"Come in," said the voice behind the door.
Arana stepped in first, composed as ever, with Ravine just behind her — the Bloom tucked beneath her collar, unseen, unmentioned. She let the quiet wrap around her like a second skin.
The office was neat but not impersonal. It bore the weight of decades of decisions — shelves precisely aligned; parchment rolls sealed with exact knots. A desk of old ironwood stretched between them and the woman who sat at its centre. Dean Heln, her eyes lined not from age, but from decades of withholding more than she gave, looked up from her documents with quiet expectation.
"You requested this audience," she said.
Arana inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Yes. My name is Arana. I serve the remembrance delegation — we're collecting what remains of those who went missing in the Dead Zone expedition. We've traced the route, found traces, and are offering closure. We came seeking Kaesa Dorne's past, and anyone who might've known her."
There was a stillness in the air after she spoke — the kind that always comes before a truth that has waited too long.
Dean Heln folded her hands over the desk. "You've come a long way."
Arana nodded. "And the road has not been kind."
For a moment, Heln studied her. Then her gaze passed — not unkindly — over Ravine, still silent, still folded into herself like something listening more than breathing.
"You're not the first to come asking about Kaesa," Heln said. "But you may be the last."
She rose from her seat slowly and crossed to a case behind her desk — not one locked or hidden, but one whose contents had not been touched in years.
"Kaesa Dorne," Heln began, "was an anomaly — even in Theralis. Sharp beyond her age. Passionate to the point of recklessness. She had a theory — that the Dead Zone was not a wasteland, but a vault. That something lay beneath its corruption. An artifact. Something capable of rewriting the rules of alchemy."
She didn't sound as though she believed it.
But neither did she scoff.
"She never published her notes," Heln continued. "She spoke rarely of her intentions. But she didn't move in isolation."
She paused, turning slightly.
"There were two others who arrived that season. Outsiders. Not from any sanctioned institution. But Kaesa welcomed them."
Heln returned to her seat, fingers resting on the desk's edge now — less a barrier, more an anchor.
"Niva," she said. "She was barely more than twenty, I believe. Quick-tempered. Brilliant in her own right. Had a way of asking questions that upset a room without ever raising her voice."
She paused.
"And then there was the boy."
Heln frowned faintly, brows tugged inward. "No one ever gave a name. He was about the same age — early twenties, maybe — but quiet. Sharp. A little too observant. While Niva drew attention, he stayed in the background. People assumed she was the lead voice. But I suspect… she followed him."
Ravine's breath caught slightly — too small for anyone else to notice. But Arana's glance flicked back just once.
"There was a pendant," Heln continued. "A rare artifact. Red Moonstone — not the kind one finds in any ordinary setting. It burned like ember in dark spaces. I remember it because it seemed out of place on Niva — too old, too heavy. But she wore it constantly. No one knew where it came from."
Heln's voice didn't linger long there, but her pause said enough.
"That's the thing people remember most. The red stone."
Arana didn't correct her.
Ravine said nothing.
Heln glanced between them, then nodded to herself. "I don't know what happened. The team left. Kaesa with them. No word ever returned. Most accepted they were gone. But here… hope clings to structure. We never updated her records. Never placed a death date. Maybe out of sentiment. Maybe denial."
Arana inclined her head. "We're not here to disturb that hope. Only to honour the reality. And ensure it's not forgotten without dignity."
A beat passed. Then Heln nodded once more, slower this time.
"If you're tracing their journey," she said, "you should speak to someone who knew Kaesa more personally. She had a roommate. Aera Nemein. They lived together for four years while Kaesa taught here. Aera still works at the Greenhouse Archives. Quiet woman. She keeps to the medicinal gardens these days. You'll find her in the lower atrium, past the east stair."
Arana accepted the slip of parchment Heln had written the directions on.
Ravine finally looked up — not to speak, but to meet Heln's eyes just for a moment. There was no recognition in the dean's gaze. The Bloom remained hidden beneath her coat, and the truth of it — the truth of Ravine — stayed veiled.
"We appreciate your time," Arana said.
Heln offered a brief, respectful nod. "Whatever it is you're trying to understand… I hope the soil you find it in is kinder than the one that buried them."
As they left, the air in the office felt heavier.
They closed the door behind them.
And though neither spoke, something deeper had shifted. This was the second time the Bloom had been mentioned — associated, always, with Niva. With the fire of her presence. With her myth.
And that myth had begun to stir in the spaces they stepped into — not yet a name, but a trail of memory.