Greyspire's morning air was brisk and full of the muted clamor of merchants setting up their stalls. The sunlight was clean after weeks in the labyrinth, as though the sky itself had been scoured. Eliakim, Gideon, and Ezra cut through the cobbled streets toward the Guild Hall, still feeling the soft echo of victory from Emberroot Plains.
Inside, the hall bustled. Adventurers swapped missions, a courier darted between tables, and the scent of parchment and candle-wax lingered. They approached the counter, asking for any gathering request that could be done on the way to their planned vacation. The clerk shuffled through quest notices before pinning one on the desk:
Mission:Riverbank Herb Collection — Verdantveil River, one hundred miles south and four hundred miles west of Greyspire. Estimated travel by foot: six days, twelve hours.Details: Collect twelve sprigs of silverleaf and six bundles of riverblossom from the Verdantveil River's western bank. Deliver fresh to Greyspire Guild within three days of harvest.
Ezra leaned over the desk, eyes lighting up. "That's it. We can fish and gather at the same time!" She turned to the others, her grin victorious. "I told you the river's the best choice."
Gideon rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Eliakim smirked, already picturing the quiet sound of flowing water.
---
Before they could leave, they ducked into Master Halvek Ironhew's blacksmith shop. The tall, broad-shouldered man looked up from his anvil, the rhythmic ring of hammer on steel falling silent. His gaze swept over the three of them like a man expecting to hear about sword repairs — not leisurely fishing trips.
"Fishing rods?" he repeated, voice rich with disbelief.
Ezra planted her hands on her hips. "Yes, fishing rods. The sturdy kind."
Halvek's expression didn't change, but his hands were already selecting tools. "Fishing," he muttered, "after labyrinth delving and who-knows-what. Guess I'll make rods that won't splinter when you hook a river beast."
After careful measuring, a little muttering about 'vacations being suspicious', and some swift, expert work, each walked out with an ashwood rod tipped with polished brass reels — smooth enough for delicate casts, strong enough for whatever Gideon inevitably picked a fight with.
---
They drifted into Greyspire's market, where the day's goods were in full display — baskets of glistening fish, bright fabrics snapping in the wind, and stalls thick with spices. Ezra darted between booths like a magpie, finding bait in neat little clay pots while Gideon compared tackle hooks the size of his thumb.
The calm of the scene was comforting, yet Eliakim's sharp eyes caught the smallest oddities: a sprig of moss curling up the leg of a merchant's stall where no dampness touched, and a patch of wildflowers blooming from a crack in the stone gutter, out of season and too vivid in color.
---
Ezra's triumphant shout about securing the perfect bait rang down the street. A boy, no older than twenty, paused in his stride and turned toward them.
"You lot headed to Verdantveil?" he asked, voice carrying the self-assured weight of someone who thought they'd just stumbled into amateurs. "I'm a master in fishing. You won't find a better hand to show you the river's moods."
He stepped closer, revealing the faint, leaf-like patterning along his skin — not a tattoo, but something grown. A living bow, smooth and seamless as bonewood, rested across his back, its surface still faintly green.
"Name's Caleb Thornfield," he said with an easy smile, though his green-gray eyes carried the calm of old forests. "If you're going to fish Verdantveil, you'll want someone who can read the river spirits."
Eliakim studied him, noting the way a stray crow hopped down from a roof to perch at Caleb's shoulder without fear. Somewhere nearby, a dog pricked its ears and wagged its tail at him, unbidden.
---
As they reviewed the mission details, Eliakim frowned."We've got a freshness limit on these herbs — three days from harvest. Six days and twelve hours on foot just to get there means they'll rot before we even make it back."
Gideon muttered something about 'stupid plants needing pampering', but Caleb only chuckled."Then you'll want to make better time," he said. "Lucky for you—" He whistled, and from a shaded side street rolled a compact wooden wagon, its frame reinforced with living vines woven through the planks. The front was hitched to a pair of sturdy, soft-eyed mules. "She's good for four passengers and a bit of cargo."
Skylíng, perched on Eliakim's shoulder, tilted her head, her feathers fluffing in visible approval.
Eliakim's lips curved faintly, but his gaze lingered on the living vines winding through the wagon's frame."I agree," he said at last, "but I'll be riding with my eyes open."
---
The wagon made all the difference. They rolled through open farmlands first, where wheat bent under the wind in waves like golden seas. Spring poppies painted the roadside in bursts of red, and shepherds waved from distant hills.
By the second day, fields gave way to forests. Sunlight dappled through beech leaves, and the road narrowed until branches brushed the wagon sides. Ezra dangled a fishing rod from her seat, claiming she could smell water. Caleb occasionally murmured to the mules, his words carrying the slow cadence of something not meant for human ears.
On the fourth day, they crested a rise, and the forest broke open into a valley floor. The Verdantveil River lay ahead — a ribbon of deep emerald water, its banks heavy with willows and silver-barked trees. The air was fresh and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth. Dragonflies flitted over the surface, and a heron lifted in slow, elegant flight.
---
They paused to take it in. Gideon whistled low. Ezra already looked ready to dive in.
Eliakim's gaze, however, caught something along the far bank — a single blossom, pale gold with veins of green, nodding gently where no such flower should grow. The same impossible design as the Yggdrasil Bloom.
It seemed harmless in the sunlight, swaying to the river breeze. But to Eliakim, it was the first ripple in what should have been still water.