After a while, Maelin glanced at the sun-dial clock near the garden path. "I need to head to my next class," she said, squeezing Lira's hand. "But let's meet later. I want to hear more."
"Of course," Lira smiled. "Good luck."
With Fluffy dozing beneath a sunlit patch of ivy, Lira turned back to the greenhouse. The moment Maelin's footsteps faded, she began her rounds—tending to the plants, one by one, with care only she could offer.
Her fingers glided gently across broad leaves and delicate petals, her presence calm and grounded. With each plant, she sent a silent message of welcome and care. She could feel them responding—some shy and curling in, others bold and reaching toward her warmth.
Eventually, she stopped before the Skyweaver Orchid. The strange bloom, still tightly closed, pulsed faintly with a shimmer of deep silver-blue. Lira crouched slowly beside it.
"I'm glad I'm going to meet you," she whispered, fingers barely brushing the edge of its stem. "I'm excited."
A subtle hum stirred through the soil beneath her hand, as if the orchid acknowledged her words.
She stayed a moment longer, then continued her work, completing her rounds with quiet dedication.
When finished, she walked to the first greenhouse where Thara was carefully misting the leaves of a rare desert vine with amber-colored sap.
"Good morning again," Thara greeted, not looking up at first. "How are our precious arrivals?"
"All settled. Every one," Lira said, joining her. "And... something else. The Skyweaver Orchid... Murell says another fairy is going to be born soon. From one of the unopened blooms."
Thara's hands paused. She turned to Lira with wide, astonished eyes. "Truly?"
Lira nodded. "We'll need to be careful with care. Murell said the presence is already stirring."
Thara breathed out slowly, a sense of reverence falling over her. "That's rare... incredibly rare. I've read of it, but never witnessed it. And to share this with you—" She smiled warmly. "I think this is a gift, Lira. One we were both chosen for."
Lira smiled back, feeling the roots of something deeper take hold—not just with the plants, but with her teacher. A connection no one else in the academy could fully understand.
Together, they continued tending the greenhouse, surrounded by growth, life, and quiet magic only they could see.
After her time in the greenhouse with Thara, Lira made her way across the academy grounds toward the potion master's workshop. The scent of dried herbs and sweet smoke greeted her before she even opened the door. Inside, potion master Therin already had ingredients laid out—dried starfruit, powdered beetle shell, and curling leaves that shifted color under light.
They worked side by side in quiet rhythm. Therin said little, but nodded in approval each time she completed a step correctly. The potion shimmered in its cauldron when she was done, glowing faintly like dusk. "Precise," he finally said. "You've got a calm hand."
Lira smiled, proud. She cleaned her tools carefully, thanked him, and left as the sun began to dip lower.
Drawn by instinct, she turned back toward the greenhouses. As she approached the second one, she paused—something rustled near the border where the trees met the academy gardens. A flash of red-orange fur. The fox familiar. It sat in the grass, tail flicking slowly.
"Oh... right," Lira murmured to herself. "The grove. I need to check that soon."
The fox watched her in silence before turning and vanishing into the brush.
Lira stepped into the second greenhouse, pushing open the door gently.
"Murell—" she began, but was quickly cut off by the blur of wings and a familiar sharp voice blabbering in her face.
"Finally! You—orchid—pulsing—can't hold—it's stuck, the bloom is stuck—what are you waiting for—"
Lira blinked, unable to make out half of it, but she understood enough. Something was wrong with the orchid.
She moved quickly to the back section, past fern fronds and glowing mushroom clusters. There, at the center of a patch of moss, stood the Skyweaver Orchid.
The bloom was trembling faintly. Its outer petals shimmered like woven silver thread, slightly parted—but not opening. She could feel its strain, the effort to unfold, the life trapped inside trying to be born.
Kneeling, Lira placed both hands near its roots. She closed her eyes and reached inward, letting her awareness travel down into the soil.
It was thirsty—not for water, but for energy. The earth around it was too still. It needed a nudge, a flow.
Lira focused, breathing deep, and began releasing her power. Slowly at first, to test. A soft pulse passed from her palms into the roots. The leaves stirred.
Encouraged, she let more of her energy flow. Warmth moved through the soil, her power wrapping around the roots like a gentle stream. The orchid shimmered brighter.
Then, with a sudden sigh of release, the bloom opened.
Silken petals unfurled like wings. Light spilled from its center—and within it, curled in the heart of the blossom, was a tiny form. Translucent, glowing faintly, with miniature curled wings and hair like dew-touched silk.
