Peeble launched into an elaborate tale involving diplomatic honey, very offended queen bees, and what they called “the Great Pollination Incident.” It was completely ridiculous, probably half-fabricated, and exactly what we needed.
The stories continued flowing—lighter now, safer. Bryx described the dryad who’d chased him through half a dozen territories in increasingly creative attempts at seduction. Sarnyx told about a hunt that had ended with her prey outsmarting her so thoroughly she’d recruited them instead. Even Nimor shared about his first attempt at shadow-walking, which had resulted in him getting stuck halfway between states for a week.
I felt myself relaxing, the tension from the battle finally starting to unwind. The Root-resonance of the monastery thrummed through me, steady and soothing. My marks had settled to a gentle amber glow, no longer threatening to tear me apart.
“Elle’s falling asleep,” Vashael observed with a smile.
I tried to protest, but a yawn ambushed me. “No, I’m fine. Keep going.”
“You’re barely upright.” Kaelren’s voice wasn’t gentle. “You need actual rest.”
“But…”
“Sleep, child. You’ve earned it,” the Sage assured me.
My eyes were already closing. Through the pleasant haze of exhaustion, I felt Kaelren shift beside me. Then strong arms slid under my knees and back, lifting me as easily as if I weighed nothing.
“I can walk,” I mumbled against his chest, though I made no move to prove it.
“You can barely stand,” he replied with slight amusement in his voice. “Stop arguing.”
He carried me through the monastery, his footsteps soft on the living floor. I felt him navigate turns, felt the air change as we entered a different chamber. Warmer here. Quieter.
Then I was being lowered onto something impossibly soft—moss, I thought distantly, or maybe the wood had simply chosen to be gentle. A blanket settled over me, smelling faintly of pine and that particular scent that was just Kaelren.
“Stay,” I whispered, not quite awake enough to be embarrassed.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” he said, and I felt him settle beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth.
The last thing I registered before sleep claimed me completely was his hand finding mine in the darkness, our fingers interlacing, the bond between us humming softly.
Safe. For now, I was safe.
I stood in a garden stitched together from pure magic.
But calling it a garden was like calling the ocean a puddle. This was Wynmire distilled to its purest essence—every impossible wonder, every breathtaking beauty, every magical absurdity concentrated into a dreamscape that made my chest ache with how magnificent it was.
The trees weren’t just trees—they were living sculptures of light and shadow, their trunks spiraling upward in impossible helices. Their leaves weren’t green but every color imaginable, shifting and shimmering like oil on water. Some branches grew downward, their roots reaching for the sky. Others simply floated, untethered by anything as mundane as physics.
Streams that resembled flowing honey mixed with morning dew cut through pathways of petrified flowers, their movement thrumming like roots seeking water. Fish made of pure luminescence swam upstream,leaving trails of phosphorescence in their wake. And above—gods, above—the sky was a kaleidoscope of every sunset and sunrise that had ever existed, layered over each other in impossible beauty.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Kaelren’s voice came from behind me, and I could hear the dark amusement in it. “People will talk.”
I turned, and he was… different. The weight of his failures momentarily lifted. His carved marks glowed with silver-blue light instead of their usual corruption-black, and his eyes—his eyes were actually warm.
“Let them talk,” I shot back, grinning. “Besides, this is my dream. I can do whatever I want.”
“Our dream,” he corrected, stepping closer. He was dressed in something that looked like raven feathers woven seamlessly together, practical but somehow elegant. “You pulled me here. Just like you pulled the monastery’s resonance to stabilize yourself. You’re getting stronger.”
“Did I?” I looked down and realized I was wearing a dress made of living flowers—petals that bloomed and shifted with each breath, vines that wrapped around my waist like a belt. “Huh. Subconscious fashion choices.”
“It suits you.” His eyes traveled over me with an intensity that made my skin warm. “Very ‘forest deity who could destroy you but might kiss you instead.’”
“That’s specific.”
“I’m a man of specific tastes.”
Before I could respond, something bright blue zoomed past my head, leaving a trail of glittering dust. I turned to see a dragonfly the size of a cat hovering nearby, its wings creating miniature rainbows with each beat.
