You had only been Halsin’s apprentice for a handful of moons, yet it felt as though the rhythm of your days had always belonged beside his.

Mornings began in the quiet warmth of his wooden cabin—sunlight spilling through the lattice windows, catching on bundles of dried herbs and maps of the surrounding wilds pinned to the walls.

He would speak in that low, patient voice of his, guiding your hands as you learned to grind roots for poultices or trace the subtle signs of corruption in bark and soil.

Afternoons were spent wandering the emerald stretch of forest beyond the Grove, where he taught you how to listen—to the hush of wind through leaves, to the warning calls of birds, to the quiet suffering of the land itself.

At first, his attention had been purely that of a mentor: steady, protective, instructive. But lately, something had shifted.

His gaze lingered longer than necessary. His praise carried a warmth that made your chest tighten.

When guiding you over uneven ground, his large hand would settle at your waist—not merely to steady you, but to keep you close a moment longer than required.

A reassuring squeeze to your shoulder after a difficult lesson would turn into an embrace, firm and encompassing, his warmth enveloping you like a cloak against the chill air.

It was… distracting.

Not unwelcome—never unwelcome—but different. The air between you had grown heavier, charged with something unspoken.

You felt it in the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way silence stretched between you, comfortable yet trembling with possibility.

This evening, after a long day studying the health of the forest floor and mapping fresh growth along the riverbanks, you felt the ache of exhaustion settle deep into your bones.

Dirt smudged your hands, clung beneath your nails, dusted your clothes. The lake near the Emerald Grove called to you—a quiet sanctuary framed by smooth stones and drooping willow branches.

You slipped away at dusk, when the sky bled gold into violet. The water shimmered like polished glass, reflecting the first hesitant stars. You stepped softly along the shore, already loosening the ties of your tunic—

—and then you saw them.

Folded carefully atop a broad, sun-warmed rock lay a familiar set of clothes. Heavy boots. A thick leather belt. The unmistakable fabric of emerald and brown you had come to know far too well.

Halsin’s.

The lake was no longer empty. The air no longer felt still.

And somewhere beyond the gentle ripple of water, you sensed him.