As they walked slowly between rows of glimmering plants, the air filled with floral scents and gentle hums of fairy wings, Lira felt herself relax. She and Ivvie chatted lightly about the healing moss, the blooming moonshade petals, and which plants had become particularly fussy lately.
But the question pressed again on her mind.
"Ivvie," she asked gently, "is there any fairy I could speak to about the air element? Someone who might know more?"
Ivvie paused mid-air, wings slowing. She turned to Lira with a more serious look than usual.
"I don't know anyone personally," she said slowly, "but I do know of a place where you might find answers. It's... not part of the regular paths."
Lira leaned in, hopeful. "Where?"
Ivvie flew closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Getting there is easier than getting out. It's not dangerous, not exactly—but strange things happen, and time flows funny. You must promise not to tell anyone else. Not even Maelin. Not the Grandmaster."
Lira blinked, surprised by her seriousness. "I promise."
Ivvie searched her eyes a moment longer, then nodded firmly. "Okay. I'll show you the way. But you'll have to wait until the next full moon. That's the only time the path opens."
Ivvie flew in close, her expression unusually solemn. "You must swear, Lira. Not a whisper to anyone—not your friends, not your teachers, not even the Grandmaster. This secret must stay between us."
Lira straightened, feeling the weight of the moment. "I swear. I won't tell anyone."
Ivvie studied her for a heartbeat longer, then smiled with a hint of mischief returning to her face. "Good. Then I'll tell you. On the night of the next full moon, I will guide you through a portal. It leads to an old village, hidden from the world. If answers about your element exist, you'll find them there."
Lira's heart beat faster. "And getting out?"
"That part," Ivvie said with a shrug, "will be your mission. I can't help you with that."
Instead of fear, excitement bloomed in Lira's chest. Finally—something real, something that could explain what was happening to her.
They continued walking slowly through the greenhouse. The scent of blooming herbs and glowing flowers wrapped around them like a soft veil. Between the golden petals of a sunroot bloom, they noticed a tiny fairy fast asleep, wings fluttering with each breath. Both girls smiled and stepped silently past her.
As they reached the greenhouse door, Ivvie turned and hovered eye-level with Lira. "Next full moon. I'll be waiting."
Lira nodded. "I'll be ready."
With that, they parted ways—Lira stepping back into the warm sunlit garden, and Ivvie vanishing into the glowing canopy of flowers above.
With a quiet sense of anticipation blooming in her chest, Lira returned to the academy halls. The quiet steps of her boots echoed softly on the familiar stone floors, and Fluffy padded beside her, tail swaying. The warm memory of Ivvie's words lingered in her mind like a song not yet finished.
Back in her room, she placed the green book on her desk and took a deep breath. Ten days until the next full moon. Ten days to prepare—mentally, magically, and practically.
She sat for a moment and wrote a small list in her journal, letting her thoughts settle. She would need to attend at least some of her classes again—her extended travels were tolerated by the Grandmaster, yes, even quietly encouraged, but she still had responsibilities here. Her potion studies had fallen behind, and her shelves of empty vials reminded her that she needed to brew more healing draughts, calming teas, and elemental essences. Those always sold well at the school market, and she needed more coin. Maybe she'd even find another curious treasure there—like the space bag from the strange man.
A visit to the greenhouse was also due. The plants gifted by Merlin needed her attention. And then… Maelin.
She hadn't truly spoken with Maelin since her return. There was so much to say now.. Maelin was one of the few she truly trusted.
And of course… she would need to find quiet places again. Places where no one wandered often. She had to continue testing the wind element—see if she could call it at will, control it, or shape it beyond instinct.
The moon would be full in ten nights. Until then, her time must be spent well.
The days passed in a gentle rhythm. Lira spent her mornings attending classes, catching up on lessons she had missed during her travels. The instructors welcomed her return with soft nods, and though she remained quiet, her presence was steady. She brewed potions in the alchemy rooms, sometimes staying late with Potion Master Therin, who taught her a few clever tricks—how to stir with intention, how to listen to the blend's response, how to sense imbalance before it bloomed into failure.
