"We will pass the night here," Miss Li Hua said, turning slightly atop the pale cloud that bore her weight as effortlessly as breath.
The structure lay some distance ahead, but it was unmistakable now—straight lines interrupting the forest's soft chaos, angles that belonged to neither root nor stone. We could see it. That alone made stopping feel wrong.
"But the destination is within sight," Heiwa said, turning back toward us. "Why stop now?"
Moonlight smoothed the night's edges, painting silver across leaves and the distant roofline. The calm felt staged. Too deliberate.
"Well," Miss Li Hua replied lightly, "it would be rude to arrive late and uninvited."
I glanced between them. "I thought you said you knew the person."
Heiwa didn't answer.
The silence lingered a beat too long.
She exhaled, stepped down from the cloud, boots meeting soil. "We'll eat," she said. "That can wait until morning."
She surveyed the forest—slow, deliberate—then seemed satisfied. From her satchel came wrapped meat, vegetables, utensils. Too much to reasonably fit.
Why use the satchel at all, I wondered, when she could summon half of this from nothing?
She knelt, arranged stones, coaxed a fire to life with practiced ease.
"Won't the fire alert whoever lives there?" Heiwa asked, eyes on the distant structure.
"If that worries you," Miss Li Hua said, setting down a jug of water, "calm yourself. They've known we were here since morning."
I stiffened.
She returned to her tree, settling against it like a woman reclaiming a familiar seat. "Tell me when dinner is ready."
Heiwa sighed, glanced once more at the structure, then turned back to the fire. "So," she said, quieter, "what are we doing?"
I crouched beside her, peering at the supplies. "That looks like—"
"Three sirloin cuts," she murmured, already inspecting them, "and potatoes."
Of course it was.
"I'll handle the meat," she said. "You boil the potatoes."
I rolled my eyes and obeyed.
"Water first. Salt after," she added, already seasoning the meat with near-reverence.
"Thanks," I muttered.
"A campfire," Heiwa said softly, setting the pan over the flames. Oil shimmered. Fire popped, orange against moonlit blue.
For a moment, it felt normal.
Then I burned my finger.
I hissed, jamming it into my mouth.
"Let me see," Heiwa said at once, hand outstretched.
I hesitated. Then gave it to her.
Cold bloomed—sharp, clean. The pain vanished so fast it stole my breath.
"Olive oil and butter?" I asked, watching the meat sear.
"That's how Miss Halle taught me."
I blinked. "You took cooking lessons from her?"
"Hm." No elaboration. Parsley. Lemon. Plated like ritual.
"That smells nice," Miss Li Hua said, stretching as she approached. "Ah—and do not go near that tree."
She gestured lazily, then vanished into one of the conjured tents.
I frowned, following her motion. The tree stood apart—ordinary at first glance. Not close. Not far. About a thousand meters, give or take.
Heiwa followed my gaze, sighed, returned to cooking.
Curiosity won.
Later, as we ate—
"This is quite good, Heiwa," Miss Li Hua said pleasantly.
Heiwa smiled faintly.
I barely touched my food.
"Not hungry?" Miss Li Hua asked. "Something happen?"
"She went toward the tree," Heiwa said, setting her cup down.
Miss Li Hua paused.
Then laughed.
"I felt like I was on fire," I said, heat rising to my face—embarrassment, not pain. "What was that?"
"Why ruin the fun?" Heiwa replied calmly, spooning potatoes onto her plate. "Though—good work on these."
After dinner, we cleaned quickly. Supplies vanished back into the satchel. The fire dwindled to embers. The forest reclaimed the space.
"Shouldn't someone keep watch?" Heiwa asked as we settled in.
"With that wall of invisible fire?" I muttered. "What's the point?"
She chuckled, laid her hand over mine.
The cool returned—gentler now.
The forest sang its night song. Owls hooted. Wolves called across unseen distances. Above it all, the moon ruled—silent, bright, watching.
And the tree stood quietly, just out of sight.
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