Spring in Meerfeld came like a sigh of relief. After the long winter's grip, the land stretched under the sun's touch, waking with color and song. The orchards, still bare in parts, now sprouted blush-pink blossoms, and their petals drifted like snow across the footpaths. Birds chattered high in the boughs, and bees returned, sluggish but curious, dancing between flowers and dandelions.
Liora stepped carefully over the twisted roots and fallen branches of the forest trail, her satchel swinging lightly at her hip. In her hand, she held a small clay knife Nan Theda had given her to trim soft herbs. She was nearly ten now, and the careful work soothed her. Her dark hair, once long and unkempt, was tied back with Linna's ribbon. It had faded to a pale rose.
Nan had asked for lemon balm and sweet violet, the early bloomers of spring. Liora had found some growing near the mossy bend of a brook. She bent to gather the last stems when she heard it: a small, hiccuping sob.
She froze.
The forest was not dangerous, not near Meerfeld, but it wasn't usual to find others in the inner paths. The crying came again, faint, muffled. Liora stood and followed the sound, heart thudding, careful not to snap twigs underfoot.
The sobs grew louder as she pushed past a patch of alder saplings. Then she saw her: a small child, no more than four years old, curled in a tangle of brambles. Her golden curls were caught in the thorns, her dress torn. Her face was blotched red from crying.
"Hey," Liora said softly, kneeling. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."
The girl sniffled and looked up, her wide blue eyes watery and filled with fear. "M-Mathilde's stuck," she whimpered.
Liora smiled gently. "Alright, Mathilde. I'll get you out."
She set her satchel down and moved slowly, brushing the brambles aside as best she could. "Hold still, okay? These thorns are mean."
With quiet patience, she used the clay knife to cut away the vines without scraping the girl's skin. Once free, Mathilde stumbled forward, burying her face in Liora's chest.
"You're alright now," Liora whispered, holding her close.
They sat together for a moment, the girl's small body trembling in her arms.
"Do you know where you came from?" Liora asked.
Mathilde nodded weakly. "Big house. Big garden. Eli made me mad. I ran…"
"Eli?"
"My brother."
Liora looked around. The trail veered away from Meerfeld. There were no houses nearby except—
"The Edelhardt estate," she murmured.
Mathilde nodded again. "Mama's gonna be sad."
Liora bent down. "Come on. I'll take you home."
The girl hesitated, then reached up. Without a word, Liora knelt so she could climb onto her back. Mathilde clung to her neck, small arms tight but warm.
The journey back took longer. Liora wasn't entirely sure of the path, but she trusted the slope of the land and the occasional flicker of rooftops in the distance. Soon, the trees began to thin.
They emerged at the edge of a great clearing. Beyond a hedge of early roses stood the largest house Liora had ever seen, manor-like, pale stone walls framed by blooming wisteria. The air smelled of lavender and apple blossoms.
A woman stood at the center of the garden.
She wore a cloak of pale violet, the color of crocuses, embroidered in silver thread. Her pale golden hair was coiled into a braided crown. She turned at the sound of their approach.
"Mathilde!"
The girl on Liora's back gasped and lifted her head. "Mama!"
Liora lowered her gently to the ground, and the child ran across the grass. The woman knelt, arms open, catching her in an embrace. She kissed her forehead, stroked her curls.
"I was so worried," the woman whispered. "Where did you go, my darling? You scared me."
Mathilde pointed back at Liora. "She helped me. She found me in the thorns."
The woman's eyes lifted.
Liora stood awkwardly at the edge of the path, her hands fidgeting behind her back.
The woman looked at her.
And for a breath, just one, long breath, her face changed.
Her expression softened, eyes widening with something more than recognition. A tremor of sorrow passed across her face. Her lips parted slightly, and she took a slow step forward.
Liora didn't understand.
The woman knelt again beside Mathilde, whispered something in her ear, then stood. She approached Liora with a calm grace, her violet cloak trailing behind her on the grass.
"Thank you," she said gently. "You brought my daughter home."
Liora nodded, unsure of what to say.
"What is your name?"
"…Liora."
The woman tilted her head. "Liora," she repeated. "That's a beautiful name."
Her gaze lingered on the ribbon in Liora's hair. Her fingers twitched, as though she wanted to reach out.
"Would you come in? Just for a moment. I'd like to thank you properly."
Liora hesitated. The manor was like a dream, a place she'd only seen in books or distant glimpses. She looked at the woman again, saw the kindness in her face, the ache behind her eyes.
"…Alright."
The woman smiled, offering her hand. "I'm Lady Amalia Edelhardt. Come, child. You're safe here."
Liora took her hand.
And so, for the first time, she crossed into the world that would change everything.
Blossoms fell as they walked. The wind stirred, light and warm.
Somewhere in the distance, a boy watched from the manor balcony. A quiet shadow behind golden curtains.