Elara blinked at him, brows knitting together in confusion. "She what?" she asked, tilting her head. "How?"

Del exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to put it into words. "I’ve always been able to feel Misty’s emotions," he explained, nodding toward the ginger cat, who sat grooming a paw with complete indifference. "As my companion, we’ve got a sort of… mind link over short distances."

Elara’s curiosity deepened, her gaze shifting between Del and the feline, waiting for more.

"I normally see a sort of blurry image of what she’s seen or is seeing, you know," he said, tapping his temple. "In here. I can also tell if she’s happy, scared, or angry. Strong emotions come through the clearest… and, well, a common one seems to be ‘hungry.’"

He smiled down at Misty, who stretched lazily under the attention, her tail flicking with smug satisfaction.

'Not scared. Don’t do scared,' Misty’s voice purred in his mind, her amusement unmistakable.

On a whim, Del sent a silent thought skyward, directing it toward whatever unseen forces might be listening. Best to check something basic before he started running his mouth—he’d already been pulled up on that once. No point in getting another telling-off.

'Menolly, Teach, or oh-great-BB… do folks around here have access to your stuff? Levels and all that? Or is it just me?'

For a moment, there was nothing but the rustle of the trees, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as they walked. Then, a familiar robotic voice chimed in his head.

"They have not been integrated into the Overmind. If they had, this test would not have been necessary."

Then, silence.

'Alright, that answers that question. No confusing the natives with talk of levels and shit then, Del.'

Shaking off the thought, he turned back to Elara. "So, because of this strong bond, I think she’s picking up new tricks—kind of learning more."

Elara nodded thoughtfully, fingers absently tracing the strap of her bag. "I have heard tales," she said, weighing each word as if testing its truth. "Some rare mages bond with animals and create intelligent allies. Some even extend their power through the creature."

"But I’m not a mage," Del pointed out, frowning slightly.

Elara only shrugged. "That is also true," she conceded, a smirk tugging at her lips. "But perhaps Misty doesn’t think that’s important." She chuckled, reaching down to stroke the ginger furball, who accepted the attention as her due.

Del huffed a quiet laugh. "Right," he said with conviction. "Onwards to find the wicked witch of the West."

Elara blinked at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he grinned. "Just an old children’s tale from back home."

Still inwardly chuckling, he mused about leaving a trail of breadcrumbs as they ventured deeper into the woods. The path narrowed, winding between towering trees whose gnarled roots reached out like fingers, threatening to trip the unwary. Sunlight trickled through the thick canopy above, dappling the ground with shifting patches of gold and green. The further they walked, the richer the scent of the forest became—earthy dampness mingling with the fresh spice of pine and the faint floral sweetness of unseen blooms.

It didn’t take long before they caught sight of a clearing ahead.

The first thing Del noticed was the scent—a rich, complex blend that seemed to reach out and pull him into the clearing before he had even taken a proper step forward. The air was thick with the perfume of blooming flowers, a mix of honeyed sweetness and citrus sharpness, undercut by the deeper, grounding aroma of damp earth and crushed leaves. Interwoven with these were sharper, almost medicinal undertones—dried herbs, pungent resins, and something faintly peppery, like crushed seeds left to steep in the sun. It was neither overwhelming nor cloying, but balanced and deliberate, as though the very air had been infused with a quiet kind of magic, an unspoken invitation to breathe deeply and let the world outside this place slip away.

A low wooden fence, its posts smooth with age, encircled the garden, though it felt more like a boundary marker than a true barrier. Vines, heavy with delicate white blossoms, clung to the slats, curling around each beam as though nature itself had woven them into the structure rather than being restrained by it. Beyond the fence, the garden unfolded in an eruption of colour and life.

Flowers of every imaginable hue burst forth in thick, unruly clusters—some standing proudly on long, slender stalks, their petals spread wide like welcoming arms, while others draped lazily over trellises, their blossoms heavy with nectar. Sunbursts of gold and orange flared beside deep indigos and crimsons, petals seeming to shift in hue as the light played across them. The air was alive with the faint buzz of bees drifting from bloom to bloom, their presence a quiet reassurance that this place belonged to the natural world as much as it did to the one who tended it.

But it wasn’t just flowers. Among the riot of colour, Del caught sight of familiar plants—the sheen of silverbloom, its leaves trembling slightly in the breeze, the deep green of feldspar nestled in careful rows, and the unmistakable star-shaped blossoms of nightshade, their dark beauty a warning in itself. Others were entirely foreign to him, strange, twisting vines with glowing pollen sacs, herbs that seemed to release their scent when disturbed by the wind, and mossy growths that shimmered faintly in the shifting light.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The pathways that wove through the garden had been carved with clear intent. They were not rigid or overly manicured but wound naturally, allowing access without trampling the life that thrived here. Some stones bore intricate carvings, runes etched deep into their surfaces, though whether for decoration or something more practical, Del couldn’t say. The result was a place that straddled the line between wild and tamed, a masterful balance between human hands and nature’s will.

At the heart of it all sat the cottage—a quaint yet sturdy structure painted white, its thatched roof darkened slightly with age. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, twisting in the air like a beckoning hand. The windows were small but clean, their shutters a soft, muted blue, and a narrow porch stretched across the front, its wooden planks worn smooth by years of use.

And seated upon that porch, watching them with quiet interest, was a woman. Her gaze was steady, unreadable yet not unfriendly, as though she were weighing something unseen. The gentle creak of her rocking chair was the only sound between them for a moment, blending seamlessly with the rustling leaves and the distant hum of life within the garden.

