Haruki Ashveil woke up to the soft rustle of wind chimes, the scent of dew-soaked thyme, and something very large and feathery sitting on his chest.
He blinked.
It blinked back.
The creature resembled an owl—but only vaguely. Its ears were long and floppy, like a rabbit's, and its talons were currently clutching the hem of Haruki's nightshirt.
"…Are you the welcome committee?" he asked groggily.
The creature dropped a scroll onto his face and hooted indignantly before fluttering out the window in a cloud of glittering pollen.
Haruki sighed, sat up, and read:
To the New Herbalist,You are hereby invited (expected) to afternoon tea at the Mistral Hollow Town Square. Bring something sweet or weird or both. No pressure. Also bring your face. We want to see it.— Mokuri Totonoa, Mushroom Witch (self-proclaimed)
"…This feels like a trap," he muttered—but the thought of tea and social obligation gnawed at him until he got up.
The morning was spent cleaning up after the owl-rabbit thing, whom he later learned was named Nuffin, and brewing several jars of calming tea. He found a tattered cookbook wedged between floorboards titled Recipes for When You've Lost Your Sanity and used the "Crisis Blackberry Tart" recipe, which involved real berries and imaginary hope.
By early afternoon, he set off with a basket of tarts and herbs, dressed in plain earth-toned clothes and a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off.
The town square shimmered in the sun, its cobblestones uneven and its decorations delightfully mismatched. Banners fluttered between trees, and wind-chimes of bone, crystal, and shell sang strange songs.
"Over here, newcomer!" called a voice like wind chimes tangled in a giggle.
Haruki turned—and nearly dropped his basket.
A petite figure in a mushroom-patterned cloak bounded over. Her wide hat bobbed as she moved, and her cheeks were smeared with soot and powdered sugar.
"You must be Haruki!" she exclaimed. "I'm Mokuri Totonoa. The Mushroom Witch."
Haruki gave a cautious bow. "Pleasure to meet you. You sent the... owl?"
"Nuffin? Oh, he's technically an accident. Don't worry, he only bites when he's nervous."
"…Charming."
Mokuri grinned. "Come! We saved you a seat. It's not cursed this time."
She dragged him to a crooked table beneath the gazebo, where villagers had gathered in strange and colorful clusters. A tall elven woman sat nearby, cross-legged on a blanket, sipping tea as she flipped through a pastel-colored book.
Her long white hair was braided with pressed flowers, and her robes shimmered faintly in the sunlight. She glanced up, her expression calm and reserved—eyes like twilight, voice like silk soaked in quiet confidence.
"Yuvaria Elenthel," she introduced herself with a bow of her head. "Librarian. Welcome."
"Haruki," he replied. "New herbalist."
Yuvaria's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, assessing. She gave him a gentle nod. "You seem tired... but perhaps this place will suit you."
Shortly after, Mokuri dragged Haruki through a meandering introduction to half the village—many of whom were busy doing things like arguing with magically sentient carrots or trying to charm their teapots into heating themselves.
Then, like a painting unveiling itself, a soft breeze carried the scent of lilies and sunlight through the square.
Haruki turned instinctively toward the scent.
He froze.
In the center of a small garden display that seemed to have bloomed just for the moment, a tall figure stood among flowers arranged in dreamy spirals of lavender, ivory, and sky-blue. Petals floated lazily around the head as if caught in a lazy breeze, and eyes—gentle and deep as spring—met Haruki's with polite curiosity.
Hair like soft moonlight swayed around the shoulders. The robe was embroidered with delicate vines and blossoms.
"I'm Rincael Fleurant," Rincael said in a voice that sounded like it belonged in a love poem. "Florist."
Haruki blinked. "Nice to meet you."
Rincael extended a sachet toward him—lavender and citrus. "For clarity of mind."
Haruki reached out and accepted it. Their fingers brushed briefly. Something sparked, like pollen drifting on a summer breeze.
Yuvaria, still seated nearby, sipped her tea slowly and smiled to herself.
Ah...This could be something, perhaps.The way he stared. The slight pause. The blush—not quite, but almost. And Rincael...They'll never realize it, of course. But still.How quaint.
She returned to her book, turning a page with deliberate grace, pretending not to notice the unspoken spark in the flower-tinted air.
The afternoon passed in a strange rhythm of conversation, laughter, and baked goods. Villagers trickled in and out of the square, some stopping to say hello, others offering Haruki baskets of vegetables or unsolicited advice.
One elderly woman handed him a root shaped like a screaming face. "For toothaches," she said solemnly.
Mayor Wendel stopped by long enough to eat three tarts and leave without saying a word.
Mokuri at one point tried to summon a cup of tea from across the table and instead summoned a toad wearing a monocle. The toad seemed deeply offended.
By late afternoon, Haruki found himself sitting alone on the gazebo steps, sipping nettle tea while watching the clouds drift overhead. Mistral Hollow, he realized, wasn't just odd—it was oddly kind.
"You look like you're thinking too hard," came a voice beside him.
He looked up. Yuvaria sat beside him, her posture elegant even in repose, tea cupped delicately in her hands.
"I usually am," he admitted.
"You're not used to this kind of quiet, are you?"
"No," he said. "It feels dangerous. Like I'll relax, and something will explode."
"That's only if Mokuri's cooking," she replied with a faint smile.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while.
"This village," Yuvaria finally said, "has a way of peeling things off people. The masks. The regrets. Even the names we carried before we arrived."
Haruki glanced at his hands. Faint marks—old runes, long faded—still lingered like scars.
"Do you ever get the feeling," he asked quietly, "that you've done too much to ever really rest?"
Yuvaria looked into the fading sky.
"I think... that's why this place exists," she said. "For people who forgot how to rest. Or believe they don't deserve to."
He wasn't sure whether to thank her or run.
That evening, Haruki returned to the cottage with a warm belly and a tired smile. The garden felt softer, quieter. Even the angry mint had calmed down. The bees buzzed more lazily, as if they'd overheard something gentle.
He stood for a moment beneath the twilight sky, gazing toward the misty path where the woman had vanished the night before.
"She's still here," he whispered again. "Somewhere."
He didn't know why it mattered.
But something in him stirred—a memory, a heartbeat, a wish not yet spoken aloud.
Far beyond the trees, hidden beneath layers of charm and shadow, Lira Renhilde Astaris watched through a veil of bee-laced magic.
Her fingers toyed with a vial of moon nectar. Her eyes, glowing faintly gold, narrowed in thought.
"A thousand lives," she murmured. "And he still hasn't changed."
Then, with a flutter of her cloak, she turned back into the woods—where destiny, or something quieter, waited to unfold.