The mist clung to the forest like a damp shroud, thick enough to blur the line between tree trunks and shadows. Leon pulled his cloak tighter, his boots squelching in the soft, mossy earth as he and Isabella followed the faint trail Kael had left—weathered stone cairns half-buried in lichen. They'd walked for hours, the air growing cooler and heavier, until a faint blue glow flickered ahead, cutting through the gray haze.
"Look," Isabella whispered, pointing.
Up ahead, the ground was carpeted in star moss—tiny, bioluminescent fronds that cast a pale, pulsating light, pushing back the mist in a circle around them. As they stepped closer, Leon felt the tightness in his chest ease—Eldrin had mentioned such moss once, said it repelled low concentrations of miasma. "It's safe," he said, bending to touch a frond. It glowed brighter at his touch, warm and soft.
They followed the moss trail, the blue light guiding them to a cluster of boulders overgrown with vines. Behind one massive rock, Leon spotted weathered wooden planks—remnants of a collapsed lean-to, its edges rotted by time and moisture. And at the base of the boulder, half-buried in moss and fallen leaves, was a leather satchel, its straps stiff but intact.
"Kael's," Leon breathed. He brushed away the debris, unbuckling the satchel carefully. Inside was a small wooden box (its lid carved with a raven, matching the one in Eldrin's cellar), a vial of dried herbs, and a leather-bound notebook—its pages yellowed and stiff with damp, but protected by oiled leather that had repelled the mist.
Isabella leaned over his shoulder as he flipped the notebook open. The first pages were filled with sketches: camellia trees, mountain ginseng, and three herbs Leon didn't recognize—until he saw the faded ink labels. "Star moss—ward off miasma," he read aloud, his heart racing. "Moonwort—eases fatigue, boosts stamina. Ironwort—repels snake and insect bites." These were the herbs Kael had relied on in the southern edge, the ones that had kept him alive.
The notebook held more than just herb sketches. There were short, scribbled notes on the mist—"thickest at dawn, lifts at midday"—and warnings about "shadowed caves" where the fog never lifted. But the most precious entry was a crudely drawn map: a small circle marked "moonwell," and a trail leading east to "camellia grove"—the very place Kael had collected the seeds Leon had planted.
"This is why he came here," Leon said, tracing the map with his finger. "He was studying these herbs, trying to grow camellias in the south. He wanted to make the oil more common." The notebook's last page was a single, smudged line: "Moss needs moonlight to glow. Moonwell holds pure water. Camellias grow where soil is sweet."
Isabella touched the notebook gently, her voice soft. "He never made it back to Acorn Village," she said.
Leon closed the notebook, tucking it into his cloak next to Kael's wooden raven. "But he left this for us. For anyone who follows." He looked at the star moss, its blue light pulsing softly around them. "Let's camp here tonight. The moss will keep the miasma away, and tomorrow we'll find the moonwell. Kael's notes say it has pure water—we can refill our skins and stock up."
As they built a small fire—careful to keep it low, so the smoke didn't attract unwanted attention—Leon flipped through the notebook again. Kael's handwriting was neat but hurried, his sketches precise, a reflection of the apprentice Eldrin had spoken of: curious, careful, determined. Leon felt a quiet connection to the man he'd never met—a fellow seeker of knowledge, a survivor in a harsh land.
That night, he slept with the notebook under his head, the star moss glowing around their lean-to. The southern edge was dangerous, yes, but it was also a treasure trove of secrets—secrets that Kael had begun to unlock, and that Leon was determined to finish. With the notebook in hand, his herbal knowledge, and Isabella by his side, he knew they could not only survive—they could thrive.