As they walked, the ground began to shift, though almost imperceptibly at first. Patches of moss crept up the sides of trunks, reddish and dry-looking, then turned richer, more copper-toned. Roots dipped and rose like ancient veins. The light had changed too, filtered now through leaves and a thinning canopy.

  Before long, they came upon a shallow stream. The water trickled across smooth stones, gentle, yet persistent. Tiny yellow fish darted just below the surface. Their bodies were long, but nimble, curling and twisting as they chased the current.

  Dio stood watching them, hands on his knees. He didn’t move for a while.

  “It’s really beautiful here,” he said finally, voice low. “Thank you. For bringing me.”

  Brela gave a sweeping, overly theatrical bow, then straightened and beamed at him. “Thank you. I wasn’t kidding earlier - I indeed usually come here alone. I’d forgotten how different it feels, when someone walks beside me on my adventures.”

  Dio hesitated, then added, “And... the other thing? The... thing you do not remember? Any progress?”

  He hadn’t been sure how to bring it up, but once it was out, he didn’t regret it. Brela flinched her eyes widened for a moment, then she brushed a green strand from her face and nodded. Her posture shifted, a subtle withdrawal.

  “Yeah... about that...” Her voice was quieter. “I still don’t know what I should remember.”

  “I see” Dio said, letting out a short laugh, more from uncertainty than humor. “That’s... unfortunate.”

  Brela gave him a halfhearted shove. “Ah, does not matter that much now, does it?,” she muttered, frowning.

  She looked away then, eyes scanning the trees, the widening stream, as her shoulders tensed.

  “If only my thoughts were like that water. Clear. Flowing.” She sighed, deeply. “But no. Everything’s fogged. Like I’m reaching through mist, trying to get something back that keeps slipping away.”

  Dio walked a little ahead, then slowed again, picking his words carefully. “If I had to guess - and I mean, a real guess - I’d say it’s connected to this place. To the forest. And... the circle. So what here is round? What are you hoping to find?”

  Brela let out a dry laugh, but there was something hollow beneath it. “If I knew that,” she said, “I wouldn’t be asking you, would I? Goofball.”

  “I’m serious, Brela.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “So far, it’s always been the same. The circle connects to something important for everyone. Something real. And you - you clearly love this forest. Maybe it’s not just this one. Maybe it’s the whole idea of nature. You wear flowers in your hair like they grew there. They’re not decoration. They belong to you!”

  She froze for a brief moment, then slowly sank onto a moss-covered rock where it leaned into the stream, her back to him, her hands touching the flowers in her hair. The light danced over her neck. Then, Brela slipped off her cork sandals and lowered her feet into the cool water, letting it lap at her skin.

  The droplets shimmered faintly as they clung to her ankles, catching light where it broke through the leaves. She didn’t speak right away, but kept moving her feet through the water.

  “You’re right, I think,” she said at last, voice distant. “I love it here. The green. The animals. The quiet. Even the strange things... Especially the strange things! I come back to them like... like I’m visiting old friends. It’s like this whole place... pulls at me. Like when something falls, and you can’t stop it. It has to reach the ground.”

  She turned to look at him, something raw flickering in her eyes.

  “Dio, I never wanted to leave Daw.”

  The words came out slowly. They sounded like something she hadn’t dared admit even to herself before.

  “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

  Brela hesitated, then exhaled slowly.

  “I told you before, didn't I? The people I walked these woods with before... All of them left eventually. One by one. They always said the same thing, though the words changed. They felt something... out there. A flicker of light. A familiar voice. A shadow that felt like a friend. Something that pulled them forward. Pulled them away. They couldn’t stay.”

  “They were... more lucid than the others in Daw?”

  She nodded. “We shared that, I think. That sense of knowing more. Of having a sense of clarity. But while they left... I stayed.”

  She pondered on something for a moment, then continued.

  “I stayed. I just wanted to be out here... in the wild. I’d collect things, bring them back to the others so they would see the forest the way I see it. To not only live in their day to day lifes. Sometimes apples or parnins, sometimes blueberries, or jach herb or…flowers...oh, Dio, they loved the flowers. They still have them, all of them...”

  Her voice trailed off, but her eyes caught fire as if something deep inside had sparked. The dark hue of her skin seemed to catch the light in a way that made it shimmer faintly, and for a second Dio could’ve sworn it really was glowing. Maybe it was only the sunlight. Maybe not. But either way, he couldn’t look away. There was something in her voice that felt utterly real, but something unsaid also lingered around her and Dio had to take his attention away from it as it made him feel uneasy, almost blind.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Then she laughed. Loud and bright.

  “That’s it!” she cried, and her voice rang so clearly across the clearing that all the nearby fish darted for cover, vanishing into the streambed in a scatter of golden flashes.

  Dio blinked, caught off guard.

  “What’s it?”

  “The berries!” she said, eyes wide, voice breathless. “I think... yes. It was the berries! Strange ones! They were silvery, almost transparent. And inside them, I remember this light… pulsing, green, like something alive. Like they were breathing. I can see them again in my mind. I’m remembering them!”

  She was so excited she almost fell of the rock, staring off into the trees, into nothing, or into a memory so sharp it eclipsed everything else.

  Dio watched her quietly, and something in her mood made him feel... lighter. As if whatever was blooming inside her had somehow reached him too.

  “And what do you think they mean?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

  “Mean? I have no idea!” she laughed again, shaking her head. “But I have to find them! That I know.”

  She looked at him directly now. There was only resolve in her eyes - no hesitation, no doubt. She nodded once, got up and started walking again.

