“How far does it go?” I asked after a while, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“If the walls don’t change, it should only be an hour or two,” he answered before looking down at me with a grin.
“Earth time, not Theïkós time,” he added, teasing me, and he was right, only the time we wasted here now mattered.
“And if the wallsdomove again?” I asked.
“We might never leave,” Aster said, making me snort a laugh, but then I saw his face and knew he wasn’t joking as I hoped.
“You’re kidding, right?” His serious expression gave me my answer. “That’s reassuring,” I groaned, and he looked down at me with a raised brow.
We kept walking in amicable silence, my chest easing as we continued through without incident. Our path was lit only by the faint red glow bleeding from the walls, and from time to time, Aster stroked them, bringing the shimmer back to enjoy his touch once more. I made a note to myself that once this was all over, I was going to get Aster a dog. I held back a laugh as I imagined him, a big, burly minotaur with a tiny Chihuahua in hand, or tucked lovingly under his arm. But then I could also see him playing fetch with a Golden Labrador.
We rounded a corner, and for once, there was more than just the dull red glow bleeding from the walls. A faint green light shimmered near the floor, soft and hazy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of it, until we moved closer and the source revealed itself.
The second Aster realized what I was looking at, he spoke, sharp and immediate.
“Don’t touch it. Whatever you do.” The severity in his voice was enough to stop me short, without arguing, my hands lifting instinctively away from my sides.
“Why?” I asked. “What does it do?”
I followed his gaze to the plant. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, a strange fusion of growths, somewhere between a low flowering plant and a cluster of mushrooms. Pale green stems curled upward from the stone floor, each one crowned with delicate, translucent caps that unfurled like petals. Fine veinsglowed faintly beneath the surface, pulsing slowly, as if the plant were breathing.
What unsettled me most was the dust.
A soft, powdery substance clung to the edges of the caps, shimmering in the air. It was so fine it looked almost like mist. With the slightest disturbance, it drifted loose, hanging in the air like pollen, catching the green light as it floated.
Aster shifted subtly, placing himself just a fraction closer to me.
“It’s called Hypnóphyllon,” he said. “In your tongue, it means, Eternal Sleep.”
That name alone was enough to make me straighten.
“Our healers use it,” he continued. “In controlled doses, of course.”
“Why, what does it do?” I asked, not willing to get too close and with a name like that, for good reason too.
“It renders a patient unconscious before a procedure.”
“So, like chloroform or when doctors use anesthesia?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Yes. But much quicker.” He nodded before his eyes flicked back to the plant. “That green glow you see is the powder. If it’s disturbed and inhaled, even for a breath or two, it can knock someone unconscious within seconds.”
My brows shot up. “Seconds?”
“There are stories,” he went on, his voice lowering, “Tales of people unknowingly walking into fields of it. All it takes is a windy day and…” He didn’t finish the thought, but I did for him.
“Nighty night.”
“Exactly,” he said grimly. “And unfortunately, help is often needed, because once someone falls, they continue to inhale it and then, well, they never wake up and simply drift away, locked in their own unconsciousness.”
A shudder rippled down my body at the thought. “That’s… horrifying,” I said, eyeing the plant warily.
“It is taught to children as a cautionary tale,” Aster said. “A way to survive. They grow up learning to recognize it, to avoid it. It’s called a fable, but there’s nothing fairy-tale about it.”
I swallowed hard as we passed it, giving it a wide berth as I also held my breath.
“If it’s that dangerous,” I asked after passing it, “why not destroy it?”
