Olivander grabbed a dish towel and whipped it at me.
“Hey!” I laughed, jumping back. I flicked water at him in retaliation.
We ended up in a full splash war, laughing and dodging until one of the fire sprites huffed and flew away in protest.
Olivander rinsed the last bowl and set it in the drying rack. “There,” he said with satisfaction.
I smiled, wiping my hands on my shirt. The kitchen felt quieter now, but still warm.
Then the kitchen door swung open, and the warmth doubled.
“What in the grove is going on in here??” my father called out, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped inside. He was still in his farm clothes, sleeves rolled, boots muddy, but his eyes lit up the moment they found me.
“Olipop!”
He crossed the room in three quick strides and scooped me into a hug before I could brace myself. He smelled like soil and lemons.
“Careful, Dad!” Olivander warned. “She just woke up.”
“Exactly why I’m hugging her!” he shot back, squeezing tighter for a heartbeat before releasing me.
Before I could answer, the door swung again, this time slower.
“Did I just hear you say Olipop?” came my mother’s voice, rich and amused.
She walked in holding a wooden crate full of tomatoes, which she set gently on the counter before crossing over. Her dress was soaked in sweat, her boots caked in soot, and she looked like she’d wrestled the entire field into shape, but her grin was soft.
She ruffled my hair with one hand. “You gave us quite the scare, sweetheart.”
“I’m okay,” I murmured.
***
The morning moved on in a blur of warmth and chatter, until at last we found ourselves at the top of the steps leading to the front door.
“We’re heading back out soon,” Mom said gently, tousling my hair. “You coming?”
Dad folded his arms. “She should rest.”
“I’m fine!” I ran to the entrance, panting a little. “See?”
“She just got out of bed,” he argued, glancing down at my bare feet like they proved his point.
We stood in the entry nook just beside the huge double doors that opened out to the grove. A tall cabinet was built into the wall to our left; its wooden panels carved with leaf patterns. One door hung slightly ajar, revealing neatly hung coats, cloaks, and bundles of forest gear. Our boots were lined up underneath in various sizes and states of mud.
“You’ve both been fake fighting,” Mom countered, brushing my hair back from my face. “Besides, some fresh air will do her good.”
“Besides, Dad,” Olivander called as he jogged dramatically down the steps, puffing like he’d run a mile, “she’s fine.” He clutched his chest, pretending to gasp.
I tried to punch his shoulder, but he dodged with a grin.
Dad sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and nodded toward the cabinet. “Stay close. If you start feeling faint—”
“I’ll tell you,” I promised, already crouching to grab my boots from the bottom row. They were still caked with dried mud from the last time I wore them.
***
My mom walked ahead, sunlight catching the warm reds and oranges of her dress, patterned like a forest caught in mid-blaze. The lower half flared into soft greens and browns, shaped like saplings rising from rich soil. Gold thread stitched tiny leaves along her sleeves, each one sparking in the light. Her hair, long and chestnut brown, fell in soft waves, almost like mine, though hers curled at the ends. We had the same round cheeks, the same stubborn chin. Only my eyes were different. I had Dad’s wide, watchful eyes.
We kept pace with him, broad-shouldered and dusted with earth. His leathers were scuffed and lived-in, somewhere between armor and workwear. Green smudges stained his sleeves and hands, and a streak of dirt cut across his cheek, probably from earlier digging. He looked like someone you’d trust to guard a gate or tear it off its hinges.
Olivander trailed behind, plucking a leaf from his hair. His clothes were like mine: practical, forest-colored, woven for movement. We matched more than I’d admit out loud. Even his collar bore one of Mom’s charm pins, looped through the same spot as mine.
I smiled to myself, then turned to look back the way we came.
The massive tree loomed behind us, its huge double doors set deep into the trunk. My gaze climbed the bark, tracing past balconies and windows until it caught on a faint patch of discoloration near my bedroom.
“Why does it look like my wall is recovering?” I asked, squinting.
We continued up the hill.
“You should watch where you’re putting your feet,” Dad said, concern edging his voice.
“Ask your brother,” Mom added sweetly, pausing to admire the house.
I turned on Olivander with a raised eyebrow.
