Lydia quickly finished her tea, then stared at the empty cup as if it had personally betrayed her.

  There was no sink in sight, no counter cluttered with dishes — just shelves, herbs, and that ever-burning fire.

  “Where… does one put a cup here?” she whispered to herself.

  She waited a beat, hoping the cat would meow some divine instruction. It didn’t.

  Finally, she placed the cup carefully back on the table and whispered a tiny, “Sorry,” to no one in particular before heading out the door.

  Outside, Maera was already halfway down the path that curved into the forest, basket on one arm and walking stick in hand.

  “Come along, Lydia! Best light of the day doesn’t last long.”

  Lydia jogged to catch up, nearly tripping on a root.

  “I, uh, didn’t realize plant hunting was time-sensitive.”

  “It is if you don’t want the bugs to get there first.” Maera’s grin flashed over her shoulder. “You learn quick enough once your first batch of herbs comes home half-chewed.”

  Lydia swallowed whatever reply she had and just followed.

  The forest looked different in daylight — brighter, alive, almost… watching. The trees stretched high above, their leaves edged with a faint bluish shimmer. Threads of light floated lazily in the air, tiny specks she’d mistaken for dust last night.

  She reached out instinctively to touch one. It drifted closer, glowing faintly against her fingertips before fading away.

  “Don’t breathe too close to them,” Maera warned. “They’re pollen is high in mana. You’ll get dizzy.”

  Lydia quickly lowered her hand. “Right. No touching glowing things. Got it.”

  Maera stopped beside a patch of low-growing plants with serrated leaves and purple veins. She crouched down and ran a thumb along one stem. “See this? Sorrowleaf. Good for fevers, bad for cuts. The sap numbs pain, but it’ll rot healthy skin if you leave it on too long.”

  Lydia crouched beside her, nodding like she understood. “Uh-huh. So… good plant, bad attitude.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Maera plucked a few stems and tucked them into her basket. “Most things touched by mana get temperamental. Adapt too fast, lose their sense of balance. Like people, really.”

  Lydia didn’t comment. She wasn’t sure if that last part was a joke.

  They continued deeper into the forest, stopping now and then whenever Maera pointed out another specimen — a berry that pulsed faintly with light, a mushroom that squeaked when picked (“Don’t ask, just accept it,” Maera said), a vine that recoiled when brushed.

  Lydia mostly kept quiet, her answers short and uncertain. The sound of their steps mingled with birdsong and the soft crackle of leaves underfoot. For all the strangeness, it was… peaceful.

  Maera occasionally glanced back to make sure Lydia was still following. “You’re quiet today.”

  “I’m… processing,” Lydia admitted. “Yesterday I had an anxiety attack over a class presentation. Today I’m learning which plants scream.”

  Maera chuckled. “Adaptability. That’s what’ll keep you alive here.”

  “Right. Adaptability,” Lydia echoed. “And probably running away very fast.”

  They reached a clearing where sunlight spilled freely through the canopy. Wildflowers shimmered faintly in the light, petals catching glimmers of blue and gold. In the center, a small spring bubbled, clear and impossibly still at the same time.

  Maera knelt beside it, dipping her fingers into the water. “Mana runs strong through here. The land’s full of it ever since that star fell from the north. You can feel it, can’t you?”

  Lydia hesitated, crouching to look. The air above the water rippled faintly, like heat over pavement. She felt something — a gentle hum beneath her skin, faint and steady, like the pulse of the world itself.

  “I… think so,” she said softly. “It’s warm.”

  “That’s good,” Maera replied. “Means you’re sensitive. You’d be surprised how many can’t feel it at all.”

  “Is that… rare?”

  “Used to be. Now?” Maera’s eyes flicked toward the sky, thoughtful. “More and more are awakening. Some can’t handle it. The body’s not made for sudden floods of power.”

  Lydia frowned. “Like… mana poisoning?”

  Maera’s head snapped toward her. “Who told you that?”

  “N-no one!” Lydia stammered. “I just—uh—guessed? Sounds like something out of a fantasy game.”

  Maera studied her for a long moment, then relaxed with a quiet hum. “You’ve got sharp instincts, then. Let’s hope they keep you alive.”

  Alive. The word echoed in Lydia’s head a little too long.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She forced a small smile. “No pressure.”

  Maera stood and motioned for her to follow again. “Come. If you’re going to stay under my roof, you’ll earn your meals. You can start by learning which weeds not to die from.”

  Lydia blinked. “That’s… fair?”

  “Good answer.” Maera smirked. “You’ll fit in fine.”

  Lydia wandered a few paces behind Maera, her eyes drawn to every shimmer in the air. Threads of pale light danced lazily through the forest like drifting fireflies. She wondered what it must be like to live here and not see it — to walk through the woods blind to the rivers of mana weaving between the trees.

  For her, it was impossible not to notice. The light was everywhere — pulsing faintly in the bark, curling through the grass, gathering around stones like tiny constellations. It felt both beautiful and wrong, as though she were looking at the bones of the world when no one else could.

  The way Maera had spoken about mana sensitivity lingered in her mind.

  Wasn’t adapting to mana supposed to be good?

  Yet Maera’s tone had been… wary. Protective, even. And that reaction — so quick, so sharp when she’d mentioned mana poisoning — it didn’t feel like something rare. It felt like something people didn’t talk about.

  She frowned, lost in thought, until her foot caught on a gnarled root half-buried in the dirt.

  “Oh—!”

  She stumbled forward, barely catching herself — and froze as something moved.

