Cyria is sitting at her desk, typing away on her computer when Mira enters. This meeting is just a quick check-in to go over the event agenda and fix a few things in the schedule. Cyria looks like she is in her mid-thirties. Her chestnut-ash hair is a neat chin-length bob that frames her sharp, elegant face. Her eyes are a light gray with a bit of green in them, appearing cool and friendly at the same time. During the Tokyo summit, Cyria helped her with every single bit of prep to make sure things stayed on track. She still can't help but wonder why Adrian acted so weird around Cyria last time.

  Cyria gets up and heads over to the small counter by the wall. She comes back a minute later and puts a cup of instant cappuccino down in front of Mira.

  “Thanks for helping me with the agenda, Mira,” Cyria says kindly. “This one is on me.”

  Mira gives her a polite smile. “Thank you, Ms. Cyria, but I actually don’t drink cappuccino.”

  Cyria blinks, looking surprised. “Are you on a diet?”

  Mira lets out a little laugh. “No, I’m actually allergic to caffeine. It was bad enough that I ended up in the hospital once.”

  Cyria’s eyebrows go up. “Oh, I see. I had no idea.”

  “It’s totally fine,” Mira says quickly.

  Mira sits down in the chair opposite the desk and finds herself watching Cyria again. They start to discuss the program timing, how the guests will move through the space, and how the planning and support teams need to work together, though everything looks like it is in great shape already.

  A soft knock sounds at the door. Iris steps into the office, appearing a bit winded but offering a quick smile to everyone.

  “Hi, sorry I’m late. How are things going?”

  She has long, beautiful black hair that falls over her shoulders and glasses perched on her nose. Iris is a hard worker who helps out whenever she can, possessing a personality that is reserved yet completely dependable. Mira still finds it hard to imagine that Iris has a crush on Adrian—especially since she once asked Mira to deliver a gift to him.

  Cyria looks up from her work. “Nothing much. We just finalized the agenda. The others are busy with class and will meet us at noon.”

  Iris takes the chair beside Mira and sits down. “The tea break and other logistics are all set. I’ve recruited a support team to welcome the guests and help serve during the event.”

  “That’s a great help, Iris,” Mira says warmly.

  She glances down at the document on her tablet. “So we’ll start with the discussion panel, then move into the tea break and networking session.”

  Iris nods in agreement while Cyria adds a few timing notes to the plan. They exchange a couple more quick details to make sure everyone is on the same page. Within minutes, the group has everything settled.

  As they gather their things, Iris glances at the time.

  “Our class is at ten thirty. I have a library shift today,” Iris adds. “So I’ll need to leave a bit early. Would you mind sharing your notes with me later? And maybe any tips the professor gives?”

  “Of course,” Mira says easily.

  Iris smiles in relief. “Thanks, Mira. There’s also a reference book related to today’s chapter—I can show it to you at the library, if you want.”

  “That’d be great,” Mira replies.

  Mira walks out of the office and watches Iris from behind, tracking her until the girl disappears down the staircase. A weird, annoying knot twists in her stomach. Adrian is just too much—too successful, too smart, and way too good-looking for his own good. There must be a literal army of girls out there crushing on him just like Iris.

  She can't help but wonder if his brain is actually wired wrong—like he has some secret, broken taste for pure chaos. While all those "perfect" girls are busy being elegant and offering him sweet smiles, her biggest talent is dragging him into endless, pointless arguments and testing his patience until he looks like he might explode. If there were an award for "Most Likely to Give Adrian a Headache", she would take home the gold, silver, and bronze. The thought of their "new relationship" suddenly makes her cheeks flush with an uninvited warmth, and look away from the empty staircase.

  Mira heads toward the greenhouse just to make sure everything is okay while she is not around. Her backpack is slung over one shoulder as she nears the glass structure.

  “What are you doing, Noah?” Mira calls out.

  Noah is standing still just beyond the door of the research greenhouse, at the edge of the paved service yard where the compost bins line the wall. His arms are rigid around a shallow tray of soil, the easy looseness she’s used to gone from his posture. His eyes are narrowed, lips pressed in a thin line.

  Beside him waits a little boy; his dark brown hair is fine and a little long for a boy, curling gently at the ends. When he looks up, his eyes catch hers—an unusual gray-green, carrying a stillness that doesn’t quite fit his age.

  “Oh… sorry for bothering you, Mira.” Noah shifts the tray in his hands. “My project isn’t going well. The seeds didn’t grow at all. I was thinking of throwing them away and starting a new batch.”

