knowing with you."
The fog swirled in soft spirals, fading everything to white.
Lira's eyes fluttered open.
The green book beside her was open again—this time, to a page she hadn't seen before. A new recipe, ink still shimmering as if written moments ago. At the corner of the page, a tiny sketch of a fox's tail curled next to the words: Guardian's Grace.
She sat up slowly, heart full. She wanted to help others. She would help others. And with the competition coming, she knew she had to learn all she could—not just to impress anyone, but to grow into who she was meant to become.
Still nestled beside the large tree in the grove, Lira moved, the scent of herbs lingered in the air, and the dream still danced at the edges of her mind like a fading mist. As she was deep in thinking,she felt a cold little nose brush against her cheek, followed by a soft, curious lick.
The fox was beside her, head tilted, watching closely.
Lira smiled sleepily and reached out. "You checking on me?" she murmured.
The fox didn't move away. When her fingers gently touched its head, it allowed her to pet it—just once—before stepping back with graceful calm. It turned, tail flicking softly, and began walking toward the grove's exit.
Lira stood and brushed her dress. "Seems like that's enough for today," she said to herself. With one last glance at the brewing table and the glowing leaves, she followed.
The portal shimmered quietly as they stepped through, and the familiar air of the ruins greeted her. Thara was already waiting outside, leaning casually against a broken column.
"Ah, you're back," she said, stretching. "Only about ten minutes passed here. Everything alright?"
Lira nodded, her thoughts still tangled in the vision and the woman's words. She didn't speak of them—she felt they were meant to be kept close for now.
Just ahead, the fox was still moving. It trotted a short distance before pausing at the edge of the ruins, glancing back at them with clear intent.
Thara narrowed her eyes, watching. "It really does seem like this fox is leading you."
Lira nodded slowly, "Yes… let's see where it goes."
Together, they followed. The fox led them down the mossy path, through scattered sunlight and patches of fog, back toward the forest's edge and the familiar outline of the academy in the distance.
At the edge of the forest, where the soft mist met the well-worn stones of the academy border, the fox came to a halt. It sat down calmly, its tail wrapping around its paws, golden eyes fixed on Lira.
Both Lira and Thara paused, watching it with quiet respect.
Thara tilted her head slightly. "It seems like this is the end of the path for the fox… at least for now."
Lira stepped closer, the breeze gently tugging at her robes. She felt something stir in her chest—an odd, warm connection. Looking into the creature's eyes, she spoke softly, "Thank you."
The fox blinked once, then stood, turned, and without a sound, slipped back into the trees, vanishing like a shadow in the light.
They stood there for a moment, letting the stillness settle around them.
Thara broke the silence. "This is interesting… like the fox is observing you. Guiding, even." She glanced sideways at Lira. "If you feel ready, we could prepare a protective medallion for you… and send you deeper into the forest next time. With the fox."
Lira nodded, thoughtful. "Maybe… we should talk to the Grandmaster."
Thara's eyes glinted with agreement. "Yes. If the fox is more than it seems—and I believe it is—then we'll need his blessing and some careful planning."
They turned together, heading toward the academy gates, with the forest still whispering behind them.