He hesitated. “Umm, well… you see, when I noticed you were—” His eyes darted anywhere but me. “Anyway, I ran out to get help, and Alaric… well, he just kinda ran up the side of the house and broke in.”
I stared. “He what? Wait—you were the one who found me?”
He flinched, just for a second. “Trembling,” he said softly. “Like something invisible had pinned you down. The whole room was… blasted.”
“But my room was fine when I woke up.”
“Did you think we’d leave it a mess, dear?” Mom brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
I looked back at Olivander. “And then what?”
He rubbed his arm. “At first I thought it was just a nightmare. But I couldn’t shake you awake. Then I saw it—miasma. It was leaking out of you.” He swallowed hard. “That’s when I ran to get Alaric.”
My mouth went dry. “How long was I asleep?”
“This is your third day,” Dad said quietly.
I stopped walking. Three days.
Jogging to catch up, I blurted, “Should I go see Alaric?”
“No, sweetheart. He said you’d be fine. Besides, he’s busy helping the new arrivals,” Mom said.
“Not nobles, right?”
Dad chuckled. “No, no. Just clergy.”
But my stomach didn’t unclench. I’d been there for three days.
I stayed lost in thought trying desperately not to allow myself back into Lucarion’s perspective.
Then we stepped beneath the canopy, and the world shifted. The massive trees rose around us like watchful giants, their roots knotted deep in the earth I had always known. Birds called overhead, their voices twining into a wild chorus, as if the forest itself were greeting me home.
Some high and bright, others low and steady, the voices traded verses like parts of a story already halfway told.
Two lovers, lost in the storm.
Each voice searched for the other, echoing across the canopy, overlapping in sorrow.
The chorus split, calling back and forth, as the lovers each found shelter beneath the mushroom crown of a Mycosol, the great beast half-buried in the earth so only its canopy spread wide above. They were so close, yet hidden from one another, their voices carried on opposite sides of the same shelter.
Then, with a sudden rise of sound, the chorus swelled. The Mycosol stirred, heaving itself upright and stepping onward. Rain poured down through the space it left behind.
The voices trembled, sharp with cold, until at last they brightened, soaring together as the lovers turned, and finally saw each other.
I let the last notes fade inside me, lighter now, steadier. Turning to my brother, I asked, “Did I miss any days of school?”
“No,” he said quickly. “We haven’t had another class yet. But… you did miss my first training day with the Groundskeepers. Jorren and I fought to a draw.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “He must’ve hated that.”
Olivander grinned back. “Oh, he was so annoyed.”
We continued our walk through the forest, stopping when we needed to, clearing rot, trimming overgrowth, checking for signs of imbalance. Just enough pests. Just enough bloom.
I moved slowly, My legs ached a little, but the further we walked, the better I felt.
Dad pulled a broken branch from a sapling’s path. Mom paused to rub her thumb across a blackened root, then nodded as new green peeked from beneath it. Olivander startled a small swarm of beetle larvae with his steps, then waved them off with a low whistle and a handful of mint leaves. There was probably a queen nearby.
It was calm work. Familiar.
Until we reached the river.
What we saw stopped us cold.
A tangle of brown vines was aggressively splashing in the river, thrashing like a cornered animal, flinging bits of debris onto the bank.
Its vines were waving like an octopus, a thought that caused a shiver to go down my spine.
I took a step back.
The river was full of things that didn’t belong, broken wood, glinting metal, and darker shapes I couldn't quite make out. From this distance and I sure as hell wasn’t getting closer.
A snapped blade spun through the air. Dad caught it midfall, fingers closing around the hilt with practiced ease, and drove it into the dirt like a spike.
“I thought Guttervines were nonviolent?” Olivander asked, ducking as a shredded banner whipped past his head. He brushed it away, eyes narrowing. The cloth was soaked and torn.
“Something’s clearly upsetting him more than usual,” Mom said, already stepping toward the water’s edge. Her boots sank slightly into the mud, and her dress billowed as she dodged a swing from the creatures.
“This is more than upset,” Dad muttered. He crouched by the bank and reached in with both hands. A moment later, he pulled out a helmet bent, split down the center. “This is recent.”
"How do you know?” Olivander asked, stepping in front of me again. His shoulders squared.
