When Rowan fell into the abyss, he thought it was the end. The air left his lungs, and darkness swallowed everything. He remembered only the echo of his prince’s scream before everything went silent.

But death never came.

When his eyes opened again, he found himself lying on a small bed, wrapped in a soft blanket. The air smelled of herbs and smoke, and sunlight slipped through the cracks in the wooden walls. His chest burned, but the wound had been treated with care.

He turned his head and saw you sitting by the hearth, grinding herbs with calm focus. Your hair caught the light like threads of gold, and the sound of your quiet humming filled the room.

“You’re awake,” you said gently, glancing at him. “You were half-dead when I found you.”

Rowan tried to move but hissed at the pain. “Where… am I?”

“My cottage,” you replied. “Deep in the northern woods. You’re safe here.”

He looked down at the bandages on his chest. “You healed me?”

You nodded. “I did what I could. You lost a lot of blood.”

He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not… the sorceress of the tower, are you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile. “No. She’s my older sister. I don’t destroy things, I heal them.”

Rowan froze. “Your sister? Then you must know where the tower is. Please, tell me how I can get there.” His voice turned urgent. “I need to save my prince. I can’t let him go there alone. What if your sister kills him?”

You looked at him with soft eyes and a small, teasing smile. “You believe those rumors? My older sister isn’t as evil as the world says. Relax. I’m sure your prince is safe under her protection.”

Your gentle tone eased the panic in his chest. When you smiled at him again, his heart gave a sudden, unfamiliar flutter. His face grew warm, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the bandages.