Four dryads stood at attention outside the queen's bedchamber, their presence as still and solemn as ancient trees. Two guards flanked each side of the arched doorway, clad in immaculate military uniforms—deep forest green reinforced with gold-threaded armor. Over one shoulder of each guard draped a formal emerald cape, fastened with leaf-shaped clasps that gleamed softly in the light.
Rose stepped forward first and knocked. Euphelia waited just behind her, hands folded, posture proper despite the flutter in her chest. From within, her mother's voice called gently, granting permission to enter.
The door opened, and Euphelia stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
The chamber was vast and dreamlike, less constructed than grown. Sweeping wooden arches curved overhead like the ribs of a great tree, while the walls were entwined with blooming vines and roses heavy with fragrance. Sunlight filtered through tall, rounded windows, and beside them a glass door stood ajar, opening onto a balcony and inviting in fresh air and the soft whispers of the world beyond.
At the center of the room rested a queen-sized bed, wide and elegant, layered in rosy linens and carved wood—fit for royalty and rest alike. Bookshelves lined the walls, interspersed with lanterns and gentle greenery. Everything in the room felt alive, shaped by prana rather than stone or hand.
Above it all, emblazoned upon the domed ceiling, was the emblem of the dryads: a giant oak tree with intertwining roots, a lantern glowing at its heart, rendered in majestic detail.
Euphelia paused, frowning slightly.
She had heard her mother's voice before entering—yet the room was empty.
Then, faintly, she heard singing.
The sound drifted from the balcony.
Passing by the open glass door, Euphelia stepped closer and gazed outside. Beyond the railing stretched the breathtaking expanse of Sylfera, its living canopy glowing beneath the sun.
There, among rows of carefully tended plants, stood her mother.
Eleanor wore an elegant emerald off-the-shoulder gown, its flowing fabric moving gracefully with every motion. Her white hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, accentuating her refined features and calm authority. She gently poured water into the plant pots lining the balcony, humming softly as she worked.
Sensing another presence, Eleanor paused. She turned, her gaze settling warmly on her daughter.
Euphelia immediately bowed.
"Enough," Eleanor said gently, stepping forward and stopping her before she could bow further. "That is for public halls, not private rooms."
Eleanor set aside the watering vessel and studied Euphelia with a knowing look. "Now," she said, "tell me what brings you here. It is unlike you to visit my bedchamber without cause."
Euphelia hesitated only a moment.
"Mother… I wish to go to Nywel City."
Eleanor's expression softened, and a small smile appeared. "I am glad you came to inform me," she said. "Rather than sneaking out as you usually do."
Euphelia looked away, embarrassed.
"And who are you planning to visit?" Eleanor asked.
Before Euphelia could answer, Eleanor added, "You should go with the guards I assigned to you. For your protection."
Euphelia's lips pressed into a pout. "If they come," she said quietly, "everything I do will be reported back to you and Father."
Eleanor sighed, already aware of her daughter's reluctance. She knew Euphelia disliked being watched, disliked the weight of her title. But Eleanor could not ignore reality.
"You are not only the daughter of one of the Three Great Houses of Sylfera," she said firmly. "You are also the daughter of the Chief Raider Researcher. That alone makes you a target."
Euphelia had no argument left. She lowered her gaze and nodded.
Satisfied, Eleanor bent down to her daughter's level and gently patted Euphelia's emerald-green, softly curved hair where it rested at her shoulders. "Take care," she said. "And remember—your father will return tomorrow. Be here to welcome him."
Euphelia nodded again. She could already imagine his grumpy expression after long days of work, forever buried in his study. Yet despite that, he always made time for them—always joined Eleanor and Euphelia for dinner.
That thought steadied her.
With a final nod, Euphelia turned and hurried from the chamber, the door opening once more to reveal Rose waiting faithfully outside.
Rose was chatting quietly with the guards stationed at the entrance of her mother's bedchamber when she noticed Euphelia stepping out. The moment Rose appeared, all of them immediately ceased their conversation and straightened, their alert eyes following every movement of the young lady. Euphelia moved deliberately to the right, Rose close behind her, silent and attentive.
They arrived at the Dentro Room, a chamber designed for nymph transportation. The room was alive with vegetation—plants climbing toward the ceiling, flowers blooming in soft hues, and trees whose branches curled gently like the arms of a welcoming friend. Three types of nymphs resided here: nymphs of plants, flowers, and trees. Euphelia, herself a nymph of plants, and Rose decided to position themselves carefully upon a sturdy, flower-laden plant, lying in a sleeping posture while holding hands.
