May sat with one leg crossed over the other, calmly buttering a slice of bread while Moore poked at his eggs like they'd personally wronged him. Ronell, awake and unusually chipper, had already cleaned her plate.
"I could get used to mornings like this," she said, stretching her arms with a contented sigh. "No chaos. No monsters. No collapsing bridges."
"Give it time," Moore muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "Chaos loves you."
May glanced at them both and slid a folded parchment across the table.
"What's this?" Ronell asked, sitting up straighter as she unfolded it.
Moore groaned preemptively. "That's not breakfast."
"It's work," May said. "The guild sent a courier. Simple job. We deliver a parcel to a village a few ridges out. Shouldn't take more than half a day."
Ronell's eyes lit up. "Another job outside the city."
"Oh joy," Moore deadpanned. "Fresh air and walking. My two favorite things."
May sipped her tea, unbothered. "You said you wanted to be useful."
"I said no such thing," Moore said, mouth half-full of jam.
"You grumbled something to that effect while half-asleep yesterday," Ronell pointed out.
"That doesn't count."
May gave him a pointed look. "You're coming."
"Ugh."
"But why are you coming?" Ronell asked, curious.
May stood, folding the parchment back into her cloak. "It's good to stretch your legs sometimes."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
They stood outside the inn not long after, packs strapped, boots laced, parcel sealed neatly in Ronell's satchel. The early sun warmed the cobblestones, and birds flitted between the gutters and window ledges.
"Well," Ronell said, pulling her gloves tighter. "Guess we're adventurers again."
Moore yawned. "Someone remind me why we didn't just become librarians."
May turned toward the gate with a faint smirk. "Because the world doesn't save itself."
And just like that, they set off.
---
The sun had climbed high by the time they reached the small, moss-covered outpost tucked between two sloping hills. Their task had been simple: deliver a sealed parcel to the herbalist there and return with confirmation.
Ronell jogged ahead and handed the parcel over with a bright smile, while Moore leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching two squirrels chase each other up a trunk.
"Done already?" he asked as Ronell came back, stretching her arms.
"She was grateful," Ronell said, satisfied. "Said it contained rare seeds from the eastern coast."
"Could've been a bag of rocks for all I care," Moore muttered. "Still counts as a completed job."
May, seated on a nearby boulder, flicked a leaf from her cloak. "You both did well."
Moore gave her a mock bow. "Why thank you, our noble overseer."
May raised one eyebrow. "Don't test me."
Just as they were about to head back, May tilted her head toward a fork in the path. "Let's take a detour."
Ronell blinked. "A detour?"
May nodded. "There's a lake. Not far. It's quiet."
Moore frowned. "Is that part of the quest?"
"No," she said simply. "But the weather's nice. And we've earned a break."
Ronell perked up immediately. "A lake sounds perfect."
Moore sighed but followed. "If I get eaten by frogs, I'm haunting you."
They veered off the main road, following a narrower trail shaded by tall, whispering trees. The air was cooler here, tinged with damp moss and soft birdsong. As the incline evened out, a shimmering expanse of water came into view.
The lake sat nestled in a shallow basin, its surface glassy and pale, reflecting the drifting clouds above. A crooked tree arched over one side of the shore, its roots clutching the earth like quiet hands.
Ronell let out a quiet, "Wow."
Even Moore looked impressed — or at least he stopped complaining.
May didn't say anything. She simply walked ahead, her steps slow, familiar. Like she'd been here before.
They followed.
---
They reached the lake's edge in no real hurry.
The shoreline was dappled with sunlight, filtered through the canopy above. Water lapped softly against the rocks — gentle, rhythmic, like a breath. It was quiet in a way that made every movement feel delicate, even sacred.
Moore wandered off first, hands in his pockets, idly kicking stones before crouching to gather a few smooth pebbles. One by one, he tossed them across the water — some skipped once or twice, others sank immediately.