  He says it simply, but he looks as if the thought of starting over tears at him from the inside. Starting a new batch means weeks of delay, no guarantee it will work, and the weight of knowing all the time he’s already poured in may have been wasted.

  Mira steps closer, slipping her hand under the edge of the tray before Noah can object. She lifts it a little, tilting it toward the light to see more clearly. The soil is dark, damp, but lifeless—no green shoots, not even a hint of sprouting.

  “What is this about?” she asks, glancing up at him. “What seed are you growing?”

  Noah exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a germination study—part of my coursework this semester. I’m testing dormancy in alpine seeds. They’re supposed to break once they get the right cues—cold treatment, moisture, light. I’ve done everything by the book. Weeks of monitoring temperature cycles, keeping them in controlled trays… but nothing. Not a single sprout.”

  He gestures toward the tray in her hands, frustration etched into his features. “If they don’t wake up, I can’t collect any data. Which means the whole project fails, and I have to start over from scratch.”

  “What a waste,” Mira says. “Can I keep it? What if they’re special and just need a little more time?”

  Noah exhales, shoulders slumping.

  She presses on. “If you start over, it’ll still take time, right? So it won’t hurt to keep this batch and see if anything changes.”

  Noah hesitates, lips pressing together, then lets out a small sigh. “...Fine. You win. We’ll keep it.” His mouth quirks in something that isn’t quite a smile.

  “This is Emil—my brother. Emil, say hello. Our parents are on tour right now—father’s conducting, mother’s performing—so they’ll be gone for at least a week. His school is closed today, and with this project hanging over me…” He shrugs. “Thanks for coming. Can I—uhm—trust Emil with you for a bit? Just fifteen minutes. I need to head back inside the lab.”

  “Sure,” Mira says easily. “No worry.”

  He’s just about to turn when Emil grabs at his sleeve, eyes fixed on the soil.

  “Brother,” Emil says softly, pointing. “Is that tiny thing… a sprout?”

  “Where?” Noah’s voice comes out sharper than usual as he shifts the tray closer to his chest. His brows draw tight, eyes narrowing as if Emil might only be imagining things.

  “There.” Emil points with his small finger.

  Noah bends down, peering so close the fringe of his hair nearly brushes the soil. His eyes sharpen, then widen—there, unmistakable, a small white point pushing through the dark surface. And not just one. As he stares, other seeds are cracking open too, small slivers of white breaking the soil as if they’ve all chosen this exact moment. His breath stutters; the easy calm he’s known for has vanished. He is certain—absolutely certain—there was nothing there only moments ago.

  Mira leans in, her expression softening into wonder. “Oh, there,” she smiles at him. “They’ve already woken up, Noah.”

  Noah lets out a rough laugh, almost disbelieving. “They… they’re really sprouting.” His voice softens, earnest now. “Thank you, Mira.”

  Before she can answer, he gathers the tray against his chest. All the heaviness from before has vanished, replaced by a rare, almost childlike excitement. He can’t hide the way his eyes shine as he straightens, already turning back toward the greenhouse doors.

  “I need to check them right away,” he says quickly, half to himself, half to her. And then he’s moving, carrying the tray inside with eagerness.

  ?

  “Say, lady fairy, how did you do that?” Emil’s small voice breaks the air.

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  Mira’s eyes widen and hold. The words had knocked something loose inside her. Slowly, she turns to him.

  “Emil,” she says, her gaze narrowing just slightly, “what are you talking about?”

  “Don’t pretend! You are a fairy, aren’t you?” Emil asks, not holding back, his gray-green eyes fixed on her.

  Mira blinks, surprised, frustrated, and with a hint of amusement.

  “Do you want to read a fairy tale now, Emil?” Her tone is playful enough to mask the unease running beneath it.

  “I’m sure there was no sprout there before you came,” Emil says firmly, his small hands curling into fists at his sides. “Brother almost cried; I’ve never seen him that hopeless before. And sprouts don’t wake up that fast.”

  Emil’s eyes don’t waver. “Grandpa said fairies can wake up sprouts with their bioelectric signal.”

  Noah, you should have warned me about your brother, she exhales slowly.

  Mira closes her eyes, her brow narrowing as she lifts a hand to her forehead. She isn’t even sure what is happening to her or whether she is truly waking the seeds and leaves at all. Yet the kid speaks as if he knows everything.

  “And how does your grandpa know about that?” She asks.

  Emil doesn’t hesitate. “Grandpa was an excellent biologist,” he says, his voice certain. “And he told me fairies are real.”

  Mira lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. “How old is your grandpa, Emil?”

