Chapter 75: Daily Academy

Lira nodded, stepping backward and turning carefully toward the door. Each movement felt lighter, as though the burden of uncertainty had lessened. She remembered the promise she had made to the fairy queen, and in that quiet acknowledgment, a sense of peace settled over her. Her secret was hers to guard, and the power she had nurtured would grow, step by step, wind by wind.

As she walked through the doors, back into the familiar corridors of the academy, Lira thought to herself how her journey had been dangerous, her trial grueling, but she had learned something invaluable: she could trust herself, and she could trust the power that lived within her.

The chamber felt impossibly still.

Lira sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, fingers tracing the nice stitching of the blanket as though the simple texture could steady her. Every breath she drew carried with it the echo of the mountain air, sharp and clean, lingering in her lungs even now. She had come down safely. The trial had ended. And yet, a part of her still lingered on that jagged ridge where the wind had howled like some ancient guardian, stripping away every weakness she tried to hide.

Could she call upon her air shield with just a thought? Or practice more?

Her body ached in places she hadn’t known could ache. Shoulders pulled from climbing, calves raw from hours of strain, fingertips roughened by stone. But the deeper ache was gentler, almost pleasant, as though each sore muscle sang the story of what she had endured.

Closing her eyes, she let memory rise unbidden. The cold sting of snow brushing her face. The sound of her own heart pounding louder than the storm. The voice—no, not a voice, a presence—that had whispered through the trees near the summit. That was where the fairy village shimmered into being, hidden from the world of mortals. She could still see the Queen’s eyes, like facets of gemstone, still hear her words about trust, secrecy, and the strange fate that bound Lira to them now.

A promise.

One she must not break.

The door creaked softly. Lira startled, then relaxed as Maelin’s head poked inside. Her auburn hair was a tangled flame, her cheeks flushed from training, and her smile—half mischief, half concern—was the exact balm Lira needed.

"You’ve been hiding in here like a wounded bird," Maelin said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Don’t tell me the great mountain reduced you to nothing more than a bundle of sore muscles."

"It reduced me to more than that," Lira answered softly, though her lips curved in a smile. "But you’re not entirely wrong about the sore muscles." Both laught.

Maelin plopped herself onto the bed beside her, making the frame groan. "So? Tell me everything. Was it dreadful? Did you fight wolves? Did you uncover some lost relic? Or—wait—" she leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically, "did you meet some mysterious hermit who bestowed upon you a secret technique?"

Lira laughed despite herself. The warmth of Maelin’s presence made her heart unclench. She wanted to tell her everything, to pour out the strange beauty of the fairy village, the weight of her promise. But she held the words back, tasting their sweetness and their danger both.

"No hermits," she said, weaving her answer carefully. "But the mountain... it was alive, Maelin. Every step was a challenge, not just of strength but of will. The wind tore at me as though it wanted to know if I truly belonged there. I thought I would break a hundred times. But in breaking, I learned I could mend myself."

Maelin’s eyes widened, reverent for once. "That... actually sounds beautiful." She reached out, squeezing Lira’s hand. "I knew you’d return. You’re stronger than you think."

The words sank deep. Lira hadn’t realized how badly she needed them until now. She smiled faintly, then added, " I have to start training more in secret."

"Then I will help you."

Lira hesitated. Her silence stretched long enough that Maelin tilted her head curiously.

"Unless," Maelin said, grinning again, "you’re hiding something from me. Did you find a secret cave filled with jewels? A hidden spring? A dragon’s egg?"

Lira laughed again, deflecting. "If I had, you’d be the last person I told. You’d rush to claim it for yourself."

"Fair enough." Maelin leaned back, satisfied, and the tension between them eased.

But later, when Lira walked alone across the lantern-lit courtyard toward the elder’s hall, her friend’s words rang in her ears. What more could anyone ask? She had to be careful.

The next morning, when the academy still slept in its quiet hum of dawn, Lira woke with a strange mixture of restlessness and determination. Her body felt lighter, as though the trial on the mountain had carved something new within her — but there was also a subtle weight in her chest, the promise she had made to the Fairy Queen, and the knowledge that she must hold parts of her journey in silence.

She was thinking of visiting Firy Queen again and speak with her about the journey.

The air outside was crisp, the fog rolling low between the trees as though it wanted to keep the forest veiled in secrecy. She wrapped herself in her cloak and slipped out quietly, carrying her spatial bag filled with glass vials, dried herbs, and the few enchanted stones given her long ago in one of classes.