Dad didn’t answer at first, he just pointed. “The metal hasn’t rusted yet.”
A shield spun toward us. Dad stepped forward, swung his arm, and knocked it aside like it was nothing. It crashed into the bank with a dull thunk.
I flinched.
“If this is recent, it would make sense if it was Drowsend,” Mom said, crouching beside the torn banner. She traced a finger along its stitched emblem. “Yes, this is their emblem.”
The river churned, angry and full of froth. Beneath the splashing vines, the water wasn’t just muddy, it was pink. Clouded with blood.
A horn drifted past, spiraling like a ram’s but cracked and stained.
Then something worse.
A paw, too large for any animal I knew, clawed and lifeless, wedged between two rocks.
I swallowed. My throat felt too small.
“They didn’t just dump weapons,” I whispered.
Dad stood. His mouth was tight.
“I’ll need to confront Drowsend leadership about this,” he said, his voice grim.
Then Mom eyes widened, one hand clapped over her mouth.
I darted toward her, Parallel to the river, mud squelching underfoot. “Mom?” I reached out, placing a hand on her back. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Honey?” Dad called as he knelt, picking up a bone-shell necklace.
She gasped. “These are Lizardmen.”
Dad was silent for a moment, then spoke:
“There are soldiers here too. Mixed in.”
He stared at the water like it had betrayed him. “They must have dumped all the evidence of the battle.”
Olivander grabbed my arm and started to pull me away.
I tried to hold them back, but the tears came anyway.
I didn’t want to see more.
I didn’t want to be here.
***
By the time the sun dipped behind the trees, the worst of it was gone.
The debris had been cleared. The bodies buried. The blood thinned into the current until it looked almost normal again, except it wasn’t.
Not to me.
Mom and dad were discussing something in whispers a distance away.
I sat on a dry patch of moss, arms around my knees, watching the river.
It should’ve been over.
But the Guttervine wasn’t thrashing. Its vines looked more like seaweed now, churning the water, bubbles coming up, slower now, tired maybe.
Its vines dragged through the shallows, stirring up muck like it was searching for something.
The air smelled wrong. The kind of wrong that made the back of my throat itch.
I stood and edged closer, peering over the ledge of the riverbank.
Then the world flipped.
The river swallowed me whole.
The cold slammed into my chest, stealing my breath. My stomach lurched as I spun, flailing for the surface.
Something clamped my ankle and dragged me down.
My scream broke into bubbles.
Lucarion jolted awake, thrashing. He hit the stone floor with a brutal crack, his breath vanishing with mine.
A vine coiled around my waist and yanked. Pain lanced through my ribs.
My vision filled with froth and thrashing green.
And then I saw it.
Wedged deep into the thickest roots, almost lost beneath the muck, was a black-bladed sword. Heat bled from it, warming the water until bubbles streamed upward in swarms.
The roots had curled tight around it, as if trying to force it out. But they couldn’t.
The blade wasn’t just trapped. It was burning its way in.
I reached, thrashing, fingers stretching, but too far. The Guttervine held me back.
On the floor above, Lucarion’s fingers scraped raw against stone, nails tearing.
My lungs screamed. My vision blurred. But my will locked onto the sword.
Not in the roots. Not in the river. Here. My hand. Mine.
A glow sparked behind my ribs, sunlight flaring in my chest. My fingers lit faintly.
The sword shuddered.
The roots quivered.
Then, with a wet, ripping squelch, the blade tore free.
It spun toward me, deadly fast—
The Guttervine jerked me aside, Steel roared past my face, shredding the water, then shot free into the air above.
The river stilled.
The vines went slack.
The one holding me shifted, cradling instead of crushing. Slowly, carefully, it lifted me and set me on the bank.
I collapsed, coughing. Blood mixed with river water on my lips.
Lucarion drew a full, steady breath. But I couldn’t follow. My lungs stayed clogged. The difference was unbearable, like living and dying at once.
Darkness crowded my vision.
“Oly!” Olivander’s voice cracked as he grabbed my shoulder. “Heal!”
Light poured from his hands, golden and hot. Warmth flooded my chest. The water cleared in a single rush. I gasped, air burning but real.
Relief crashed over me. I fell against him, half-hearing his words, my parents closed their arms around us both.