The fire had almost burned out, leaving only a faint glow that mingled with the moonlight. The Grove exhaled in quiet, subtle whispers—the rustling of leaves, the gentle sway of branches, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures settling into their rhythms.
Lira lay on the soft moss, her back against a log, Fluffy curled at her side. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through the soft fur, feeling its warmth, its familiar, comforting presence. The tiny purring sounds vibrated gently under her hand, and for a moment, she let herself be fully present—grounded in the softness, in the night, in the quiet life of the Grove.
And then her gaze shifted. Renkai, sitting just a little ways off, leaned against a tree, eyes half-closed, face illuminated by the silvered light of the moon. He had spoken the words earlier, confessed his love so openly, so vulnerably. And now, in the stillness, she felt the weight of them again, settling deep into her chest.
Love.
