The world came to me in scents before it came in sights. First, the clean, rich smell of damp earth breathing its post-rain sigh, and beneath it, the subtle, almost mineral tang of last night’s fire. When I finally surrendered to the light, I saw the fire had died, its heart a faint, stubborn pulse of red within the grey ash. At the mouth of the cave, the day’s first rays cut blades of gold through the gloom.

I rolled onto my side, my movements hushed. Cassius was still asleep. In the soft, forgiving light of dawn, he was a stranger. The constant, weary weight he carried seemed to have melted away in the night, leaving his features unguarded and smooth. The furrows of concentration that usually bracketed his eyes were gone. His mouth, so often a grim, straight line, was softened in repose. I watched the steady, even rhythm of his breathing, drawn into a quiet tranquility he so rarely allowed himself, let alone showed to others.

I knelt beside him, the cold stone seeping through the fabric of my trousers. An almost overwhelming urge to trace the line of his jaw, to see if the peace was as real as it looked, rose in my throat.

A trill of birdsong, sharp and clear from the world outside, shattered my thoughts. It was a beautiful sound, and a harsh reminder. We had to move.

With a reluctance that felt heavy in my own chest, I laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Cassius… time to wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered. As I drew my hand back, his deep blue eyes—still hazy and dark with sleep—found mine. A slow, unguarded smile spread across his face, a genuine warmth that reached his eyes and sent a traitorous heat climbing my neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly hum.

A shy smile I couldn’t contain touched my lips. “Good morning.”

He sat up, rotating a stiff shoulder with a soft groan. “Catch me dreaming?”

“Something like that,” I admitted, getting to my feet to brush the dust from my clothes, my cheeks still warm.

“Good.” He rose in a single, fluid motion, stretching with a satisfying crack of his joints before slotting his sword back into the scabbard on his belt. The easy peace of the morning was already receding, replaced by practiced readiness.

I summoned the book from my dimensional storage, the cool, familiar leather a welcome weight in my palm. Flipping it open to the page on the Moonless Blossom, I studied the illustration again, committing the delicate, silver-blue petals and the unique, jagged serration of its leaves to memory. A moment later, I felt the solid warmth of him seep through my tunic as he leaned over my shoulder.

“I’m sure we’ll find it,” he said, his voice still holding a comfortable trace of sleep. 

“I’m sure,” I agreed, turning to face him and offering the open book. “Want another look?”

“No. It’s etched in my memory.” His gaze shifted past me, toward the growing light at the cave entrance. “Ready for the mountain?”

“I am,” I said, snapping the book shut and letting it dissolve into shimmering motes of light.

We stepped out of the cave into the crisp morning. A cool breeze greeted us, carrying the scent of pine and wet stone as we began our trek toward the mountain’s base. The usual chatter of the forest was hushed, replaced by an almost unnerving stillness that set my teeth on edge.

As if reading my thoughts, Cassius murmured, “It’s too quiet.”

A nervous laugh escaped me. “My thoughts exactly.”

Just then, a sharp rustle from a thicket ahead shattered the silence. In an instant, we froze. Cassius moved like lightning, his hand not just on his hilt but drawing the blade a few inches, a low hiss of steel leaving leather. Mana, sharp and cold, crackled at my fingertips. After a second rustle, a small, red-furred fox darted out, gave us a panicked look, and vanished into the undergrowth.

The tension broke in a shared exhale. We looked at each other, and a slow, relieved smile bloomed on both our faces.

“We’re a little on edge,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he sheathed his sword.

“Just a little,” I agreed, falling into step beside him.

When we reached the base of the mountain, I tilted my head back, my eyes tracing the rugged, unforgiving slope to its peak. It was going to be a long climb.

Cassius found a foothold on the first large rock and hauled himself up. From his new perch, he offered me his hand. I slid my palm into his, his callused, strong grip closing around mine and pulling me up effortlessly as my boots scrambled for purchase. Even after I found my footing on the ledge beside him, our hands remained entwined. Our eyes met, and for a long moment, the world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact and the question hanging in the charged air between us. Reluctantly, I was the one to let go.

