Night had long since fallen, wrapping the small wooden cabin in a gentle hush. The meal was finished, the scent of roasted roots and herbs still lingering faintly in the air. Outside, the wind combed through the trees, stirring the silver reflection of moonlight over the lake's surface. Inside, Luciel, Elara, and Mino sat together around the table, their small world lit by a single wavering lamp.
They would reach the Moon Lake Tribe tomorrow.
Luciel's hands moved steadily as he carved into a small wooden box, each stroke of his knife deliberate and patient. The rhythmic click—crack of blade against grain filled the silence like the beating of a heart. The box was meant to hold the Starlight Tea leaves—rare and precious things, deserving of something beautiful to cradle them.
He worked with the same focus he gave to everything: quiet, precise, almost reverent. Beauty, he believed, gave worth to even the simplest of things.