Ronell took a seat beneath the crooked tree, opening her notebook. Her pencil danced lightly over the page — a few soft strokes, some shading. She didn't talk much, but the peaceful silence between them said enough.
May stood still for a while, watching them from a short distance, her cloak brushing the tall grass. Her expression was unreadable, but something about the set of her shoulders had softened. She eventually found a spot in the shade and sat down, letting the wind toy with the edges of her sleeves.
No one asked where she'd gone earlier. No one filled the silence with questions or small talk. And somehow, it felt perfect.
Eventually, Moore flopped down in the grass beside his sister with a quiet grunt. "If I fall asleep, wake me before I snore."
Ronell smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on her page. "You don't snore."
"Good. Because I'm going to anyway."
She chuckled softly and set her notebook down.
May didn't lie down — not at first. She leaned back against a tree trunk, letting the breeze run fingers through her hair, watching the way the light played across Ronell's sketchbook and Moore's half-lidded eyes.
But over time, her posture relaxed, her breathing slowed. She stretched out nearby, her eyes fluttering shut under the warm hum of early summer.
For a time, none of them spoke. They simply rested — surrounded by the scent of lakewater and flowers, the rustle of reeds, the soft warmth of sunlight.
It felt familiar.
Ronell's eyes opened briefly and scanned the scene: Moore's hand resting lazily on his chest, May's face calm in sleep, the sky swaying above them through branches.
And in her heart, a memory flickered.
That first day in the field of white blossoms… sitting under a tree not unlike this… beside the same boy… with a cat curled nearby…
Eventually, sleep pulled her under too.
The lake shimmered in silence, its surface holding the reflection of three dreamers — resting, just for a moment, as if time itself had exhaled.
---
The sound of birds changed.
Not much — just enough for Moore's eyes to blink open, lashes heavy with sleep. He squinted at the pale sky, then stretched, arms splaying out across the grass. The lake glimmered with late sun, casting gold across the surface.
He sat up slowly, brushing dried grass from his sleeve.
Ronell was still curled beside him, sketchbook half-closed against her chest. But someone else was missing.
"Mm…" He glanced around, yawning. "Of course."
May's spot — the one where she'd leaned back earlier, half-asleep — was empty now. Only a faint press in the grass showed she'd been there.
Moore rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, mostly to himself, "She always does this…"
There was no concern in his voice. Not really. He knew May. She drifted in and out like mist — disappearing, reappearing, saying little about where she'd gone. It was part of who she was.
He leaned back on his hands and looked over the water. "She'll be back."
But beside him, Ronell stirred.
She sat up slower, blinking as she took in the fading sun… then the empty spot in the grass.
Her gaze lingered.
She didn't say anything. Not at first. But her fingers tightened slightly on her notebook, the corner of the page bending under her thumb.
Moore watched her out of the corner of his eye. "You worried?"
"No," she replied too quickly. Then, softer: "…Just wondering."
A pause.
"I'm going to walk for a bit."
Moore didn't stop her. He just nodded and laid back down, letting his eyes close again. "If you find her, tell her we saved her a spot."
Ronell gave a small smile — but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
She stood, brushing off her skirt, and turned toward the forest path. The shadows were longer now, spilling across the trail like ribbons. She walked slow at first, as if unsure of the reason — but something tugged her forward.
A quiet intuition. A weight in her chest she couldn't name.
She didn't call out for May. She just walked.
---
May's steps were silent on the cobblestone path that twisted out of the city's eastern edge. The familiar echoes were long gone — laughter, music, firelight — all fading behind her as she slipped into the shadow of overgrown trees.
Here, the air smelled of moss and secrets.
She moved through the familiar trail without hesitation, even though it looked like no one had walked it in years. Vines crept over the worn stones, and moonlight filtered through the canopy in fractured beams.
At the end of the path, half-swallowed by ivy and stone, stood a shrine — its roof sunken slightly, its wood dark with age. The crescent symbol carved into its arch was cracked but still visible.
