***
Yao Yao rested her chin on Rui's shoulder, watching the world move past them. Until now, this realm had only come to her in fragments—dark caves, glass domes, flashes of magic she never understood. But here, even the air felt softer, as if it finally had room to breathe.
Then something bright drew her eyes ahead.
Between the trees, a pale shimmer threaded through the green. Yao Yao leaned forward, chin brushing Rui's shoulder. "There—what's that?"
Rui followed her gaze and stepped off the path. The light resolved into a tree standing alone among the forest. Its bark held the same coarse texture as the others, but the color was different—muted silver, as if brushed with dusted metal. The leaves shared that faint tint. Near the center, a single red apple hung from a high branch.
Rui stopped beneath it, tilting his head back. "Oh. That one's rare," he murmured. Surprise flickered in his voice. "Didn't think this tree still bore fruit."
He lingered, gaze tracing the apple's dark red skin, faintly dusted with bronze. Then—a sudden flutter split the air.
A bird burst from the canopy, feathers flashing silver-blue. Before either of them could move, it dove, snatched the apple in its beak, and vanished back into the trees.
Yao Yao blinked, her head turning after it. "It took it?"
"Mm." Rui's eyes stayed on the empty branch. "They always do. The fruit holds magic. Smaller spirits eat it to strengthen their power, though it doesn't do much for anyone else."
She craned her neck, scanning the branches. Nothing remained—only a torn stem swaying gently where the fruit had been.
"Can it strengthen mine?" she asked. The question came light, but something hopeful edged beneath it.
Rui chuckled. "Maybe—if your magic's about the same as a small spirit's. But they're rare." He turned slightly, nodding toward the trees. "See that? There's only one of these in this forest. Maybe one in a million across the realm."
Yao Yao followed his gaze, her eyes tracing the endless stretch of green beyond the silver trunk. "That's…really low odds."
Rui smiled faintly. "You could say that. Even the spirits don't bother waiting for them anymore. These trees… they're going extinct."
She looked back at the bare branch. "So that bird just flew off with a one-in-a-million fruit?"
"Pretty much." Rui's tone was mild, but a faint amusement lingered beneath it as he adjusted her weight and continued down the path.
As they moved on, Yao Yao's gaze lingered behind them until the silver tree disappeared into green. Something about it stayed lodged in her mind—the shimmer, the single fruit, the way it vanished before she could even look twice.
Power. The thought circled back again.
Her thoughts drifted to the fox, to the way his eyes had glowed faintly in the firelight when he'd asked, Can something like that really make one stronger?
Back then, she hadn't understood. Strength, to her, had always been something earned—through effort, through time, through the sheer will to keep going. But here, it seemed to grow from trees, to sleep inside beings called ancients, like it was born with them. And when it wasn't… it could be taken—by force, as the fox had tried.
Yao Yao glanced at Rui's back. His movements were steady, unbothered. She wondered if he was born with that kind of strength too—something effortless, something Lumen could never reach no matter how hard he tried. Maybe one day she would learn to see it as they did. Or maybe she never could.
Before long, a soft sound began threading through the stillness—the ripple of water somewhere ahead.
They followed it into a hollow where the canopy grew heavy, shutting out most of the light. Silver threads drifted between the leaves like fireflies, their glow falling off like sparks across the ground.
At the center, a pond lay still and deep. The surface gleamed faintly, but the water underneath was dark, clouded as though something stirred below. Coins lay scattered at the bottom—silver in clusters, the flash of gold between them—resting like offerings left by countless hands.
Rui crouched and lowered her to the ground. Her legs trembled when they touched, but she steadied herself against him. Together, they leaned toward the water's edge.
"This," Rui said softly, "is a wishing pond. Spirits from all over the realm send their wishes here."
Yao Yao's gaze followed the stream feeding into it. Water spilled from the hollow of a massive tree at the far side—trickling through a knot in the bark, falling in a narrow line that barely broke the surface. The tree itself rose higher than the rest, its crown wide enough to shade the clearing. For all its size, it looked plain—except for the stream flowing straight from its heart.
Her gaze dropped back to the pond. Beneath the glow, the coins shimmered in and out of sight—not fast, but in a slow rhythm, like the pond was breathing.
"They… just appear?" she asked.
Rui nodded. "And disappear."
"Why do they disappear?"
"Because wishes change," he said. "Some are granted. Others are lost. Some are simply forgotten."
As he spoke, the pond shifted—silver dimming, gold brightening—as if echoing his words.
Rui's eyes lingered on her reflection beside his. The faint light softened her face, her wide eyes fixed on the water. He hesitated, then asked quietly, "Do you want to make a wish?"
She turned to him, uncertain. "But… I'm not a spirit. Can I still make one?"
"Of course."
"Then… who grants them?"
"No one," he said. "The universe doesn't hand out blessings. The pond just shows what someone wishes for—and the choices they make to reach it."
"Choices?"
He nodded. "Every choice we make brings us closer to our wish… or takes us further away."
He gestured to the coins below. "When a coin disappears, it could mean many things. Maybe the wish already came true. Or maybe the path they're walking can no longer reach it… or it was impossible from the start."
She looked down again. Beneath the water, one silver coin dimmed slowly, until only darkness remained. Her chest ached faintly. "So some wishes just vanish?"
"Most do," Rui said. "Every time a spirit chooses one path, they close off countless others without even noticing. Not every gain comes with a loss you can see. That's why the pond never fills, they come and they go, it's nature's way of keeping balance."
The glow rippled across her face as her reflection wavered. For a breath, she thought she saw herself vanish with the coin.
Rui fell quiet. Maybe he'd said too much. Then, his mouth curved—softer, almost as if taking them back, "But it's still a wish. I'm sure it'll come true."
The silence lingered, broken only by the sound of water threading into the pond.
Yao Yao looked down, her fingers brushing her skirt out of habit, searching for pockets she didn't have. Finding none, she fiddled with the loose button at her hem. Carefully, she tugged until it came free.
The button sat in her palm—plain brown, no shine to it at all. She turned it over once, thumb grazing the frayed edge where the thread had snapped.
She hesitated. Then she let it fall.
The button touched the water with a faint ripple, floated for a breath, then sank, her reflection breaking and rejoining as it disappeared.
"Did you make a wish?" Rui asked quietly.
"Mm." Her answer was barely a sound. Whatever she'd wished for, it was hers alone.
After a while, she turned away. Rising on unsteady legs, she climbed back onto his crouched form. His arms came up to steady her, and she rested her head on his shoulder refusing to look back at the water.
She didn't want to know if the button was still there—or if it had already vanished.
Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper. "I'm tired… I want to go back."
Rui gave the water one last look, then straightened and carried her away.