The more days passed, the more curious Ivy had become, especially with Nirva’s presence. Ivy had been born in the forest; the forest has shaped her. And Ivy never complained. She loved the company she had grown up in—the creatures she called her family.

  Most of the time, when Ivy wasn’t wandering through the forest, she could be found in her sanctuary, resting high in the canopy of an ancient, towering tree. Its thick trunk spiraled upward, with a natural staircase of roots and vines winding gracefully around it. Soft moss lined each step, cool beneath bare feet. As Ivy climbed, the forest sounds faded into a peaceful hush, replaced by the gentle hum of leaves and the faint glow of her lanterns—hollowed gourds filled with enchanted fireflies.

  At the top, the walls were a blend of wood and vine, living and breathing, with open spaces where sunlight streamed through by day and moonlight pooled in silver ribbons by night. Wisps of sheer fabric hung from branches and beams, fluttering gently with every passing breeze.

  Vines crept lazily along the walls, their leaves dotted with hanging pots of herbs and wildflowers. Makeshift shelves carved from smooth branches held glass jars filled with dried herbs, salves, and small treasures Ivy had gathered over the years—gleaming stones, delicate feathers, and tiny carvings.

  The furniture was crafted from wood and softened with cushions. A low table stood at the center, surrounded by mismatched pillows. In one corner, her bed rested, woven from branches and layered with furs and soft blankets, with a canopy of vines and hanging flowers overhead.

  Near the middle of the sanctuary, a small hearth glowed faintly within a hollow of the tree. It was where Ivy brewed her teas, prepared simple meals, and warmed herself on chill nights.

  On the far side, a small balcony jutted out through a curtain of vines, offering a breathtaking view of the forest below. Flowers bloomed along its railing, and a wooden swing hung from a sturdy branch, swaying gently.

  For as long as Ivy could remember, her sanctuary and the forest that wrapped around it had been her entire world, but lately, something had begun to stir inside her. It was a quiet, persistent curiosity, especially now.

  So she found herself wondering what lay beyond the forest’s edge—what waited past the endless line of trees she had always called home. The feeling had only grown stronger since the recent disturbances. The forest no longer hummed with the same rhythm; something dark had taken root beneath the soil. The animals had grown restless, and the air was heavy with unease.

  Nirva had mentioned the nearby villages once, small settlements scattered just beyond the border. Rumors had drifted through the trees of sickness, unrest, and strange happenings that took place there, too. Ivy couldn’t ignore it anymore.

  “You’re lost in thought,” came Nirva’s voice from behind her.

  Ivy jumped, spinning around so quickly that her vision blurred for a moment. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she pressed a hand against her chest to steady its quick rhythm. “Nirva! You frightened me.”

  The druid stood in the doorway of the sanctuary, arms crossed, her head tilted slightly to the side. “Well?” she asked, her tone even. “What is it this time?”

  Ivy hesitated, glancing toward the forest beyond the balcony. Nirva wouldn’t understand, and she knew that. Nirva had been born in a village herself but had long since left it, choosing solitude. She seemed to prefer it for the most part, too.

  “It’s nothing,” Ivy murmured at last.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ivy,” Nirva said firmly, stepping further into the room. The floorboards creaked softly under her boots as she came to stand beside her. “What’s on your mind?”

  Ivy bit her lip before speaking. “It’s just … I’ve been thinking about leaving the forest for a little while.” Nirva’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Just for a day. I want to visit one of the villages. To see it for myself.”

  “Why?”

  Ivy gave a slight shrug, her gaze softening. “To explore, I suppose. To understand what’s happening beyond the trees.” Then, with a hopeful smile, she added, “Will you come with me?”

  Nirva looked at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. It was clear that the idea of heading to any village was the last thing she wanted, but still, she gave a quiet sigh and nodded once.

  “Of course.”

  ? ? ?

  As Ivy and Nirvanith drew closer to the village, the sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of amber and rose. The light stretched long across the fields, but even its warmth couldn’t hide the decay that had taken hold. The crops, once likely green and thriving, now stood withered and brittle, their leaves curled and dry. Ivy’s heart tightened at the sight, her brow furrowing.

  She could feel the forest’s pain echoing here—the same sickness and the same slow dying. She knew this was no simple blight. Something unnatural was spreading.

  Beside her, Nirvanith walked with her arms crossed, her cloak trailing lightly in the dust. Her sharp eyes swept across the fields and the horizon beyond, cautious and uneasy. There was tension in every step. Ivy knew Nirva had not been someone who trusted the world beyond the trees for a long time now.

  The village itself was small, little more than a cluster of stone houses with thatched roofs and narrow lanes winding between them. Smoke rose weakly from a few chimneys, and the streets were eerily still, too.

  Where there should have been children running through the lanes and the clatter of merchants at their stands, there was only silence. A few vendor stalls stood half-empty, their tables lined with wilted vegetables and worn cloth. The people who lingered there moved slowly. Their faces were pale and weary, and their eyes hollowed with worry.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “This is a waste of time, Ivy,” Nirva grumbled under her breath. “Blight is nature’s way of culling the weak. These people … they tamper with the land, take too much, and now they

  wonder why it fights back.”

  “But that’s all the more reason to help, isn’t it? If they’ve lost their balance with the land, maybe we can guide them back to it.” She reached out, lightly touching Nirvanith’s arm in reassurance. “Besides, I can’t ignore those who suffer—not when there’s a chance to help them.”

  Nirvanith sighed, casting a wary look at the villagers watching them from a distance. She tightened her cloak around her shoulders, her posture stiff and defensive as they step closer to the edge of the village.

