Chapter
One
Icradle the clay cup, warmth seeping into my fingers as I edge closer to the fire. I tell myself I should go to bed and rest before tomorrow’s long, grueling trip. But the pull of this bittersweet night keeps me rooted, savoring the final moments of an incredible, if fruitless, journey.
I take the final sip of my chai—the rich, creamy drink that is the essence of this place—its flavor lingering on my tongue as I half-listen to the other travelers swappingtales. Their voices melt into the background as my gaze drifts toward the woods across the Migaia river.
Moonlight pools like silver on the water, dappling trees in sharp relief against the night. Below the canopy, the forest floor vanishes into inky shadows, breathing secrets.
I don’t know why I can’t look away. I’ve seen this same view every night since I arrived, but tonight, something’s alive in the air, crackling over my skin like electricity. I scan the riverbank, searching for the source until…there.
Two luminous eyes lock onto mine, glittering under the moonlight like the icy blue heart of Migshira, the holy glacier at the headwaters of this river. Too high for any local animal. Higher than a man’s gaze would reach. Too large, too fierce and knowing to belong to the monkeys that call the trees home. Their gleam cuts through the dark with an intensity that steals my breath.
Who, or what, is watching me from the shadows?
A thrill courses through me, sharp and jagged, mingling fear with something darker. Hotter. My instincts scream at me to run, but my body won’t move.
It’s not just fear keeping me rooted; there’s a pull in those eyes. A wordless promise of danger. And something else. Something primal and fierce I want to chase me down, and as crazy as it sounds, claim me.
Adrift in a sea of loss from my failed expedition and an uncertain future without the plant I so desperately need, the idea of belonging to something calls to my soul. An anchor.
I blink hard. When I open my eyes, the ones that were watching me are gone. Or maybe they were never there to begin with. My mind must be playing tricks on me. Exhaustion, or perhaps desperation.
The past few days were brutal as I pushed myself to find theSilene vitalis—the tiny, elusive flower that could save lives. Including my own.
A sudden snap of the fire pulls me from my thoughts. The travelers come back into focus, their laughter rising like sparks into the night. For a moment, I let the cozy scene wash over me, until a question cuts through.
“Have you ever seen one?” someone asks.
“Seen what?” My voice is steady, even as my pulse thrums beneath my skin as if those eyes were still sliding over me.
“A Migoi,” the man replies, voice dropping low, as if one might be just beyond the ring of firelight. “They say their eyes catch the light, like stars in the night. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, or unlucky, you might spot them watching.”
Another traveler scoffs, waving the comment away, but the words claw their way into my mind. The locals spoke of such creatures, what I’d call a Yeti, with quiet reverence. I’d dismissed it as folklore woven from the mystique of these mountains.
But as an ethnobotanist, I’ve built my life around the places where science and stories intersect. It’s not just the flora I study, but how people turn it into something sacred: meals, ceremonies, medicine, or maybe, just maybe, even the cure I need.
Now I can’t help but wonder if the guardians of the mountains and forests might exist. After all, myths often hide a kernel of truth.
The man beside me claps a hand on my shoulder, jolting me from my thoughts. My face must’ve given me away—again.
“Don’t let those guys spook you,” he chuckles. “I’ve traveled all around the world and every culture has tales of watchers. But I’ve yet to see one myself.”
I force a laugh, but my pulse keeps pounding. The others barely notice as I stand and say goodnight, the shadows pushing me toward the safety of my room.
Beyond the fire’s glow, the cold bites harder, and the darkness presses close, heavy on my shoulders. I quicken my steps, the memory of those luminous eyes haunting me—piercing and inescapable.
What was it someone had said? “Eyes like stars in the dark?”That image gnaws at me. Could there really be Migoi in these mountains, watching from the forest beyond the river?
A rustle to my right snaps my nerves taut, every instinct screamingmove. I realize how foolish I’d been, romanticizing the idea of something chasing me. Out here, alone in the dark, it feels less erotic, and far more terrifying.
Another sharp noise breaks the quiet, and I break into a run. I don’t dare look back. By the time I reach my door, my hands are shaking, the key slipping against the lock. After a few tries, I get it open and slam the door shut behind me, breathing hard.
From the safety of my locked room, a nervous giggle escapes. I roll my eyes at my own foolishness of letting myself get spooked by a fireside tale.
The thick quilt on the bed promises comfort, its weight a soothing barrier against whatever lies outside. But even after I climb under it, unease clings to me—the eyes, the pull, the dark promise. Was it just exhaustion?
Three months of chasing that flower. Three months away from home. Away from Ben.