May stepped inside.
The air shifted. Thicker. Still.
Candles lit themselves with a faint breath of magic — small blue flames flickering to life in carved alcoves along the walls. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards.
She waited.
A rustle, then the soft whisper of movement. From the inner chamber, a robed figure emerged — their face obscured beneath a silver-tipped hood. They walked slowly, with the kind of calm reserved for people who saw beyond time.
"You came again," the Visionary said, their voice neither old nor young. "I wondered when you would."
May didn't bow. She never did.
"I need to know," she said simply, "how the news reached the Queen and King. The first time. Before everything changed."
The Visionary tilted their head. "You're already inside the thread. You know more than you should. That alone is dangerous."
"I'm not trying to rewrite anything," May replied, though she wasn't sure it was entirely true. "Only to delay it."
Silence settled. Then:
"Delaying is still interference," the Visionary murmured. "Truth resists tampering. History—"
"Snaps back," May finished. She'd heard the warning before.
The Visionary circled her slowly, footsteps soundless. "The rumor of the prince wasn't meant to reach the court so soon. It was planted by someone eager… reckless. And it worked. It disrupted everything."
May's eyes narrowed. "Planted by who?"
"That, even I cannot say. Only this: it was no accident. And if it happens again…" They paused, a flicker of something unreadable in their tone. "This time, the collapse may be worse."
May looked down at her feet — at the way the shadows curled beneath the flickering candlelight.
"I just need more time," she whispered.
"Time," the Visionary echoed, "is not your servant."
They reached out — and for a moment, placed a hand over May's heart. "But you still carry something of value. If your bond holds, the thread may shift on its own. Gently. Without force."
May didn't move.
After a beat, she nodded once.
Then she turned, cloak swirling behind her, and stepped out into the night — the wind rising like a breath behind her.
She didn't notice how long she'd been gone.
And when she returned to the lake… Ronell was no longer there.
---
The moon had risen higher now — its pale light threading through the trees in thin, scattered beams. Crickets trilled somewhere far off, but closer, it was quieter. Still.
Too still.
Ronell's boots crunched softly over the undergrowth as she walked, calling nothing aloud. Her shoulders were tense, her brow furrowed. She had told Moore to stay by the lake in case May returned — but she couldn't sit still. Not this time.
Something felt off.
The trees began to thin slightly, and the air grew hotter. Oppressively so. The kind of heat that clung to your skin and weighed down your breath. It smelled… wrong. Like something old, scorched, and warped by time.
She stepped past a crooked tree and into a clearing — or what used to be one. The ground here was cracked and dry, despite the summer. The grass had yellowed in strange patches, and at the center lay a shallow pit of dust, lined with fractured stone markings — vaguely circular.
Ronell paused.
Her hand twitched toward the hilt at her belt — a practice sword, not a real one, but better than nothing. She knelt, fingertips brushing one of the markings.
It pulsed.
The moment she touched it, the ground beneath her flickered with faint light — not bright, but visible. Symbols. Etchings. A magical circle long-buried, now disturbed.
She stepped back just as the circle fully lit.
The air shuddered.
A sharp sound rang out — like glass being cracked from the inside — and the center of the circle split open. Not wide. Just enough for something to slither out.
A shape emerged, low to the ground, pulsing with reddish veins — like roots fused with muscle and heat. It wasn't alive in any natural way. It hissed, a sound like steam escaping from a kettle. Then another tendril followed.
Ronell backed up.
She tried to stay calm. Grip tight. Breath steady. But this was no mock training.
The tendril struck.
She barely blocked it, her wooden practice blade shuddering on impact. It lashed again — and this time, it grazed her shoulder, ripping cloth and skin. She yelped and stumbled back.
It was faster than it looked.
Another strike — this time aimed low. She jumped to the side, rolled, came up swinging — but the blade wasn't meant to cut, only deflect. She shouted for help, but the forest swallowed the sound.
The thing lunged.
