Thalanir guided Lira to the little house nestled beneath the great roots of the tree village. It was quiet and warm, built from smooth wood and woven vines, with soft moss gathered for bedding. She curled up under the hanging canopy of leaves, the scent of the forest wrapping around her like a lullaby. Sleep came quickly.
When morning arrived, a soft golden light filtered through the lattice of trees above. Outside, the village was already alive. Elven kind moved gracefully through the branches and pathways, gathering morning dew in glassy leaf-cups and plucking fresh blossoms that had bloomed with the sunrise. The air was cool, crisp, and filled with birdsong.
Lira stepped out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Therin was already outside, stretching with a soft groan, his hair still a mess from sleep. Many of the elves smiled at Lira as she passed, some nodding, some offering small petals or herbs in quiet farewell.
Thalanir appeared silently beside them, as if born from the breeze itself. "Good morning," he said, his voice calm and clear.
Therin gave a polite nod. "We should be going. We've already delayed the journey long enough."
Lira nodded, adjusting the strap on her satchel. Together, she and Therin began walking toward the village's entrance, where the forest path awaited them. But with every step, Thalanir followed close behind - silent, sure-footed, and impossibly graceful.
Therin finally glanced over his shoulder and frowned. "Are you… coming with us?"
Lira looked to Thalanir, then smiled gently and said, "Yes. He's my protector now."
Therin stopped mid-step, turning to stare at her, eyebrows raised. "Your what?"
"My protector," Lira repeated. "The bond was made last night. He offered, and I accepted."
Therin blinked, clearly astonished. "You mean to tell me… you bonded with Thalanir Aelthern, the forest's guardian prince?"
Thalanir gave a faint smile but said nothing.
Therin looked between the two of them, rubbing the back of his neck, still processing it all. Then he laughed under his breath. "Well… you do have a way of attracting the rarest magic, don't you?"
"I didn't choose him because of his title," Lira said softly. "I chose him because he was there when I needed help… and I felt safe."
Therin's expression softened, and he gave her a knowing look. "Then I'm happy for you, truly."
He turned back to the path, and together, they walked on, through the dappled morning light, with Thalanir quietly at Lira's side, and the forest gently opening the way.
The wind was calm as Moro glided high above the forest canopy, his shell humming softly beneath them. The sun had fully risen now, casting golden light across the rolling sea of trees below. Wisps of cloud curled gently around them like drifting thoughts.
Suddenly, Lira sat up straighter.
All around them, tiny lights began to flicker into view, not stars, not insects. Petals. Glowing, pale-blue petals drifting on invisible currents, dancing through the morning air like fireflies with purpose.
"Sky blooms…" Therin whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I haven't seen them in decades."
Lira reached out as one floated close. The bloom was weightless in the air but warm to the touch. As her fingers brushed it, it spun gracefully, then drifted down to settle in her lap, pulsing faintly with light.
More followed, dozens now, lazily circling Moro's shell, drifting around them in glowing spirals. Some brushed against Thalanir's shoulder and stayed. A few even nestled into the folds of Lira's cloak.
"They bloom only in places where magic is balanced," Thalanir said softly. "Sky blooms are born of stillness, old power, and unseen harmony. They sense those who carry a true thread of the ancient ways."
Lira looked down at the bloom resting in her hands, now glowing brighter.
"It chose you," he said, gazing at her with quiet certainty. "The sky knows you now."
Therin chuckled from his seat ahead. "Well, that explains why the wind's been unusually polite."
The sky blooms circled them for a time, like a flock of living stars. Then, as gently as they arrived, they began to drift away, fading into the blue like dream fragments.
Lira watched until the last petal vanished into sunlight, her heart full and quiet.
"Maybe," she whispered to herself, "this really is the beginning."
As Moro began to descend through the thin morning mists surrounding the academy's outer field, the grand towers rose like dreaming stones from the hills. The turtle let out a low, satisfied rumble as his massive feet touched the ground.
Therin brushed off his cloak and leapt down, stretching stiffly.
"Well, I must report to the council before they think I've wandered into another realm," he said with a glance back. "Don't tarry too long."
He waved and rushed off toward the high arching gates, leaving the soft humming shell behind him.