Del slowed his steps, glancing briefly at Elara before focusing on the woman ahead.

Misty darted ahead with the effortless grace only a cat could manage, her paws barely making a sound as she weaved between the stepping stones. Before Del could even call her back, she had already leapt onto the woman’s lap, kneading at the fabric of her apron with deliberate little motions before curling herself into a perfect ball of ginger fluff.

A soft, tinkling laugh rose from the woman, light and natural, as if the sound had been waiting just beneath the surface. She stroked Misty with gentle fingers, murmuring something that Del couldn’t quite make out. The cat, utterly content, let out a deep, resonant purr, her tail flicking lazily.

By the time Del and Elara reached the low wooden gate, the woman’s attention was once more on them, watching with keen eyes that held a quiet mix of curiosity, amusement, and something else—an awareness that made Del feel as though she had already learned something about him before a single word had been exchanged.

"Good afternoon," Del said, offering a friendly smile. "Vita, I assume?"

The woman gave a small nod of acknowledgement, her fingers still stroking the cat in slow, absentminded motions. Up close, she looked to be a few years younger than him, dressed in simple but well-worn clothes. The knees of her trousers were dark with dried mud, and her apron bore deep pockets, from which a few stray leaves peeked out. Her light brown hair was swept up into a neat, practical bun, with a few loose wisps escaping to frame her face. But it was her eyes that stood out—warm yet sharp, filled with both kindness and a knowing humour, as though she was always on the verge of some inside joke with the world.

"I’m Del, a bit of a traveller, new to these parts. This is Elara, my friend." He inclined his head toward the purring mess of contentment on Vita’s lap. "And you’ve already met Misty, who seems to have taken a liking to you."

Vita’s lips curved into a small smile as she glanced down at the cat, idly scratching behind Misty’s ear. "The bond you have with your cat already tells me much about you, young man."

'Young? Should get your eyes checked,' Del thought wryly, but he kept the remark to himself.

"Come," Vita said, pushing herself to her feet with the easy movement of someone accustomed to physical work. "Let’s get some tea, and you can tell me what brings you to my home."

As soon as she started toward the door, Misty sprang down and trotted inside, as if she had always belonged there. Vita simply shook her head in amusement, opening the door wider and stepping aside to let them enter.

Inside, the house exuded an immediate sense of comfort. The air was tinged with the rich, woody scent of dried herbs, mingled with something faintly sweet—perhaps from the bundle of lavender hanging near the window. The room they stepped into was clearly a workroom, though not a cluttered one.

A padded examination table stood in the centre, its surface well-worn but clean. Against the walls, sturdy wooden cupboards lined the space, their doors slightly ajar to reveal neatly arranged rows of vials, bundles of dried plants, and various instruments. A large worktable sat beneath a wide-paned window, beside a modest iron stove. Atop it, a small cauldron sat cooling, its contents still faintly steaming, surrounded by an assortment of glass flasks, pestles, and cutting boards covered in finely chopped herbs. The air carried a distinct medicinal aroma—bitter, sharp, and vaguely familiar. It reminded Del of the herbal remedies section of a health store.

Vita led them through to the adjoining room, which had an entirely different atmosphere. This space was lived in.

A hearth flickered at the far end, radiating a comfortable warmth. A few well-loved armchairs were positioned near it, their cushions plumped but slightly misshapen with use. A modest wooden dining table sat near a kitchen area, where a cast-iron range stood beside a simple countertop and sink. The windows were small but let in enough daylight to make the space feel open rather than cramped.

Vita bustled to the stove, lifting a heavy kettle with practised ease and giving it a quick shake. Satisfied with the amount of water inside, she set it over the heat and turned back to them, motioning for them to sit.

Del lowered himself into one of the armchairs, stretching his legs slightly. The warmth of the fire seeped into his road-weary muscles, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the space, absorbing the homely stillness of it.

Vita returned a few moments later, carrying a tray with three earthenware cups, a stout teapot, and a small jug of milk. She set them down on the table with an air of quiet efficiency before settling into a chair opposite them.

"Now," she said, pouring the tea, "you’re not my usual patients. So what brings you to my little piece of the woodlands?"

Del accepted a cup with a murmured thanks, while Misty—who had claimed her own spot curled up by the hearth—purred as she lapped at a saucer of milk Vita had set down for her.

"We met Merl, the smith, back in Stonebridge," Del began, cradling the warm ceramic cup in his hands. "We were talking about our travels through the woods, and he suggested we come see you."

"Did he now?" Vita said, her expression intrigued. "And why would he do that?"

Del took a slow sip of the tea before answering. The flavour was deep and earthy, with a faint floral undertone that softened the bitterness. It was surprisingly good.

"Up in the higher woods, I was attacked by some ruffians, I won, they lost." He shrugged as if it had been a minor inconvenience rather than a life-threatening encounter. "But before I got there, they had already attacked someone else. Killed him."

He set his cup down and reached into his pouch, pulling out the pendant he had taken from the dead man’s body.

"I described the victim to Merl and showed him this. It was the only thing I found on him that might serve as an identifier. When I showed it to Merl, he suggested you might recognise it."

Vita regarded the pendant with quiet intensity, the humour in her eyes fading as something more solemn took its place. She reached out her hand, palm open, fingers steady.

"Why would he think that?" she asked softly. "May I?