  At last, as they neared the first of the houses, a group of children spotted them and paused mid-play, staring wide-eyed at the two strangers from the forest. The sight brought a faint warmth to Ivy’s heart. If there were still children with enough courage to laugh and play, no matter how quiet, even in times as dark as these, then surely the adults were strong enough to endure as well.

  One of the braver children, a boy with dirt-streaked cheeks and a missing front tooth, stepped forward, tugging on Ivy’s sleeve, eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Are you a witch?” he asked.

  Ivy knelt, smiling warmly, her gaze gentle as she met the boy’s eyes.

  “Not a witch, but close enough. I’m a friend of the forest, here to see if we can help your crops grow strong again.”

  The boy beamed, clearly captivated, and the other children began to gather around, asking questions about the forest, about the animals, about magic. Ivy answered each one patiently, sharing small, harmless bits of magic—a sprig of mint from her pouch, and a simple flower woven from leaves—to their delight. It was the first time Ivy had seen children so much like the youngling she herself had once been.

  Still, she noticed Nirva a few paces behind her, standing stiff. The druid’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. Ivy could almost hear the unspoken sigh in the way Nirva’s shoulders rose and fell.

  “We’re not here to entertain,” Nirva reminded her.

  Ivy only stepped away as a village elder approached, her face etched with worry.

  “You come from the forest, do you not?” the old woman asked, her voice trembling as she pointed a frail, shaking hand toward them. Her eyes, clouded with age and worry, flicked between Ivy and Nirvanith.

  Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but the woman continued before she could force a single word out, “Thank you for coming, nonetheless. We … we need help. Our crops have been dying for weeks, no matter what we try. Some say it’s a curse, others think it’s a punishment from the forest spirits.” She paused, wringing her hands together, her gaze darting toward the barren fields as though afraid they might be listening.

  “The people are frightened. They whisper that the forest is turning against us. Some even think it should be burned, to stop the spreading blight, but none of us has the heart to do it. It’s as though something has poisoned the soil itself. We want to know what’s happening, and how to make it right.”

  When she finally looked up again, her eyes met Nirvanith’s, and for a moment her voice faltered. For good reason, Ivy thought, since Nirva was glaring at the poor woman with a look sharp enough to cut stone. Ivy nudged her gently with an elbow in a silent plea for her to ease up before she scared the woman half to death.

  “We don’t know what we did to anger the forest, but … please. If there’s anything you can do …”

  Ivy placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The forest isn’t angry. It’s only lost its balance, like we all do from time to time. If you let us, we’ll do our best to restore harmony to your fields.”

  The elder nodded, her expression softening with relief, but Nirvanith cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with Ivy’s gentle diplomacy.

  “This is foolish. They brought this upon themselves. Helping them now only teaches them nothing,” she whispered in Ivy’s ear as she leaned over.

  Ivy met her words with a firm gaze. “Sometimes kindness is the best lesson, Nirva,” she whispered back, “and sometimes people need a second chance to find their way back.”

  Nirvanith let out a frustrated sigh, but still followed as Ivy was led to the blighted fields. The crops were dry and brittle, their stalks twisted and blackened as though some sickness had crept up from the roots and poisoned them from within. Ivy knelt in the dirt, her movements gentle. She pressed her fingers into the soil, letting the earth sift between them as she reached out—not just to touch, but to feel. She closed her eyes, sensing the forest’s pain lingering here, buried deep in the ground, and crying out for help.

  “Something has wounded you,” Ivy whispered to the soil, “something deep.”

  She lowered her hand further, pressing her palm against the cracked ground. The connection came to her slowly, weak and trembling. Images of roots starved of strength and trees struggling to draw life flickered in her mind. Ivy closed her eyes, steadying her breath as she reached out with her magic, not to command, but to listen. The ground cried not for vengeance, but for balance. After a long moment, she opened her eyes again. The villagers had gathered close, waiting for her to speak.

  “The land needs healing. It’s not a curse, but it’s suffering from the way it’s been taken from without giving back.”

  She pulled a small pouch from her belt, sprinkling crushed herbs and seeds into the soil as she whispered a quiet prayer to the earth, asking for forgiveness and renewal. One of the younger villagers, clearly intrigued, stepped forward, kneeling beside Ivy.

  “How can we help?” he asked. “We all want to help. Just tell us what to do.”

  Ivy looked at him, scooping a handful of the dry soil and letting it fall slowly through her fingers. “Mix ashes and herbs into the soil,” she explained. “Ash will feed what’s been starved, and the herbs will soothe the earth’s wounds. Work them in with care. Speak to the land as you tend it. Show it that you remember what it has given you.”

  “If you’re not careful, you’ll have these people worshiping you …” Nirva murmured behind her. Ivy stood up, dusting her hands and turning to the villagers.

  “Remember, the land will heal, but it needs time and care. Tend to it gently, and it will grow strong for you again. Give back to it, and it will give to you.”

  The villagers nodded, gratitude and relief filling their faces. As they turned to leave, the elder quickly approached.

  “Wait,” she said as she extended her hand, pressing a small pouch of herbs into Ivy’s hands—a humble gift, but one given with genuine thanks. Ivy accepted it with a smile, before she headed back home with Nirva by her side.

  A long silence stretched between them as they walked, until Nirva’s voice echoed to break it. “You know … they’re going to rely on you now. Expect you to fix their mistakes.”

  “Maybe. But they also learned something today. That’s enough for me.”

  Nirvanith shook her head, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re too soft, Ivy.”

  “Maybe,” she shrugged, “but even stone wears smooth over time.”