This time, Iris recognized the forest—the same one from the night of the storm. She saw Xylia kneeling by a bush, her movements slow and deliberate as she planted something. Iris approached, her heart aching with something she couldn’t place.

She noticed the woman was crying. Silent tears tracked down her face as she carefully covered a seed with dirt. She whispered something in the same unknown language. Iris watched in awe as a slender, iridescent stem began to grow from the earth, shimmering like liquid silver. The same flower from the visions—the one Iris had seen in the garden, the one that had called to her.

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Iris sat beside Xylia, a tear slipping down her own cheek as she whispered, “May this be a bridge between our worlds.”

The moment those words left her lips, the vision abruptly ended.

Iris gasped for air, her chest tightening as the world around her snapped back into focus. She was still in the garden, kneeling in front of the glowing flower, her heart racing. Her cheeks were wet with tears, though she didn’t understand why. She was left with more questions than answers, the images from the vision lingering like a shadow in her mind. What did they mean? And why was she connected to them?