Elira yawned for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon.

She was bored to death. Everyone told her to rest, but she’d already napped earlier—and now her body ached from lying down too long.

Raka hadn’t been seen since morning. Sena was off at the market. The children were busy weaving flower garlands.

So, Elira decided to walk to Elder Samara’s house. Maybe there’d be a book she hadn’t read yet.

“Elder?” Elira called softly as she reached the yard.

The wooden house looked empty, though herbs and vines sprawled across the long table where Samara usually prepared her mixtures.

Elira brushed the dust from a brown leather book lying there and sat down to wait.

The pages smelled of earth and rain. She lost herself in it—until faint voices drifted from behind the house.

Her name wasn’t mentioned, but one word caught her breath: Kamura.

She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but curiosity flared brighter than manners. She crept closer and pressed her ear to the wooden wall.

“Even after all these years of peace, we can’t be careless,” said a deep, steady voice.

Kael.
Of course it was Kael—the only man cold enough to rival Raka.

Another voice answered, softer but firm. “You’re overreacting, Kael. Everyone deserves to enjoy tomorrow’s festival.”

Samara.

Elira’s heart thumped. Why were all the elders and important men gathered secretly at Samara’s house to talk about the Festival?

“I’ll place guards near the forest,” Kael insisted.

“Enough,” came a third voice—calm and commanding. Elder Rillus, if Elira guessed right. “Put a few men near the square instead. The forest can wait. We know they won’t do anything. Even if they wanted to… they couldn’t.”

They?

Elira frowned. Who were they talking about? Kamura? But the villages have been peaceful for years…

Her head filled with questions she didn’t have the courage to ask.

And just as she leaned closer, footsteps approached from behind.

Panicked, Elira grabbed the book and positioned herself by the door as if she’d just arrived.

“Elder Samara!” she called brightly, knocking. “It’s me, Elira!”

The elders emerged from the side path, faces solemn.

“Oh! Father?” she gasped, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

Baran looked at her flatly, trying—and failing—to hide his surprise.
“We’re discussing the festival,” he said slowly. “Why aren’t you resting at home?”

Elira pouted. “I’ve been resting all day! I’m bored! Elder Samara, do you have a book I can read? Or maybe herbs to grind?”

She waved the book she’d grabbed earlier, pretending to have just found it. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared Kael could hear.

“Can I read this one?” she asked, smiling too widely. “Please?”

Thankfully, Samara stepped forward with her kind, knowing smile.
“Of course, dear. Sit here while I walk the elders out.”

Through the corner of her eye, Elira saw Kael glaring at her, muttering something that sounded like a disapproving sigh.

Maybe he really thought she was just some spoiled girl who gave Baran headaches.

Well… fine. She’d rather be a spoiled girl than someone who acted like an ice statue.

She tried reading, but her eyes didn’t follow the words. Her ears stayed tuned to the murmurs outside until the elders’ voices faded down the path.

When Samara returned, her smile had softened back into warmth.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.

Elira nodded and closed the book. “I just wanted some company. Everyone else is busy except me.”

“Then help me cut these herbs,” Samara said.

Elira brightened immediately. “Gladly!”

They worked side by side at the wooden table. The scent of fresh leaves filled the air.

“This one,” Samara said, slicing gently, “you put on the forehead to reduce fever—but make sure to wash off the sap first.”

Elira nodded, carefully mimicking her movements.

After a while, Samara spoke again. “Elira, maybe it’s time you learned about village affairs too. You’re nearly of age now. Use your time wisely.”

Elira looked down at the herb in her hand. “Do I have to take Father’s place someday? I’m not sure I can lead Ashira. I’d only ruin his name.”

Samara smiled softly. “You can’t fight time, child. Young leaves must grow as the old ones fall, or the tree itself will wither.”

Elira wrinkled her nose. “But there’s still Raka. I could be a great healer and help him instead.”

Samara chuckled under her breath. “Didn’t I tell you not to rely too much on Raka? You two won’t stay side by side forever. You’ll marry someday—and so will he—unless—”

“Elder!” Elira squeaked, cutting her off. “Before the year ends, I’ll still be your apprentice. Father can keep the village all to himself!”

Samara laughed quietly. She helped Elira trim the last stems, eyes glimmering with affection.
“I just want you to grow into a strong woman,” she said. “So whatever happens—with or without Raka—you’ll be able to face it. Ashira needs your heart as much as your hands.”

Elira raised her head, studying the elder’s face. Samara was always chatty, but today there was something different in her tone—something that felt like a warning.

“Elder,” Elira whispered, “do we even deserve to celebrate the festival tomorrow?”

Samara blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Bread. Grapes. Wheat,” Elira murmured, her throat tightening. “While I dance with a full belly, maybe somewhere out there a child’s searching for firewood to survive the night. Maybe there’s a child who’s never even tasted bread.”

Samara froze mid-motion, setting down her bowl. “What are you talking about, dear?”

Elira blinked fast, realizing she’d said too much. She wasn’t supposed to mention the starving boy she’d seen.

“Oh—it’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just nervous about the dance, I guess.”

But Samara knew her too well. The old woman gently placed her hands on Elira’s shoulders.

“My dear,” she said, “the world doesn’t revolve around Ashira. There are things we can’t see, can’t fix. Your kind heart is a blessing—but also a burden.”

Elira wiped the corner of her eye before a tear could escape.

“Your dance may not save the whole world,” Samara continued, “but it breathes life into this village. Ashira may not be as good as you think—but still, it’s your home. Everyone you love is here. Protect it. If you can’t change another village’s fate, at least change Ashira’s heart. Be a leader who feels.”

Elira’s eyes shimmered. Tears spilled quietly down her cheeks—but for once, she didn’t feel weak. She felt warm. Lighter.

She leaned forward and hugged Samara tight, releasing the weight she’d carried for days.

“Don’t ruin that pretty face with too much crying,” Samara whispered. “After tomorrow, half the village boys will be lining up to talk to you. Be careful, don’t choose someone just because he’s handsome.”

Elira sniffed, pouting. “I don’t want any of them. If Father ever gets mad and throws me out, I’ll live here with you!”

“Or next door,” Samara teased. “I hear Raka’s good at keeping a house.”

“Elder!” Elira pulled back, cheeks red. “No way! Raka’s annoying! He always teases me!”

Samara laughed, pinching her cheek. At least the girl was smiling again.

And for now, that was enough.