Beyond the veil of the cosmos, where starlight births new constellations...
Lie realms untouched by mortal tread, their secrets veiled in shadow...
And tales unspoken, waiting to unfurl like petals beneath the moon...
A lone figure picked his way through the crystalline labyrinth of the forest, where trees glimmered like fractured amethyst under the argent moon. His hair, a cascade of wind-tousled white as snow, bore faint cerulean hues where moonlight kissed its strands. Tattered boots, caked in iridescent moss, sank into the damp earth, The hem of his ash-gray coat fluttered like a ghost's sigh as he pressed onward, golden eyes scanning the labyrinth of prismatic trunks.
'The Evernight Bloom… It must be near...'
Legend has spoken of a flower born of midnight's breath, a flower of myth that unfurled its four opalescent petals only beneath the dominion of midnight, Evernight Bloom. Tonight was the sole convergence of celestial phases required for the bloom's awakening, a truth etched into his bones after weeks of meticulous study.
The young man navigated treacherous slopes slick with dew, his balance faltering more than once. Yet he pressed onward, drawn by the determination of obtaining the knowledge and curiosity he seeks, until at last, he stumbled upon his quarry; a glade bathed in celestial radiance, where countless blooms swayed like a constellation fallen on land.
He steadied himself against a quartz-veined boulder, fingertips grazing its frost-cold surface. However, a gasp tore from his lips as his boot slid treacherously. He landed hard on his knees, palm smearing crimson across a cluster of starlit petals.
"What in the…?"
He winced, palm pressing against cold mud, until his fingers recoiled, palm smeared with gore.
Blood...
'Fresh. But whose…?'
His pulse quickened. The forest's silence now felt predatory, the air thick with iron and rot. Instincts flared, eyes darting through the jewel-toned shadows. Only the forest's hushed symphony answered the rustle of leaves, the distant trill of unseen creatures.
Yet the crimson trail betrayed truth.
Rising slowly, he traced the smeared trail: droplets jeweled the roots, scarlet defiance against the moon-washed flora. Farther ahead, the undergrowth lay ravaged claw marks gouged into the gemstone bark, soil churned as though by some titanic struggle.
Follow...
'Injured. Dying. Close...'
Reason whispered of predators and prey, but his healer's soul dismissed it. A life teetered on oblivion's edge. Therefore he rose, resolve hardening like tempered steel. The Evernight Blooms would wait.
Caspian sprinted, branches lashing his cheeks. The scent of death loomed close led him first to a corpse a lycanthrope-like beast, its torso cleaved open from gullet to jaw. One limb severed, ichor still pooling beneath its bulk. Death's grip was recent; the killer could not be far.
A second trail, fainter, guided him yards onward to a figure slumped against a quartz-laden trunk. A stranger, A young man, perhaps a few winters older, with chestnut hair matted with blood, a cloak shredded by claws, wounds weeping crimson. Alive, but barely.
"Dear heavens…" The white-haired youth breathed. He quickly shrugged off his cloak, revealing a navy vest over a linen shirt, and bundling it beneath the stranger's head, and pressed trembling hands to the worst of the wounds. The man stirred faintly, a pained groan escaping cracked lips.
"Stay with me..." He whispered, though the stranger's crimson eyes had already dimmed.
Resolve hardened in his throat. Ignoring the old scar's phantom ache along his wrists, he channeled the forbidden energy, a teal shimmer blossomed beneath his palms, knitting flesh like threads of liquid starlight. The stranger's breath eased, but the healing left his own limbs leaden, memories clawing at the edges of his mind.
Focus...
Without hesitation, He hauled the man upright, staggering under his weight, ignoring his own trembling limbs, Somewhere beyond the gemstone pines, a cottage awaited. Its shelves lined with dried herbs, its mortar stained by countless elixirs. His sanctuary but also his prison.
But tonight, it would be a refuge. For he was, above all else, a healer.
˚༺☆༻˚
Consciousness returned in fractured hues.
Crimson eyes flickered open, sharpening on an unfamiliar ceiling. A spartan room, herbs drying in bundles, tinctures in blown-glass vials, an open tome detailing the Evernight Bloom's alchemical uses.
The stranger tensed. Bandages bound his torso; his garments, bloodstained and folded, lay nearby. Memories resurged the beast, the fight, the collapse.
Who…?
He tensed, fingers flexing for absent steel. His wounds had been sutured with meticulous care too meticulous for a mere hermit. Ears twitched at approaching footsteps echoed beyond the door. He feigned stillness, muscles coiled.
A figure entered. Pale, hair like winter's first frost and eyes that glowed faintly, like molten suns bisected by serpentine slits. Unnatural.
"You're awake..." The boy breathed, clutching a tray of vials. His voice wavered, a doe sensing a wolf. "Your injuries, please do not strain yourself-"
"Who are you?..." The words came sharper than intended, honed by years of survival.
"My name is...Caspian." The name spilled like a plea. "I...I found you in the forest. The lycanthrope…"
The beast. The ambush. The mission.
Memories crystallized. The stranger eased back, assessing. Caspian's gaze held no guile, only the brittle fragility of one accustomed to flinching, one accustomed to being hunted. A hybrid, perhaps? Those serpentine pupils betrayed unnatural heritage.
Dangerous, his instinct whispered yet the boy's aura radiated no malice, only the tremulous warmth of one who mends rather than breaks. Those hands had drawn him back from death's precipice.
"Why?... " The older male rasped. "Why save me?"
Caspian's throat bobbed. "I...cannot ignore suffering. Even if it costs me."
A silence, heavy as a tombstone. But then...
"Matthew. My name."
Relief softened Caspian's features. "Rest, Matthew. Please. Your wounds… They're severe. You must rest-"
"No." Matthew shoved upright, vision swimming. Duty howled in through his veins. "I cannot linger. There are… matters I must finish."
A hand pressed his shoulder lighter than a moth's wing, yet firm. . "Your wounds are dire…they require rest. A month, at least."
"Impossible..." Matthew countered, struggling upright. "My duty must-"
A gasp. A spellwoven hand pressed to his brow. Darkness swallowed him once more.
A touch. A pulse of light.
Caspian's palm glowed faintly, threads of cerulean weaving into Matthew's skin. The world frayed at the edges.
"Forgive me..." Caspian whispered, watching the teal glow fade from his palms.
Alone, Caspian stared at his trembling hands. The magic lingered is a curse dressed as a gift. A gift he loathed to wield, tainted, his kin had called it. Yet for this stranger, he'd risk its touch.
He glanced at his journal, its pages brimming with botanical sketches. The Blooms could wait.
'Soon.' He thought. 'Soon, I'll mend what I've broken.'
For now, a mystery named Matthew demanded his care and perhaps, in time, his trust.