The rain stopped just before dawn.
When Sovann stepped outside, the mountains were covered in mist and dew, every leaf sparkling like crystal. Birds began to sing again, and the stream nearby gurgled happily as if welcoming the sun.
He breathed in the fresh air. It felt like the world had been washed clean.
Inside, Elira was already awake. She stood barefoot on the wooden floor, watching the morning light pour through the window, her silver hair glowing in its soft golden touch.
Sovann smiled. "Sleep well?"
She nodded and held up a small wooden bowl he had carved. In it were crushed herbs—his healing blend. "I help today," she said proudly.
"You know these herbs?"
She touched one leaf. "In my world… similar. But colors… different."
They worked together, preparing medicine for a nearby villager who had visited a few days ago with a sore leg. Sovann watched Elira as she carefully wrapped the herbs in cloth and tied them with string. Her fingers were skilled, delicate—but strong.
"Have you done healing before?" he asked.
She paused, then opened her palm.
A soft glow pulsed from her skin, warm and golden, like a candle inside her hand. The herbs near her responded, releasing a faint shimmer of their own.
Sovann stared, speechless.
Elira quickly closed her hand, shy. "Small magic," she said. "Only when calm."
He gently touched her hand. "It's beautiful. Like you."
Elira blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, her cheeks flushed the faintest pink.
She looked at him for a long moment, then leaned closer and placed her forehead gently against his—her people's way of saying thank you, perhaps.
They stayed like that for a quiet breath. Two lives, slowly weaving together in the calm of the mountains.