The room hummed softly, sensing their prana. "Nyara of Nywel," they whispered together, their destination clear. The plant seemed to breathe around them, its leaves wrapping protectively, and then—they were gone.
When Euphelia opened her eyes, she found herself in a parlour. To her left, Rose blinked and rose slowly, equally disoriented. The walls were adorned with climbing plants, and the air smelled faintly of fresh herbs. Euphelia scanned the room, wondering where Nyara could be.
Nyara, sensing the presence of newcomers, appeared. She had been in the kitchen, making tea. Now she stepped lightly into the parlour, her gaze immediately drawn to a girl with curvy green hair cascading down her back, dressed in a luxurious red gown, knee-length and made of fine material. Beside her stood a lady in a maid's uniform, white and green, with straight green hair.
Despite the informality of the encounter, Nyara immediately recognized the pure prana emanating from Euphelia. Only the great houses of Sylfera bore such a signature. Respectful and composed, Nyara bowed deeply.
Euphelia waved her hand gently, dismissing the formality. "Rise," she said softly.
Nyara inquired politely what brought them here. Euphelia answered, "We are searching for a Dryad healer. We were told you could assist."
Nyara nodded, not disapproving. She led them to sit and served the tea she had been preparing. "Why do you need a healer?" she asked once they were seated.
"To identify who assaulted someone," Euphelia replied. "We need to trace the prana left in him."
Nyara hesitated. "I can heal using my prana," she said, "but I am an amateur. My master is the one with true skill."
Rose, who had remained quiet, finally spoke. "Where can we find your master?"
Nyara's gaze softened. "Currently… in Malruk," she said.
Meanwhile, in Malruk, night had fully descended.
Kael's heart raced as the taller thief lunged at him. Instinctively, he ducked, shoving the man's arm aside and stumbling backward. The sudden movement startled both of them.
"Hey—!" the thief shouted.
Kael ran. His legs burned, his chest heaving, adrenaline fueling him. The shorter thief cursed, lunging after him, but Kael twisted just in time, scraping his shoulder against the wall. Pain flared, but he pressed on.
"Not worth it," muttered the taller thief, stepping back.
Kael didn't stop until he burst into another street, gasping for breath, the dagger clutched tightly in his hand. I'm not strong, he thought. But I can't stop. Not now.
At the end of the alley stood a cottage unlike the others. A living roof of plants crowned it, and greenery clung to its walls. Kael approached and knocked.
An old woman answered, white hair straight and severe. Her face twisted in irritation.
"Do you know a Dryad healer who can identify prana on my brother? He was assaulted," Kael pleaded.
The woman started to close the door. "I don't like disturbances," she muttered.
But then she paused, sensing something unusual in him—the trace of desperation, fear, and a rare prana signature in his bloodied frame. Kael sank to one knee, bowing deeply. "Please, help me. Let justice be done. He was attacked by nobles."
The woman's resolve softened. She grasped his arms, steadying him. "Come inside," she said.
Kael's body betrayed him; dizziness overtook him, and he collapsed at her doorstep. The woman gasped, realizing the seriousness of his state. If her disciple Nyara had been here, this would have been far simpler. Still, she would help.
Elsewhere, Carlos ventured beyond Petonia's borders, searching for medicinal plants for Damon. A raider accompanied him for protection against potential Nephelym attacks.
As he bent to gather the plants, a strange voice whispered in his mind. He shook his head, brushing it off. The voice grew louder. Turning to the raider, he asked, "Do you hear that?"
"No," the raider said, eyes scanning the dimming landscape. "We should hurry—the night is falling."
Carlos rubbed his ears, dismissing his worry. He checked his bag—it contained enough plants for their needs. He told the raider to return to camp.
Unnoticed, a black leaf drifted from the trees above, settling on his head. The moment it touched him, it vanished.when entering Petonia Carlos and the raider were purified by dryades at Petonia entrance. But unknown to them the seed of discord has been planted by Zereth - The Mind leech one of Azrath calamity ; he returned to his tent, beginning the process of mixing the plants for Damon's treatment.
At home, Kaisen and Sylfia returned after a long day. Kaisen carried groceries into the kitchen, while Sylfia, exhausted and sweaty, went straight to wash.
Later, Kaisen sat stiffly at the dining table, the weight of news pressing on him. He had to tell Sylfia he would be gone tomorrow—possibly for three years, or longer. He dreaded the moment, knowing how much it would pain her.
Sylfia reappeared, fresh from her bath, wrapped in one of Kaisen's oversized shirts. She paused at the doorway, noticing his rigid posture.
I know that look, she thought, her heart tightening. He's about to tell me something I won't like.