The world softened as I stepped from the trail onto a path of packed earth, Cassius at my side. Wildflowers, startlingly blue and gold, jeweled the lush grass that brushed against our ankles. The path flowed toward a graceful bridge, its arches flanked by elven lanterns that pulsed with a soft, captive starlight. Above us, a canopy of colossal trees formed a second world, their leaves a shade of green so deep it felt ancient. Homes, carved with breathtaking artistry, were nestled into their titanic trunks, linked by a delicate filigree of rope bridges. Far below, the forest floor held another layer of the kingdom, a labyrinth of winding streets and dwellings. And in the distance, piercing the verdant ceiling, the white stone spire of a castle caught the last rays of the sun.

Every structure, from the humblest cottage to the distant castle, was hewn from the same luminous white stone. It reminded me of Tirilla, yet the essence of this place was profoundly different. A vibrant energy thrummed in the air, a current I could feel in my bones, making the city feel less like a place and more like a sleeping creature. The vista was magnificent, a perfect marriage of nature and magic, set ablaze by a sunset that bled purple and rose into the sky. But an unnatural silence pressed in on us, a heavy, soundless void where there should have been life. For all its breathtaking beauty, we were the only souls to witness it.

Cassius stopped mid-span on the bridge. For a fleeting moment, a profound peace settled over his features, smoothing the hard lines of his face. His shoulders, usually so tense, fell as a soft, wistful smile touched his lips. Then, just as quickly, it dissolved, washed away by a wave of sorrow so deep it seemed to pull the light from his eyes. My own heart clenched in sympathy. I couldn’t fathom the tempest of memory and loss crashing within him, to return to a home so vibrant yet so utterly desolate.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the fragile stillness.

He took a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the empty city. “I am… home,” he murmured, the word a mix of reverence and pain. “It feels as though I left only yesterday, when these paths echoed with song and the air shimmered with laughter.” His voice grew thick with unshed grief. “This silence… it is a sickness. I must know what happened. Where they all went.” His jaw hardened, a muscle feathering along his cheek. “They could not have all perished. I hope they did not.”

“We will find answers, Cassius,” I said, infusing my voice with a confidence I didn’t feel. “We have to cross the city regardless. There may be clues.”

“You are right.” He turned to me, his startlingly blue eyes reflecting the elven lights. “It grows late, Thalia. Your medicine is running low, and your bandage must be changed. I may be able to find supplies here. I know the way to the healer’s.”

“Then lead the way,” I agreed.

He remained quiet, his gaze holding mine for a long moment. “After,” he said, his voice softening, “would you… would you wish to see your mother’s home? We could stay the night there.”

My breath caught. The idea of my mother, of the life she lived here before me, was an intimate, alien concept. A genuine smile, unbidden and fragile, touched my lips. “I would like that very much.”

“It is settled, then.” A flicker of his old warmth returned to his eyes. We fell into step, crossing the bridge and descending into the silent heart of Aelindoria.

The magical thrum of the city began to resonate within me, settling into a soft pulse that beat in my veins as if it belonged there. I lost myself in thought, picturing my mother on these very streets, her smile radiant, her laughter a silver bell as she spoke with her kin. I wondered what it would have been like to grow up here, a child of this enchanted kingdom.

My daydreams scattered as we halted before a large, single-story building. A sign, its lettering elegantly carved to read “Aelindoria Healer,” hung from a wrought-iron bracket beside the door.

“This is the place,” Cassius said, his voice low. “Stay close. I know where Zeleron kept his stores.”

I followed him into a ghost of a shop. Dust motes danced in the slivers of fading light, coating shelves that bore the faint outlines of meticulously ordered herbs and potions. The air was heavy with the ghost of a scent—decay mingling with the lingering memory of spice and dried florals. It was a place of memory, not of healing.

“Were you and Zeleron close?” I asked quietly.

“I knew him,” Cassius replied, his tone distant as he scanned the room. “I knew everyone.” He pushed open a door at the back, revealing a smaller supply room.

We split up, our movements stirring the thick dust. The silence was broken only by the soft groan of a drawer or the scrape of a forgotten jar. My fingers left clean trails on the grimy surfaces of empty vials. The first drawer I opened held only a forgotten, blank notebook. In the second, nestled in the corner, was a single, precious roll of clean linen.

“I found bandages,” I said, holding it up.

“Perfect.” His voice was a low echo from the other side of the room. He held up a similar roll. “As did I. And I have a bit of poultice left.” He produced a small container from his pocket, then gestured to a wooden stool. “Sit. Let me dress your wound.”

I did as he asked. Cassius was achingly gentle as he knelt, his focus absolute as he began to unwrap the old dressing. He had to lean close, and a stray lock of his dark hair brushed my arm, sending a shiver through my skin that had nothing to do with the cool air. He paused, his work forgotten, and his gaze lifted to mine.

The silence of the room deepened, pulling all sound into the space between us. For a breathless moment, the world ceased to exist outside his intense, sapphire gaze. I felt as if he could see every secret I possessed. A slow heat crept up my neck, and I broke away first, my eyes finding sudden interest in the dusty floorboards. What was that?

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

“No,” I managed, the word barely a whisper. “It’s fine.”

Once the old dressing was off, I risked a glance at my shoulder. The three gashes would surely scar, but they were clean and already knitting together. My attention was drawn back to him, to the careful, precise movements of his hands as he applied the cool poultice.

“Thank you, Cassius,” I said softly when he was finished securing the new bandage.

“Of course, Thalia,” he replied, his voice still low.

A further search yielded nothing. Every herb was a shriveled, brittle husk. A profound sense of finality hung in the air.

“He took everything of value,” I observed, my gaze tracing the empty shelves. “The potent herbs, the rare potions… they’re all gone. It suggests that when he left, he wasn’t fleeing in a panic.”

Cassius stood in the doorway, staring back into the desolate main shop. “Perhaps they planned to leave,” he mused, his voice laced with a pained confusion. “But why? Why would they abandon their home?”

“Maybe something forced their hand,” I suggested, stepping past him into the cool night air.

“It’s possible,” he conceded, his gaze distant. “Especially with no king to guide them.”

His words landed like stones in the quiet. I turned back. “What do you mean? What happened to the king?”

A wall slammed down behind his eyes. Cassius avoided my gaze, his shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly. When he finally spoke, he lifted a hand, not to answer, but to point toward the canopy ahead. “Look,” he said, his tone deliberately lighter, a clear deflection. “Your mother’s house is in that direction.”

The words sent a jolt of fragile hope through me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of the wall he had just built between us. The question of the king remained on my side, unanswered and shrouded in a sudden, deliberate mystery.