  They moved through a patch of ground where the leaves were thick and soft beneath their feet. All around them, droplet-shaped bushes swayed gently in the breeze, making a sound like distant whispers. Somewhere above, a pattern of chirps echoed down through the branches. Not crickets, though similar. More melodic. The sounds had a warmth to them, an odd comfort. Like everything around them. Dio looked at Brela and it seemed that she herself was still glowing faintly. The light in his mind that symbolised their connection had grown more distinct, more beautiful and a lot stronger. He could not help himself but smile.

  “You really think you need to find those berries?” Dio asked after a while.

  He suddenly hesitated. Part of him didn’t want to break the mood. Her energy was so rare, so full! He hated the thought of dulling it.

  “I don’t know why exactly,” she said, brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes as she scanned the undergrowth. “But maybe I can use them... maybe to make a really good healing paste. Or juice? I just know they’ll be useful.”

  Her eyes didn’t stop moving, flicking from branch to root, as though the berries could appear at any moment.

  “You make healing paste?” Dio asked, pausing. “And it actually works? I think someone might have mentioned that before...”

  “Of course it works! she said, making a pouty face. “It’s helped with all kinds of things in the village. Cuts. Bruises. Smashed fingers. Sometimes hunters too, when they get too close to a beast’s claws. Happens more often than you’d think, by the way. Helsat and Erta are mostly careful, but that damn Hoto...”

  She shook her head, but laughed, waving at him to keep up with her. Dio hastily followed, stepping over a root and brushing aside a loose tangle of leaves.

  “And the paste helps? Or the juice?”

  It felt strange to ask. Something about the term healing paste felt distant to him. Maybe he had never needed to think about things like this before?

  “Of course!” she said proudly. “Once, I even stopped Pars from waking! That was probably the most important thing I’ve done for Daw and everyone in it.”

  “Really?” Dio perked up. “Tell me.”

  She tapped the leaf pouch tied to her vine belt, gave him a sly, exaggerated grin.

  “I keep my best paste in here now. Since that day. Always.” Her smile faded just a little. “Pars had collapsed. They carried him to me, fast. Lucky I wasn’t out wandering. I was working in my garden. They laid him down right beside my cerulians. His shirt was torn open. There was blood... a lot of it. I saw the wound and I smelled... the rot, already setting in.”

  She stopped walking. Her lips pressed into a thin line, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on.

  “That’s awful,” Dio said softly. “You must’ve been completely overwhelmed...?”

  He reached out, rested a hand gently on her back. Brela shook her head.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “It didn’t feel like fear. I just... moved. I did what needed to be done. I mixed the paste. Applied it. The bleeding stopped right away. The wound sealed within minutes.”

  She let her hand rest briefly on the pouch at her side.

  “Since then, I always keep some with me. Just in case.”

  A wound, healed just by pressing a bit of paste against it? The thought still didn’t sit right with Dio. It sounded too easy. Too much like something from a story. If Brela hadn’t struck him as one of the most honest people he’d met in this place, he might have doubted her. Might have laughed. But the quiet pride in her posture, the warmth behind her words - those weren’t things anyone could fake.

  “How do you make them?” he asked, suddenly drawn forward by a familiar pull. “The pastes. The juices. How does it work?”

  “Well…” Brela drew out the word like it was heavier than she expected. “I crush the berries. Use a mortar and pestle. Sometimes I add water. Or honey. Or parlum, if I want it to taste better. It’s really simple. Now that I say it aloud… I guess anyone could do it.”

  There was a faint drop in her shoulders as she said it. As if, for just a second, the thing that had lit her up earlier had dimmed.

  “No,” Dio said, shaking his head gently, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

  She blinked at him. “No?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.” He paused, trying to phrase it better. “Not how you do it with your hands. What happens inside you? When you make it?”

  Images of flour and fire flickered in his memory. Heat, rising dough, that quiet moment when the loaf took shape. And memories of joy.

  Brela lowered herself onto a crooked log half-swallowed by reddish moss, and Dio sat down beside her. For a while, she didn’t say anything. Then she began to speak - not carefully, but openly, as though trying to understand herself as she went. Her hands moved as she talked, tracing vague outlines in the air.

  “It’s hard,” she said. “Hard to put in words. There’s this energy in me. A kind of drive. I want to fix people. Heal them. To keep them with me. I want them to stay. I want to give them something that helps them stay. Here. Alive. Happy. Whole. The paste… it’s like a new breath I give them. Like heartbeats I press into their skin. Strength I plant, like seeds, hoping it’ll take root and grow. Grow into something strong enough to keep them here. To help them bloom again… Yes, yes... That’s what the berries are for! That’s what I try to turn them into!”

  She stopped and laughed, sudden and bright. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  There was warmth in Brela's embrace, real, grounding warmth. Her scent was familiar now, like fresh leaves and morning sunlight on damp bark. Dio noticed heat rising in his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away.

  “I’m glad we walked this path today,” she said, voice soft against his shoulder. “Here, now. You’re the first person in a long time who feels like they’re with me. Not just next to me. With me. Thank you! I don’t think anyone’s ever listened to me like this. Or helped me think more clearly.”

  Dio looked down, cheeks warm, unsure where to rest his eyes.

  “I’m glad I did,” he said after a moment. “It’s fascinating. What you do. And you have a kind heart, Brela. That’s rare.”

  She leaned back, just enough to look at him. Her gaze was clear.

  “Dio,” she said, “I think you’re the first real friend I’ve made here. A true friend. The others I walked with before… they were nice. Always willing to talk. But there was always something distant. Like a fog between us. I’ve wondered ever since whether it was around them… or around me.”