Afternoons often found her in the greenhouse, helping Thara tend the more delicate flora. She learned to sing softly to the dream-root, to feed the shy bloodleaf plant, and how to move slowly around the sun-touched lilies, who curled inwards if startled. When her hands were not covered in soil or her mind wrapped in lessons, she spent her hours with Maelin—reading together, laughing over shared pastries, or simply walking in companionable silence along the halls.
Now and then, Lira would spot Renkai or Thalanir standing at the edge of the forest, watching from a respectful distance. If they caught her eye, she would smile and lift her hand in a small wave. They never crossed into academy grounds, but their silent presence comforted her.
Ten days slipped by like pages turning in a well-loved book. And then, the full moon rose.
That evening, Lira packed her space bag carefully. She folded spare clothing, tucked in healing salves and small vials of essence, wrapped her notebook and the green book in cloth, and even placed an extra memory flower, just in case. She wasn't certain when she would return, or what she might find—but she felt ready.
She sent a message to Grandmaster Elion through her little enchanted bird. It fluttered away with a shimmer of soft blue light. Within the hour, the bird returned and chirped once, unfolding a small scroll with the Grandmaster's reply: "Travel safely, and listen well to the winds."
With those words warming her spirit, Lira wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and left her room. The halls were quiet under the moon's glow as she made her way to the greenhouse. Lanterns glowed softly between the vines. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of soil and blossoms greeting her.
And there, floating just above a bed of nightbloom petals, was Ivvie—her wings catching moonlight like bits of glass.
They nodded to each other without words. Ivvie flitted ahead, wings shimmering faintly in the moonlight, guiding Lira toward the far back of the academy grounds. They moved quietly, stepping between overgrown hedges and unmended corners of the garden that most students never approached. Brambles tugged at the hem of Lira's cloak, and the scent of moss and damp earth grew stronger with every step.
Eventually, they reached a thick cluster of bushes, half-swallowed by time. Ivvie darted between them, revealing a narrow gap. Lira pushed through the tangle of branches, and there—almost hidden beneath layers of ivy and climbing vines—stood an old wooden door, weathered and cracked with age. It sat strangely in the landscape, freestanding and slightly leaning, not attached to any wall or building. The vines wrapped around it like fingers unwilling to let go.
"This hasn't been used in a long time," Ivvie said quietly, hovering just beside the door. "But let's go through."
Lira reached out, placing her hand against the rough wood. The vines resisted, creaking as she pulled. The door groaned in protest, opening only a narrow sliver—just enough for her to squeeze through. She slipped in sideways, the vines catching at her shoulders, and then—
She was through.
The air changed. It was quieter here, denser. Trees surrounded them—tall, ancient ones with bark like stone and leaves that whispered with a different kind of wind. The path behind them was gone. Ahead, forest stretched, lit by faint light from the moon filtering through the canopy.
Ivvie flew ahead without hesitation, weaving between the trunks.
Lira followed, heart steady, eyes wide.
Whatever lay ahead, she was ready to see it.
They walked in silence for what felt like hours. The deeper they went, the older the forest became—its roots thicker, its silence deeper, as if even time moved differently here. Lira's legs grew tired, but her heart beat with anticipation. Ivvie didn't seem to tire at all, darting ahead like a soft-glowing star between the trees.
Then, the trees suddenly parted.
They stepped into a wide, open clearing bathed in silver moonlight. The air felt charged—thick with something ancient. In the middle of the clearing grew a ring of mushrooms, but they were unlike any Lira had ever seen. Their caps shimmered faintly with strange hues—deep violet, soft teal, and iridescent white. The circle pulsed gently, as if alive, breathing in the moonlight.
Ivvie flew to the center of the circle, her wings catching the silver light and scattering it like dust.
She turned to Lira, her voice calm but with a note of seriousness. "Are you ready?"
Lira stepped closer, her eyes on the glowing mushrooms.
"If you are," Ivvie continued, "step into the circle so the moonlight can envelop you."
The air shifted around her, the forest holding its breath.
Lira nodded slowly and took a step forward.