The Vhengal Forest was not merely a backdrop to Amriel's life; it was a living thread intricately woven into the tapestry of her very existence, a constant presence she could scarcely remember living without. Here, she was not just a wanderer; she was part of a vast, breathing entity, deeply entwined with the world around her.

In her childhood, Amriel had roamed these winding paths with her mother, their footsteps echoing softly beneath the lush, dense canopy. Hours would slip away as they explored the forest’s hidden wonders, a realm alive with possibilities. They would pack sleeping rolls and meager rations, for her mother believed in the forest’s abundance, encouraging Amriel to embrace its gifts. They would venture deep into the heart of Vhengal, losing themselves in its embrace for days at a time.

Now, as she walked the familiar path, the towering trees loomed over her like wise old guardians. Their noble branches swayed gently in the breeze, whispering secrets as she passed, the rustle of leaves composing a soft symphony of age-old wisdom. These sentinels of history stood as silent witnesses to the invaluable lessons imparted by Amriel's mother—lessons woven into her very essence, guiding her every step in this sacred sanctuary.

High above, the afternoon sun poured through the spring canopy, weaving a vibrant tapestry of light and shadow across the well-trodden dirt path beneath Amriel’s feet. At this time of year, the canopy remained sparse with the burgeoning growth of new leaves, allowing the sun to flood the forest floor with golden warmth. In just a few weeks, however, the lush foliage would thicken, blocking the sun's rays and casting the woods into a dimmer twilight. As Amriel walked, ferns and shrubs playfully brushed against her shoulders and hips, their gentle caress welcoming her into the forest's loving embrace.

With a serene smile, Amriel closed her eyes and tilted her head back, inhaling deeply, savoring the cool, fresh air of spring. The rich medley of scents enveloped her—damp earth mingling with the pungent aroma of decay, a fragrance that spoke of life’s relentless cycle. To some, it was a smell to endure; to her, it was a testament to renewal, a promise that the fallen leaves and plants, once cloaked beneath winter’s shroud, would soon return to nourish the land, feeding the vibrant life that would follow.

Some days, she would come to the forest just to lose herself in the awe-inspiring beauty around her, marveling at the dance of both new and ancient flora. She cherished the symphony of sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of creatures—each note a reminder of the vibrant life that thrived in this sacred place. However, today's walk had a purpose behind it.

Attached to her thick leather belt, a pouch dangled at her hip, secured snugly by a slender braided twine. It swung gently with her movement, but as she neared an hour into her walk, it remained frustratingly empty. With each step, the pouch bumped against her leg, an irritating reminder of her unfulfilled intentions and the herbs she sought to gather.

Winter in these lands was, thankfully, brief. Unlike the northern territories, where snow could blanket the world for nearly half the year, here the icy grip of winter lasted only a few months, allowing the land to breathe and recover. Several weeks ago, warm winds had swept in from the south, heralding the end of the cold. The remnants of winter melted away, leaving the earth ready to awaken once more.

Once freed from the frosty grip of winter, life surged back into the Valley with exuberance. All around her, plants eagerly shook off their dormancy, bursting forth into their summer splendor. Amriel felt a profound sense of gratitude for this renewal, perhaps more than ever before. The past winter had taken a toll on her herbal supplies.

There had been more than the usual number of illnesses that swept through the community, accompanied by a large number of injuries; from broken bones sustained on treacherous patches of ice to deep axe wounds inflicted while chopping wood for the fire, the demand for her remedies had soared.

For near weeks now, her supplies had teetered on the edge of dangerously low as she eagerly waited for the spring bloom. Unfortunately, it was still too early for many plants. Most were just beginning to unfurl their leaves, stretching toward the scattered patches of sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy above. However, Amriel held onto hope that she might discover some of the hardier varieties that could withstand the harsh winter by going dormant beneath the blanket of snow. These resilient plants, often the first to awaken, were essential for replenishing her supplies.

With each step, Amriel ventured deeper into the forest. Her large hazel eyes—tinged green by the sunlight and framed by thick, dark lashes—scanned the undergrowth, keenly searching for any signs of life hidden among the shadows. Each rustle of leaves and whisper of the wind heightened her senses, yet the mounting frustration was undeniable as her herb pouch remained uncomfortably light against her hip. She could almost hear her mother’s voice echoing in her mind—sharp and unforgiving, scolding her for allowing the stocks to dwindle so dangerously low. That inner admonition helped to fuel her determination, propelling her forward, each step a silent promise to herself to rectify her oversight. The weight of her mother’s expectations hung in the air.

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As Amriel approached a fork in the path, she paused to weigh her options, her heart fluttering with uncertainty. To her right, the trail wound eastward, promising familiarity as it would eventually loop back to a route she had traversed just the day before—one that had already yielded no signs of the herbs she desperately sought. On the left, however, the path veered north, teasing her with the tantalizing possibility of undiscovered flora.