The ascent was difficult. The path was a treacherous memory, forcing us to use our hands as often as our feet, hauling ourselves over massive boulders and picking our way around debris. Hours blurred into a rhythm of exertion and focus. With every patch of foliage we passed, my gaze hunted for a tell-tale glint of silver.

Then I saw it.

“Cassius, over here!” The words burst from me, a surge of triumph making me scramble toward the edge of a rocky ledge where a lone, silvered flower bloomed in the sun.

He was beside me in an instant, his expression softening with a gentle regret. “That’s a Silverwink. A close cousin, but not our blossom.” He pointed to the leaves. “See how the edges are rounded? The Moonless Blossom’s leaves are pointed, like daggers.”

Disappointment washed over me, sharp and cold. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Pushing myself back to my feet, I brushed the dirt and grit from my knees.

“You really know your herbs,” I said, a little breathless as we started climbing again.

“I do,” he replied, and I heard a hint of pride, a flicker of a life he used to know. “I miss it. The study of plants, their properties… I find it exciting.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “Maybe one day you can study them again. If you wouldn’t mind teaching me, I’d like to learn, too.”

He glanced back, a genuine, heart-stopping smile gracing his lips. “I would love that.”

A warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the last of my disappointment. “You’re always teaching me something,” I said, pausing to catch my breath. “I wonder if I’ll ever get to teach you.”

“The world is full of things to learn,” he said, stepping gracefully over a thick, gnarled tree root. “I’m sure your turn will come.”

We fell back into an easy conversation, the small talk a pleasant distraction that made the final, punishing leg of our climb pass more quickly. When we finally crested the summit, we both paused, my lungs burning and my legs trembling with effort.

The view was breathtaking. Below us, a vast, rolling canopy of trees stretched out like a green, breathing sea. Far in the hazy distance, the ocean was a faint, silver seam where the sky met the water, and we could just make out the cluster of buildings that was the coastal town of Coral Bluffs. It was a vista worth the climb, but my attention was pulled back to the task at hand.

The mountaintop was a wide, windswept plateau, dotted with hardy weeds and herbs. And in its center, a single, gnarled tree stood as a testament to survival. My eyes were drawn to it, and as I walked closer, I saw it: a small plant nestled in the soil beneath its protective branches, its petals catching the sun with an unmistakable silver-blue sheen.

Cassius came up right behind me, his voice a low, reverent whisper. “That’s it.”

Hope surged through me, hot and sudden. We found it.

Together, we knelt by the herb. It felt like a ritual. We dug carefully into the soil, our fingers working in a silent, synchronized dance. I winced as cool dirt packed under my nails, but the discomfort was a small price to pay. Cassius gently took hold of the plant’s base, easing it slowly from the ground, his touch deft and careful to keep the entire root system intact.

He held it out to me, cupped in his palms like a treasure. “Here,” he said, his voice suddenly formal. “Put it in your dimensional storage. It will remain preserved there.”

The warmth had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a familiar, guarded steel. The easy lines of his shoulders hardened into their usual defensive set. I took the Moonless Blossom from his hands, the shift in his demeanor a cold shock. As the plant dissolved into my storage, I began weaving the shimmering threads of a portal back to the cottage.

“Ready to head back?” I asked, my voice tight.

“I’m ready.” His tone was flat, clipped. The man who had shared a smile with me in the dawn, who had promised to teach me about herbs, was gone.

We stepped through the swirling vortex, the air shifting from the crisp mountain peak to the dense, earthy smell of Seraphiel’s cottage. I glanced at Cassius one last time. His jaw was set, his body rigid. He stared at the cottage door as if preparing for a siege. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I walked to the door and knocked.

A moment later, it opened with a low creak. Seraphiel peeked through the gap.

“Did you find it?”