Lira and Thalanir stood beside Moro now. The fog near the forest border had thickened with morning magic. The edge of the woods shimmered, still heavy with dew and quiet, until footsteps approached.
A figure emerged slowly, graceful and composed, a silver-furred tail swaying gently behind him.
Renkai.
His golden eyes immediately locked with Thalanir's pale green ones, two beings of timeless essence meeting for the first time.
They stood still.
The air between them charged like the moment before a storm.
Lira stepped forward instinctively, unsure if this was tension or recognition.
Thalanir was the first to speak, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.
"So… you are the fox."
Renkai tilted his head, one brow raised. "And you are the stag."
There was no mockery in the words, only knowledge.
Old, echoing, and heavy with stories that hadn't been told in ages.
Thalanir looked to Lira, then back to Renkai.
"She is guarded well. I see that now."
Renkai gave the faintest nod. "And you didn't bind her?"
Thalanir stepped back slightly, respectful. "No. She chose. As she should."
A faint smile ghosted Renkai's lips. "Then we understand each other."
Silence again. And then, strangely, the faintest shimmer of shared amusement passed between them — a wordless knowing. Not rivalry… something closer to recognition. Like two trees from the same forest, grown far apart, finally seeing one another again.
Lira looked between them, puzzled but warmed.
Thalanir finally turned to her, gently brushing one of the sky bloom petals from her hair.
"If you ever need me," he said softly, "call the wind."
"And you'll come?"
He nodded. "Even if it's the last breath of autumn. I will come."
He stepped back, the mists already curling around his feet.
With one last glance at Renkai - who gave a subtle, approving nod - Thalanir turned, and in a shimmer of white and green, shifted into his stag form. Antlers glowing faintly, he disappeared into the fog.
Renkai stepped beside Lira and gently took her hand.
"You really do attract the ancient ones," he said with a soft smile.
As the mists swallowed Thalanir's retreating form, silence returned, save for the gentle wind stirring the edges of Lira's cloak.
She turned toward Renkai, his eyes watching her softly now, not with jealousy or worry, but deep interest. Trust.
"I want to tell you what happened," she said.
He simply nodded. "Then I'll listen."
They moved to the nearby stone ledge where the fog thinned. She sat, and he beside her, one leg folded over the other like he had all the time in the world.
Lira took a breath and began.
She told him about the journey with Therin, the flying turtle Moro, the strange wild energies they'd seen in the forest. Of Kelthorn, the little wyrmling who chose Therin as his guardian, of the way his eyes sparkled at the word "treasure." Renkai chuckled lightly at that, already imagining the chaos that would follow.
She told him about the encounter with the great white deer, and how it had later revealed its true form, Thalanir, a forest elf unlike any she had ever met. She described his voice like soft wind through hollow trees, his white garments etched with green vine-thread, and how the forest itself responded to him.
Renkai listened closely, never interrupting, even when her voice faltered at moments of awe.
"And then…" she hesitated, "he protected me. Without asking why, or who I was. Just… as if he already knew."
Renkai tilted his head slightly. "He did know. That kind of protector hears things others cannot."
Lira looked at her palms, remembering the warmth of Thalanir's presence, and how it echoed some part of her long-forgotten self.
"I accepted his offer. He said… he would come if I was in danger."
Renkai didn't flinch. He smiled faintly, almost proud.
"That was your choice. A wise one."
"You're not… upset?" she asked quietly.
He reached over and brushed a fallen petal from her shoulder.
"Lira, I am bound to you by more than choice. But that doesn't mean you cannot choose others to walk beside you. Especially those who remind you of home."
Home. The word lingered in her like an ache and a comfort.
Renkai stood then, brushing the dew from his robes. "I should return to the deeper woods. The roots are shifting again, and I need to make sure the balance holds."
Then, like mist unraveling, he turned and strode back into the fog, his silver tail flicking behind him like a whisper of memory.
Lira stood still for a moment, watching the place he had disappeared.
Then, with the distant bells of the academy echoing across the fields, she turned and walked toward the great gates, the world of stone towers, scrolls, potions, and trials waiting once again.
But now she didn't walk alone — not truly.
For she had two protectors.
And deep in her spirit, she felt their presence watching over her:
The fox in the shadows.
The stag in the leaves.