  A patch of tall grass just ahead quivered, then shifted, parting to reveal what she thought at first was a cluster of flowers. But the petals were too sharp, too rigid — and the smell hit her a moment later, sweet and metallic, like rusted sugar.

  Before she could blink, the cat was in front of her.

  One moment it was a house pet; the next it was a blur of fur and muscle, much larger than before, its back arched and eyes glowing faintly gold. It hissed, tail puffed, fur bristling like static.

  Lydia’s breath hitched. “Oh dear gods, this is it. This is when I die.”

  The “flowers” opened — revealing rows of thin, translucent teeth. The plant lurched, vines snapping forward like snakes.

  The cat yowled and swiped, knocking the first vine aside — but there were more, curling, reaching, snapping toward Lydia’s legs.

  She screamed, stumbling backward, but before the vines could close around her—

  “Step aside!”

  Maera’s voice cut through the chaos like thunder.

  A rush of wind followed, scattering loose leaves into a small cyclone. Maera stood several paces away, palm extended. From her fingertips burst a cloud of pale green sparks that streaked through the air and struck the plant dead center.

  The air shuddered. The vines twitched once, twice—then shriveled, curling in on themselves as if burned from the inside out.

  When the forest fell silent again, Lydia realized she was still crouched on the ground, the cat’s fur pressed against her arm like a shield. Its tail twitched once, then it shrank back to its normal size, padding away with a flick of its ears as if nothing had happened.

  Maera exhaled through her nose, lowering her hand.

  “Foolish child,” she said, voice sharp but not unkind. “Didn’t I tell you plants adapt quickly to mana?”

  Lydia opened her mouth, but only managed a weak, “That one tried to eat me.”

  “It would have succeeded if not for Hest,” Maera muttered, nodding toward the cat. “She has better sense than you, apparently.”

  Lydia frowned. “In my defense, I didn’t expect the local shrubbery to be carnivorous.”

  “That one wasn’t born that way,” Maera said, crouching beside the now-withered plant. “Used to be a harmless bloom — used for salves, even. Then the mana veins underneath shifted, and the poor thing overfed.”

  She glanced at Lydia, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lucky it only wanted a taste.”

  Lydia followed her gaze to the dead plant and shuddered. “This place is insane.”

  Maera gave a dry hum. “The land has a will of its own. The trick is learning when to listen and when to run.”

  Lydia stayed silent, staring at the faint shimmer still hanging in the air where the spell had burned. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw it respond to her — tiny motes of light drifting closer, like dust drawn toward warmth.

  Then she blinked, and they were gone.

  Maera brushed the dirt from her hands and stood, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “Come on. We should head back before you find another ‘curious flower.’”

  Lydia managed a sheepish nod and followed, careful to keep her steps light this time. Hest — the not-so-normal cat — trailed alongside, its tail flicking like a metronome.

  They walked in silence for a while, the air humming softly with the sound of insects and leaves. The sun filtered through the canopy above, scattering silver light on the moss-covered ground. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful again.

  Lydia finally spoke, her voice hesitant. “So… everything here can just… mutate? From mana?”

  “Adapt,” Maera corrected. “But yes. Mana changes things. Plants, animals… even people, if they take in too much.”

  Lydia swallowed, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag. “And people just… live with that?”

  “In small doses, mana sustains life,” Maera said simply. “But too much of it—” She paused, glancing back at Lydia. “Too much turns miracles into curses.”

  The way she said it made Lydia’s stomach twist. The shimmer of mana around them didn’t look so beautiful anymore — it looked dangerous, alive in a way that didn’t care if she understood it or not.

  They walked a little farther before Maera broke the silence again, her tone softer this time.

  “You saw how the mana gathered around that plant. You noticed it before it moved.”

  Lydia blinked. “I— I guess I did.”

  “That’s not something most people can do,” Maera said. “Not here, anyway. The larger cities have scholars and arcanists — but in small villages, those with a strong sensitivity are… not always welcome.”

  Lydia frowned. “Why not?”

  Maera’s expression darkened. “Because magic draws attention. And attention draws fear.”

  The words sat between them like a shadow.

  Lydia kicked at a stray pebble, watching it bounce off a tree root. “So… you’re saying I should hide it.”

  “I’m saying,” Maera replied, “you should learn what it means before deciding whether to show it.”

  She stopped walking then, turning to face Lydia fully. The forest had gone quiet — even the birds seemed to pause, the air thick with the smell of moss and dew.

  Maera crossed her arms. “You’ve got a choice, Lydia Wren. You can pretend what happened tonight was chance — that you just got lucky and move on. Or…”

  Her eyes sharpened, just slightly. “You can learn. Learn how to see it properly. How to keep yourself alive when the world decides to remind you it’s not as gentle as it looks.”

  Lydia hesitated. Her first instinct was to say no — that she wanted nothing to do with any of this, that she wanted to wake up in her dorm, surrounded by bad coffee and overdue projects. But as she looked at Maera — solid, steady, capable — something in her chest eased.

  Her hands trembled slightly, but she managed a small nod. “I… want to learn. I think I have to.”

  A faint smile tugged at Maera’s lips. “Good. Then you’ll start with the basics.”

  “The basics?”

  “Learning when not to touch glowing things.”

  Lydia blinked, before realizing Maera’s mouth had curved into a smirk. “Was that— was that a joke?”

  Maera just turned and started walking again, her tone dry. “If you have to ask, you’re not ready for the next lesson.”

  Hest’s tail flicked, as if in amusement, before trotting after her. Lydia sighed and followed, but this time, her steps felt just a little lighter.