Evening descended slowly over Glowfen Glade. The sky above the misted waters deepened into hues of violet and gold, while the islands dotted across the Glade glimmered faintly with mosslight.

On one such small island, sat a modest home of woven roots, its windows open to the drifting air. From outside, the sound of water lapping gently at the island's edges carried a sense of fragile calm.

Through the open window, the glow of mosslight spilled outward, dim and trembling, as though it too were fading with the day. Inside, the air was hushed and solemn, each shadow stretched long across the walls. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting, as though the house itself shared in the vigil.

Druven remained in his bed, pale and motionless, his body stable now though unresponsive, as if caught in a sleep too deep to break.

The steadiness of his breathing, while a relief, frightened Rhavri all the more—each rise and fall of his chest a reminder that he lingered somewhere between rest and absence.

She sat close, brushing his hair back with trembling fingers and dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth.

Before this moment, Rhavri had done all she knew—applying herbs, binding his wounds, checking his fever, each act more desperate than the last.

Finally, her hands had stilled, and she lowered herself onto the bed beside him, watching his still face.

"I have tried everything I know," she whispered, her voice raw before her head turned and looked out the window to the everfaint afterglow of the evening, "If only I were a better healer… if only I were not so weak."

Her eyes softened as she brushed her thumb across his hand, "Even so, thank you, Druven. Thank you for staying alive."

As she said this, her shoulders stiffened with the weight of her own memories- faces of those she had once cared for flashing across her mind, each one gone. The pain of those losses clawed at her, yet she pressed her hand to Druven's chest as if willing her own heartbeat into him.

Knock-Knock!

A sudden knock rattled the wooden frame of the door.

Rhavr's eyes slowly gained life again, lifting her head from Druven's still form. The knock came again, firmer this time. With reluctance she rose, smoothing her palms against her robes as though steadying herself, and crossed the quiet room.

She eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly.

To her shock, it was not simply Maeryn standing there—Lady Elyrra herself was present, her presence filling the doorway with quiet authority.

Rhavri's breath caught, and she stumbled into a hurried bow, "Lady Elyrra… forgive me, I did not expect—"

"Hello Rhavri," Elyrra replied with a warm smile.

Before she could gather herself, Maeryn quickly added, "Lady Elyrra has come to help. Kalren told me to guide her here because she didn't know the way."

Elyrra's gaze softened as she stepped forward.

"I made Tholn a promise—that I would see Druven healed," she said gently.

'Tholn…' Rhavri's chest tightened, gratitude flooding through her at the thought of her brother personally asking Elyrra to come. He always thought of us… of Druven… of me. For a moment she was lost in that thought, her lips parting but no words coming.

"Uh…" Elyrra tilted her head, her voice calm yet patient, "May I come in?"

Flustered, Rhavri stumbled over her words, "Y-yes, of course, my lady. Forgive me—please, come in."

She stepped aside quickly, allowing Elyrra to enter.

Maeryn lingered only long enough to dip her head once more.

"I'll return to the main hall," she said softly, before retreating back into the mist, leaving Elyrra and Rhavri alone with Druven.

Entering the house, Elyrra moved straight to Druven's bedside, her staff aglow with threads of pale light. She knelt gracefully, setting the staff down so that its runes illuminated the chamber with a soft, steady radiance. The glow spilled across the root-woven walls, casting shifting patterns like vines stretching toward the ceiling.

Rhavri shifted uneasily, her shoulders tense and her grip on Druven's hand almost rigid. Elyrra noticed the strain in her posture, the way her breath came too quickly, and offered her a gentler path through the moment.

Elyrra's voice came out calm, steady, "Stay by him, Rhavri. I can see how tightly you hold your worry. While I heal, speak to me instead—tell me, what kind of man is Druven to you? To the Glade?"

Rhavri blinked, startled by the question, but her grip on Druven's hand tightened.

"He is stubborn," she admitted softly, "Always first to rush out when danger looms, never thinking of himself. But he is loyal—more loyal than any of us deserve. The children laugh when he is near. The Glade feels… lighter."

