He looked down at me, brushing a few stray strands of hair from my face before gently tucking the blanket around me again. “Let me worry about them,” he said softly. “You focus on your fever. Because at some point, I’m going to have you bedridden if you don’t.”

His attempt at humor earned a faint smile from me. He smiled back—warm, relieved—and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you,” he whispered, lingering there for a moment. “And I’m so happy you’re here, Rena.”

She waited years for this moment. For this reunion. And I am the one benefitting from it…

I yawned, sleep tugging me under again. “I love you too, Dad…”

“Rest now,” he murmured, smoothing the hair from my forehead one last time. “You’re safe. Finally home. That’s all that matters”

“I love you too, Dad…” I murmured, the weight of sleep pulling me down.

It sounds so natural saying it to him. I love you dad.

“Rest now,” he whispered, brushing a hand over my hair. “You’re safe. Finally home.”

“Can I have something sweet or sour when I get up?” I asked, my voice small and drowsy, almost like a child’s.

He chuckled softly, the tension in the room finally easing. “Why not?” he laughed. “We’ll see what the kitchen can come up with.”

I smiled faintly, already half-asleep. The last thing I felt was his hand resting protectively on my shoulder—steady and warm. I drifted back into sleep, the sound of my father’s laugh still echoing faintly in my ears.

When my eyes opened again, I was back at the cabin—sunlight spilling through the trees, dancing across the gentle ripples of the stream. I was ten years old again, splashing about, my laughter ringing through the air. Unaware, I didn’t notice my mother creeping up behind me until her arms scooped me off the ground.

“Guess who’s special day it is!” she squealed playfully.

I kicked and giggled, trying to wriggle free as she carried me over to a nearby tree. Etched into its bark were tiny flower carvings and neat dashes climbing upward like vines.

Mom set me down, rubbing her thumb lovingly over the lines. “How many years has it been?” she asked, her voice light and bubbly, her touch tracing each mark as if they were petals.

“It’s ten now!” I giggled, watching her pull out her small carving knife. She added another neat dash and a few delicate flowers beside it, humming softly to herself.

Then she reached behind her and revealed a crown made from twigs, flowers, and polished stones, the kind of treasure only a mother could craft. She placed it carefully on my head.

“Now,” she said, scooping me up and spinning me in her arms, “what a glorious day to celebrate—because we are celebrating you!”

She twirled and sang, her voice warm and bright, “Happy birthday, baby!”

But her foot caught on a root, and the two of us toppled together into a nearby bush, laughter exploding from both of us as the crown slid slightly askew

We untangled ourselves from the bush, still laughing, and made our way down the narrow path toward the heart of the woods. The air shimmered faintly, tinted by streaks of color filtering through the canopy.

And there it was—our tree.

A massive rainbow eucalyptus, its bark glowing with streaks of green, blue, orange, and violet. The trunk had been lovingly transformed into a sprawling wooden mural—flowers blooming in every hue, tiny carved animals peeking out from the roots, and small figures of people dancing near carved cottages and hills.

I could see years of stories told across its surface, layer by layer.

Mom brushed her hand over the newest carvings. “So,” she said with a grin, “what shall we stab into this tree today? Or do you want to do a solo project on your own birthday, baby?”

I crossed my arms, puffing my cheeks. “I’m not a baby,” I pouted.

She laughed, the sound as bright as the morning air.

“I think…” I started, tapping my chin dramatically, “I want to do a solo project. My own mural!” I declared, grinning from ear to ear.

Mom gasped in mock surprise, her eyes wide. “A solo artist! Well, I suppose it’s about time my little apprentice outgrows her teacher.” She handed me her small carving knife with a proud smile, the wooden handle warm and worn smooth from her hands

Mom’s carving knife felt big in my hand, but familiar—like it belonged there. I pressed the blade gently into the bark, the rainbow hues beneath shining through with every careful stroke.

First came dragonflies, their wings stretched wide, etched mid-flight. Then honeybees, tiny and precise, hovering near carved blossoms. I added migratory birds soaring high above, their wings almost touching the edges of other carvings—like they were flying across the years.

Vines began to curl naturally between the creatures, twisting and weaving as if they were leading me somewhere. I followed their rhythm, lost in it.

Then, without thinking, I started on something new. A chalkydri—its serpent tail coiling through clouds, six wings spread like ribbons of wind. Beside it, a lion stood proud and still, and a great serpent wound around its paws as if guarding them both. Petunias and zinnias bloomed between each figure, twirling together in perfect harmony—as if they were dancing to a song only the forest could hear.

When I finally stepped back, the air around us had shifted. The sky had deepened into gold and violet; fireflies blinked in the distance.

“Whoa…” Mom’s voice cracked slightly as she stared at the mural. “You’ve been hard at work, my little artist.”

I blinked, surprised to find my hands trembling, the knife still warm in my palm.

“You were so focused, I went and caught a squirrel. It’s almost done roasting—with some veggies and a nice fruit cake for you,” she said with a smile, but her eyes didn’t leave the tree.

“You like it?” I asked, my voice dry from hours of quiet concentration yet bubbling with excitement.

“Yes, sweetie… it’s—” she hesitated, her gaze softening with awe, “—it’s incredible. What inspired this?”

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip, eyes still fixed on the dancing carvings. “It just… felt right.”

I woke to the sound of my own panting. Every breath felt heavy and shallow. My skin burned, yet my body ached as though caught between fire and frost.

What the hell is going on? What is that loud high pitched sound? It's driving me mad. The heat burns my body like it's constantly being lit ablaze and snuffed out.

Through the blur of my vision, I caught sight of movement—Sabatian’s tall figure hovering near the door. He must have heard me struggling.

“My apologies, Princess,” he murmured, excusing himself as he moved swiftly to my side.

I tried to lift my head, but the effort only made it pound harder. The bed beneath me suddenly cooled, a wave of relief spreading through the fever’s blaze. My trembling slowed.

That's the stuff. That's what I needed, nice soothing. 

Sabatian leaned close, his expression calm but laced with worry. He pressed a new cold towel against my forehead, the fabric blessedly chilled.

“Forgive me,” he said softly as he tilted my chin and gently opened my mouth. The rim of a small vial touched my lips.

The liquid that poured in was bitter and earthy—Gabriel’s stabilizer water. I recognized it instantly. It clung thickly to my throat, like rice soaking up water, cooling and steadying my breath with each swallow.

This is the first time Gabriel's drink felt like magic. I can feel my whole body starting to relax with relief. Thank you Gabriel. 

“I’ve already notified the Duke,” Sabatian said as he set the vial aside. “He’s on his way.”

And almost on cue, the double doors burst open with a force that rattled the air

The doors slammed open, and my dad’s voice filled the room like thunder. “Move aside.”

Sabatian immediately stepped back, bowing low as dad rushed to my bedside. His presence brought a strange mix of comfort and command—the air itself seemed to bend around him.

I tried to speak, but my throat burned too much to form words. My breaths came in short, shallow pulls.

Dad removed the damp towel from my forehead, replacing it with his hand. His touch was firm, steady, and cool against my burning skin.

“I’m just going to take some pressure off of you,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Almost instantly, my nose cleared; the suffocating tightness in my chest eased.

It's like he is taking away some of the heat and pain. Is this why he told me to take it easy? I thought I was.

My voice wavered as I managed a faint whisper, “I know… this is why it takes four or more months to heal from an awakening?” I was supposed to be on bed rest.