A new fairy.
Lira watched, awed and still, as the little being took its first breath of air.
Behind her, Murell hovered in reverent silence.
The tiny fairy's wings shimmered as they stretched fully for the first time, delicate folds catching sunlight like silk soaked in stardust. She hovered in front of Lira, head held high, eyes the color of new dawn. With a small yet commanding breath, she spoke, her voice ringing like a soft bell echoing through crystal chambers.
"You may call me Regala Lysanthe of the Bloomed Veil. My full title is required in presence. It speaks of who I am."
Her tone left no room for questioning, and yet there was an innocent pride in her delivery—like a child wearing a crown too large, but born to wear it nonetheless.
Murell let out a long, dry sigh as she fluttered up beside them, arms crossed in midair.
"High fairies and their titles…" she muttered under her breath. "Always needing full introductions and golden spoons of nectar. I miss the moss fairies. They barely wanted names." She turned with a twitch of her wings and zipped off, grumbling something about polishing bark with her tears.
Regala Lysanthe did not flinch nor acknowledge the older fairy's exit. Her attention was fixed entirely on Lira. She circled her slowly, wings fluttering softly, eyes sharp.
"You carry the old root power," she observed aloud. "You touch life with intention. I command you—show me."
Before Lira could ask what she meant, the tiny figure darted through the air and landed on the edge of a large flowering plant—one with spiral-shaped leaves and dark velvet petals. Regala Lysanthe turned and raised one hand, gracefully pointing at the plant like a queen gesturing to a subject.
"This one," she declared.
Lira hesitated for a moment, glancing at the fairy, who watched her with wide, expectant eyes. It wasn't a threat—just... unshakable confidence. Lira stepped forward, knelt, and pressed her palms gently to the soil beneath the plant.
She closed her eyes. The warmth in her chest stirred. The roots beneath her fingers drank her energy eagerly, not in hunger but in joy. The leaves gave a slow, shivering rustle as if sighing, and the flower arched just slightly toward her, blooming more fully under her care.
Regala Lysanthe let out a pleased hum. "Good," she said. "You may tend the Orchid Court. The bloom allowed it."
The orchid—the same one from which she was born—quivered subtly in agreement. Lira opened her eyes, heart full. Somehow, the bond between them had deepened with that simple moment. She had been chosen.
Regala Lysanthe gave a long, fluttering yawn, placing the back of her tiny hand against her forehead with dramatic flair.
"I have done more than enough for one day," she announced. "Being born, meeting commoners, bestowing blessings… utterly exhausting."
With a graceful swoop, she floated back toward the heart of the orchid. The bloom, now open wide in welcome, seemed to glow softly with her return. She nestled between its silky inner petals, stretching once more.
Before disappearing, she added with a tiny flick of her fingers, "Do not bother me until the next sun. Sleep is sacred for royalty."
Then, with careful elegance, she gathered the surrounding petals with both arms, tugging them inward. The orchid responded like it knew what she needed, folding just enough to shelter her, leaving only a soft shimmer of fairy light visible through the narrow slit.
Lira couldn't help but smile—half in amusement, half in awe.
She quietly turned and stepped out of the greenhouse, her heart still warm from what she'd witnessed. Making her way toward the first greenhouse, she found Thara tending to a rack of sprouting vines. The herbalist turned as she approached, sensing her excitement.
Lira told her everything—the petals opening, the high fairy's arrival, her name, her attitude, and how the orchid responded. Thara's eyes sparkled with rare delight, and she reached out to squeeze Lira's hand.
"You were meant for this," Thara whispered. "The old growth answers you. And now… even high fairies do."
After helping Thara with a few small tasks, Lira finally stepped away, heading toward the edge of the Academy grounds.
The familiar gray fog clung to the trees like half-spoken secrets, soft and thick beyond the greenhouses. Beside her, Fluffy padded along, silent and watchful, his steps light on the earth.
Just before the fog thickened, a shape stirred within it. The rustle of leaves announced the fox—her quiet guide—waiting at the border. His amber eyes met Lira's, but then flicked briefly to Fluffy.
The two creatures held each other's gaze for a moment—no growls, no tension. Just a simple recognition. As if both knew their place by Lira's side. As if both carried a quiet promise to protect her, each in their own way.
With a faint flick of his tail, the fox turned and stepped into the mist.
Fluffy followed without hesitation, fluff high and confident, close by Lira's leg. And Lira stepped forward, her heart steady, her path unfolding with every footfall through the whispering fog.