Elyrra nodded gently, lowering her palms above Druven's chest. Lines of emerald light unfurled from her fingertips, weaving into intricate sigils that hovered in the air. The chamber thickened with the scent of damp earth and fresh rain, as though the Glade itself breathed in rhythm with her.

"And to you?" Elyrra asked quietly, her gaze never leaving the glow that spread across Druven's still body.

Rhavri's voice faltered, but she forced the words, "To me… he is the one who has never turned away. The one who stayed, even when I tried to push him back."

The mosslight dimmed in reverence, leaving only the glow of Elyrra's spell to illuminate the chamber. The emerald threads seeped slowly into Druven's form, and though his body remained still, the color of his skin shifted faintly, warmth creeping back into his features.

Some time passed as Rhavri spoke, her words tumbling out until she had shared more about Druven than she ever expected to.

Elyrra listened intently, and in her gaze it was clear she saw how deeply Rhavri cared for him.

Still in the middle of talking, Rhavri had subconsciously let go of Druven's hand as she sat down on a chair as she finished her speech on the importance of Druven and his impact on Glowfen Glade.

However, just as she sat, her eyes caught on a small preserved glass box upon a low shelf. Inside rested a single flower, its delicate petals intact despite the passing seasons. Rhavri recognized it instantly, her breath catching as memories stirred.

She murmured under her breath, "He still kept this…"

Elyrra's eyes followed her gaze.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

Rhavri swallowed, her voice low, "Among our kind, when we are children, moments of great joy sometimes cause flowers to spurt from the crowns of our heads. It is rare, but it happens. When I was a girl… I gave this one to Druven after he made me laugh till I almost peed my pants."

Her words faltered as the sight pulled her backward into memory, the dim chamber giving way to the bright echoes of her youth. She replayed the first steps of how he had stumbled into her life. Since their youth, he had always lingered near her with an affection she never quite knew how to answer.

When the beast tide struck, both had pushed aside their feelings, throwing themselves into the survival of the Glade—she to the children and the daily caretaking, and he to the hunting parties that brought back food and protection.

For months they lived only in duty, until at last the tide ebbed and life began to creep back toward normal. It was then she saw a spark return in him—the same spark she remembered as a girl, when his persistence had both pestered and secretly warmed her. But she had kept her distance, afraid to let him closer, afraid of losing again what she dared to love. The thought of opening her heart only to have it torn away by another calamity was unbearable.

Yet when she had seen him fall, when she had rushed to his side, her heart had dropped as though time itself had stopped. The terror of losing him cut deeper than she had ever allowed herself to imagine, leaving her trembling.

In that instant, her denial gave way to truth—Druven was already a part of her, one she could not afford to lose.

Her hand pressed harder against the flower as if to bind him to her, her breath catching. She realized then, in that fragile silence, how much of her fear was bound to him—not only the fear of losing Druven, but the fear of loving him so deeply.

Elyrra, watching quietly, sensed it and spoke with calm certainty, "You are afraid, Rhavri. Afraid of loss, and afraid of how much he means to you."

Rhavri's eyes widened, her lips parting as she drew a shaky breath, "You see through me… Yes, I am afraid. I do not know how to carry this. I can't lose him like I lost my parents… like my elder brother… I already live in fear of losing Tholn and Mela. Tell me, Lady Elyrra, how do I endure this? How do I keep breathing when the fear never leaves?"

Elyrra's gaze softened, and she leaned closer, "You endure by accepting that fear and love walk hand in hand. To care for another is to risk pain, but it is also to give meaning to your life. Do not bury your heart in the soil of fear—let it grow, even if storms come. That is the only way you honor those you hold dear."

Rhavri lowered her eyes, tears brimming, but a fragile strength stirred in her chest. She squeezed Druven's hand and whispered, "I want to try."

A silence followed, heavy and long, each heartbeat seemed to echo, and with it, her resolve grew firmer. Her shoulders lifted, the tremor in her hands easing as if she were beginning to believe her own words.

"ARGHHHHHHHH!"

Then, without warning, Druven's body convulsed, a raw scream tearing from his throat as if wrenched out against his will.

The sound shattered the chamber's stillness, making Rhavri jolt to her feet.

His back arched violently, every muscle tightening as the emerald light surged within him like a storm unleashed.

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