Today, she would not train among the others in the open training space. Instead, her feet carried her back to the hidden grove — the place where old ruins slept, wrapped in vines and moss, forgotten by time yet alive with energy.

Renkai and Thalanir allready waiting for her, came out of the trees and shades of bushes, asking if she rested enough.

The path was narrow, covered in damp leaves, and the fog clung to her hair, making it glisten with droplets. The silence was heavy but not unfriendly; it was the kind of silence that waited, as if the forest itself was listening. When they reached the grove, the ruins rose before her like an ancient guardian.

She allways love the look of them.

At the heart of the ruins shimmered the bluish portal — a tear in the world, soft and luminous, its edges rippling like water disturbed by a pebble. It felt like long time passed since she was here.

The sensation was as strange as ever — a shift of pressure, a faint ringing in her ears, a cool rush of air that seemed to pass through her skin rather than around her. On the other side, the grove unfolded into a place that felt more alive than ordinary reality. The vines here seemed to breathe, curling and uncurling faintly as if responding to her presence. Tiny lights floated in the air, not quite insects, not quite sparks — they illuminated the forest floor with a pale glow that made the dew shine like silver.

Giant tree allready awaiting her and her tables and tools clean and fresh.

Here, she felt both watched and welcomed. It was the perfect place to practice.

Lira laid out her satchel on a table covered in fresh herbs, setting the vials and herbs in neat rows. She began with something simple: a calming draught she had memorized from old academy texts. Chamomile and valerian roots for grounding, a touch of moonflower petals for clarity. Yet as she crushed and mixed them, something within her responded differently than before. Her hands tingled faintly, the air stirred, and she felt her breath aligning with the rhythm of the mixture.

She remembered the mountain winds — how her vines had anchored her, how the shield of air had formed when she needed it most. Closing her eyes, she let that memory flow into her work. As she poured the crushed mixture into a vial and added drops of spring water, the liquid shimmered faintly, catching the bluish light of the grove. It wasn’t just a potion anymore; it carried a resonance, as though the elements themselves had whispered into it.

Excited, Lira tried again. This time she chose brierthorn leaves, usually harsh and bitter, mixed with a trace of crushed crystal dust. She whispered a soft word, not a spell she had learned but one that rose instinctively, and the bitterness softened. The liquid turned a clear green, smooth and bright, humming faintly when she held it close to her ear. She blinked in wonder.

Her skill was growing — not in the rigid way of formulas, but through connection. She wasn’t just following recipes; she was weaving herself into them and with that maybe even doing new potions and essences.

Hours passed unnoticed. The grove echoed with the soft clink of glass, the faint rush of stirred air, the quiet sound of her breath as she worked. Sometimes she failed — a vial cracked when her concentration wavered, or a mixture soured and turned black. But instead of despair, she felt a fierce determination rise. Each mistake was a step forward, and each success filled her with warmth, as though she were uncovering something long hidden.

By noon, her satchel was nearly empty, and before her lay a huge collection of shimmering vials. Some pulsed faintly with light, others were calm and clear like still water. Lira touched them gently, her chest swelling with pride. These weren’t ordinary potions. They were hers — her breath, her vines, her winds woven into them.

She packet all of them in her spatial bag and felt happy with her work.

When she leaned back, the portal behind her flickered, and for a moment she thought she saw faint silhouettes beyond — like figures watching, blurred by mist. She stilled, heart racing, but the vision passed as quickly as it had come. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t entirely alone in this hidden world.

Did anyone else explore ruins? But who, foggy forest is like a trap for many souls.

A wave of tiredness swept over her, the kind that comes not from weakness but from pouring one’s whole self into something new. She smiled despite it, brushing her hands on her cloak, and looked around the grove once more.

The vines seemed to lean toward her, the little floating lights circling playfully before drifting back into the air. It was as though the grove itself had accepted her work, blessing it.

She checked of wierd seedling that grew from strange seed she got, thinking it took long time to show any progress. She would have to bring more rare plants into the grove.

With her heart full, Lira stepped back toward the bluish portal. She paused once at its edge, whispering a silent promise: I’ll return. I’ll grow stronger here.

Then she stepped through, the ruins of the foggy forest embracing her once more, carrying her back toward the academy with her satchel of new creations and a quiet fire of determination glowing within.

Renkai and Thalanir observing her steps and guarding her in silence with some kind of pride and glimmer in their eyes as she returned towards academy.