However, therein lay the dilemma: the northern path would lead her closer to the mountains, a region she preferred to avoid. This was precisely why it remained largely untraveled. Amriel found herself anxiously gnawing on her lower lip, torn between the allure of fresh herbs and the unsettling unease coiling in her stomach like a snake ready to strike.

Her mother had never indulged in fanciful tales, but when it came to the mountains, her words were laced with cautionary wisdom. Stories of those who had ventured too far and too long echoed in Amriel’s mind—none of them ended well for those who lingered among the peaks and shadows.

Around her, she felt the breeze picked up slightly, gently rustling the newborn leaves of the awakening trees that towered above her. Tendrils of dark hair, having escaped her thick braid, danced in the wind, brushing against her cheeks, flushed with the spring chill. Taking a deep breath, Amriel filled her lungs with the cool, crisp air, and immediately sensed the telltale scent of impending rain. Glancing upward through the breaks in the canopy, she noticed the dark clouds gathering in the sky above, a slate of gray creeping in from the horizon.

“Well, shit,” Amriel sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. Today, it seemed, time was not on her side. “Alright, Amriel, you need to make a choice, and fast. You don’t have all day,” she chided herself, casting a wary glance down the narrow northern path. “You can either play it safe, take the path you know, and head home empty-handed, or you can brave the unknown and see what the north has to offer.”

Talking to herself felt utterly strange. On most days, Meeko, her loyal forest cat companion, would be there to at least flick an ear in her direction, offering silent support. But today, he had opted to remain curled up on the edge of their bed, likely sensing the storm brewing on the horizon. She couldn’t blame him; it was hard to argue with a cat’s instincts.

“Screw it,” she finally decided, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. “They were just stories, right? Scary tales to keep a young child in line, nothing more.”

Yet, the weight of the possibility that those stories might hold a grain of truth lingered in her mind, though she refused to dwell on it any longer. Amriel hurried northward, her footsteps quickening as a sense of urgency pulsed through her. Rain was imminent, and the valley was notorious for its unpredictable weather this time of year. Bright blue skies could turn ominous in the blink of an eye as storms swept down from the mountains, and those spring storms could be ferocious. The last thing she needed was to get caught in one—especially this close to the mountains.

But she had come too far to turn back now; the need for herbs propelled her onward. With each step, her determination surged, the looming threat of the storm only fueling her resolve.

In this Kingdom, the wealthy sought the aid of Witches and Mages to heal their ailments. Yet, the cost of magic was steep—far beyond the means of most commoners. For these individuals, healers like Amriel were their only recourse, relying on traditional remedies and the wisdom passed down through generations to alleviate suffering and restore health.

Amriel’s eyes scanned the forest floor with urgency, flitting back and forth in desperate search of what she needed before the path lured her too far north. Suddenly, her heart leaped with joy as her gaze landed on the very plant she sought. Its delicate blue-green heart-shaped leaves were unmistakable, shimmering softly in the dappled sunlight.

Stepping off the path, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: “Amriel, can you tell me the name of this plant?”

“Horissa Vharia,” a younger Amriel had replied eagerly, pride swelling in her chest. How she had longed to impress her mother, always striving to meet her high, and sometimes impossible, expectations.

“Good. But also known as what?” Nythia had pressed, her tone almost a challenge.

“Also known as the gentle sleep.” Amriel now muttered aloud to herself.

“And what purpose does it serve us as healers?” Nythia would have asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, as she assessed her daughter’s knowledge.

“When prepared properly and given in lower doses, this plant can help ease pain. In higher doses, it can induce deep sedation. The management of pain is vital for effective treatment—especially when setting broken bones, stitching gaping wounds shut or assisting in childbirth.” Amriel muttered to herself. How eager she had been to show her mother she listens. That she absorbed her teachings as best she could. To make her smile.

But Nythia never smiled. Not that Amreil remembered anyway.

The Horissa Vharia thrived in the dappled light of the forest floor. This one was tucked away among the underbrush near a fallen tree and she had almost missed the plant with its striking blue-green, heart-shaped leaves. Carefully, she navigated alongside the moss-covered trunk of the tree, which had cracked and toppled during a fierce storm years ago. Its decaying body now served as a feast for the creatures of the forest floor. Soon, once nature had worked its magic, it would return to the earth, nourishing the young sapling that was beginning to take root in its place.

As she bent to pluck the Horissa Vharia, another plant emerged from its shadow beneath the tree. Its unmistakable pointed black leaves, veined with crimson, stood out starkly against the earthy backdrop.

Amriel’s heart raced, and her hand recoiled instinctively. Her long fingers curled into a tight fist, driven by an urge to distance themselves from the dangerous flora. She licked her lips nervously; even without two decades of herbal study, she would have recognized this plant instantly. Almost any child in the realm would know it.

Khasta Vhar.

The leaves, shaped like spearheads, were unmistakable and the sight signified only one thing: an angel had fallen here.