Ronell raised her blade again, but her arms were slower now — aching from impact, legs scraped from the ground. And just as the tendril surged forward—
A flash.
Steel met the creature mid-air. A clean slice — fast, precise.
The thing shrieked, curling back. Another blow followed — a blast of fire — and this time, the creature writhed violently before dissolving into dust.
Silence.
May stepped into the clearing, her real sword drawn, eyes unreadable.
Behind her, Moore came running, breathless, holding a torch and a half-laced boot.
Ronell sat in the dirt, panting, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
May sheathed her blade slowly, the glow in her eyes dimming.
"You were looking for me?" she asked quietly.
Ronell looked up at her.
Nodded.
"I told Moore to stay," she mumbled, voice thin. "But I got… worried."
May stared for a moment.
Then turned, wordless, and began walking back through the trees.
Moore helped Ronell to her feet. He didn't say anything either — just stayed close, eyes sharper now.
And together, they followed.
---
The forest path glowed faintly under the light of the moon, each footstep softened by summer grass and scattered petals. The storm of earlier had passed, but something still hung heavy in the air — not fear exactly, but weight.
May walked ahead.
Her cloak rippled behind her, boots steady and silent on the trail. She hadn't looked back since they left the clearing — since the creature vanished into ash and silence.
Behind her, Ronell limped slightly. Her shoulder was bandaged with a scrap of cloth Moore had torn from his shirt. She held it gently, but the sting wasn't what made her eyes lower. It was the silence.
Moore walked in the middle, letting his hands sit in his pockets, head dipped as he kept pace.
It wasn't until the city lights shimmered faintly on the horizon that May finally spoke.
Her voice was soft. Not cold. Just… distant.
"You were looking for me?"
The words drifted behind her, not turning around, not slowing down.
Ronell's eyes lifted. She swallowed. Then nodded.
"I was."
A pause. The wind tugged lightly at the trees.
"I—I knew I probably shouldn't have wandered off," she added. "But I couldn't help it. Something felt off, and…" she glanced toward Moore, "he stayed back. In case you returned."
Moore made a small sound — something between a grunt and an affirming shrug.
May didn't reply.
Not at first.
She kept walking, the silence returning, but thicker now. Not angry. Just… unreadable. She didn't look back. Her shoulders stayed high. Her steps never faltered.
Ronell looked down again. The stars shimmered faintly above.
None of them spoke again until they reached the city gates.
---
The room was dimly lit by the dying glow of the hearth below, the curtains stirring faintly in the night breeze. Moore had long since fallen asleep, sprawled haphazardly across his bed — one arm dangling off the side, blanket kicked halfway to the floor. His quiet snoring rose and fell like a lullaby, grounding and familiar.
Ronell sat on her own bed, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. The events of the day clung to her — not in the ache of her shoulder, but in the things left unsaid.
She looked around.
May wasn't there.
The bed nearest the window was neatly made, untouched. Her satchel rested by the side, but its presence felt almost symbolic — a ghost of someone always half a step away.
Curious, Ronell rose and padded softly to the window, resting her hands on the sill.
Then she saw her.
May was on the rooftop.
Perched at the edge, back straight, knees pulled close. Her cloak was drawn tight around her shoulders, but her hood was off — black hair ruffled gently by the wind. She was facing the city, its soft glow reflecting faintly in her eyes. Silent. Still.
She wasn't looking at anything in particular.
Or maybe… she was looking at everything.
From where Ronell stood, just behind the glass, the view felt intimate and unreachable all at once. A silhouette carved from shadow and thought. She raised a hand — almost instinctively — then slowly lowered it again.
She didn't call out.
She didn't step outside.
She just watched.
Unsure if May wanted company. Unsure if she did.
The wind picked up softly, brushing past the eaves and sighing through the cracks.
And that was how the night ended —Ronell at the window,May on the rooftop,a quiet city glowing around them,and all the words between them left floating in the warm summer dark.