  “Seventy-five,” Emil doesn’t look at her. He lifts his small hands, measuring the air around the low bush beside her. His gaze stays on the plant. “The branch here has grown one centimetre since you came. And it’s swaying around you… even though there’s no wind.”

  Mira’s smile holds, but she can feel a growl rising in her throat, and it takes effort to keep her tone light. “Emil,” she says sweetly, “should we go to the cafeteria? Do you like cake? Ice cream? I know a wonderful ice-cream store around here.”

  Emil lifts his head, considering her offer. “If I eat ice cream,” he says simply, “would you show me your magic?”

  Mira settles down onto her feet in front of him, her posture straight but her eyes dancing with mischief. She says with a mock-serious expression,

  “Sir Emil, fairies only show magic to good kids. Now be good.”

  And just like that, they go. The greenhouse is behind them, and the weight of the moment feels farther away with every step. Little Emil sits with his legs swinging beneath the chair, fully absorbed in his cake and the scoop of lavender ice cream he insists is his favorite. He eats with the simple delight of any child, face bright, crumbs on his fingers.

  Mira watches him, trying to match his ease, wishing he’ll forget the greenhouse and the word fairy altogether.

  ?

  Two back-to-back classes are nothing but exhaustion, dragging from morning into well past noon, until her body moves on habit and her mind lags a step behind. Mira sits alone in the courtyard, trying to ease her mind and breathe in the fresh air. The space is a vast expanse of grass currently turning shades of brown and yellow, merging with the forest edge—a spot usually meant for BBQ parties but now completely deserted. The heavy, damp air and low rainy clouds slowly curling around the surrounding mountains stir a strange, pleasant feeling in Mira’s chest; from here, she can hear the soft rustle of them brushing against the trees as they shroud the endless peaks in the vibrant colors of mid autumn.

  Those nervous butterflies are back in her chest. The image of Adrian appears in her mind again and makes the weight of the lecture melt away. It’s already past noon, so it's normal to ask how his day is going, right?

  She raises her phone to capture the scene. Her lips purse hard to one side while she types and deletes repeatedly, adjusting words to sound casual, until she finally types it out one last time, and taps the send button before she can talk herself out of it. The whole world won't collapse just by sending a message, Mira.

  Mira: Did your work go okay? taking a quick break out at the BBQ field..

  A butterfly drifts down, perching boldly on the hem of her skirt. Another follows, wings catching the light before settling on the bench armrest. That’s when she hears the soft scrabble of claws. She blinks, lowers her phone, then breaks into a smile. The little squirrel from the forest hops closer.

  She crouches down, tugging open her bag. From a crinkled paper pouch she pulls a single marshmallow, breaking it in half. “Hello,” she smiles, setting the pieces on her palm.

  The squirrel hesitates instead of taking the marshmallow.

  He hops forward, then back again, tail moving in quick restless strokes. His eyes stay fixed on Mira’s face rather than her open palm, while a thin chitter rises from his throat in short urgent bursts before suddenly turning and runing a few steps toward the trees, stopping to glance over his shoulder.

  Then again — toward her, then away.

  Mira’s smile fades into concern.

  “Oh,” she whispers softly. “Something’s wrong.”

  The squirrel rushes in close, whiskers brushing her fingers. He taps her knuckle with one paw. Then he sprints straight across the wide grass field. His small body becomes a moving dot against the green, racing toward the distant line of trees.

  Mira straightens in surprise.

  He reaches the far end of the field, where the grass thins and the earth darkens, and stops beneath the massive oak standing right at the forest’s boundary. Its trunk rises broad and ancient, roots spreading outward like giant fingers gripping the ground.

  He turns and chatters sharply.

  At the base of the great oak, one thick branch has cracked halfway through and bends downward over the sloping ground beyond the roots. Splinters jut outward, forming a narrow trap. Caught between them is another squirrel, smaller, her hind leg wedged tight as she struggles.

  Mira’s breath catches.

  “Oh my goodness…”

  She kneels, lifting her hands slowly.

  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  Mira reaches up and tests the broken branch. It shifts with a soft groan, lifting just enough.

  “Easy… hold on…”

  With her other hand she eases the splintered wood apart.

  Then she comes free.

  She tumbles into Mira’s lap before scrambling to the ground.

  Mira’s eyes flick between them, mischief glinting. “And who’s this? Your girlfriend?” She doesn’t expect anything, just says it for the fun of it.

  But then—the first squirrel actually bobs his head. A sharp nod. Before rushing to her, touching noses, chittering in quick bursts.

  Mira bursts into laughter, the sound spilling out of her before she can stop it.

  Mira straightens, brushing dirt from her knees, her chest still warm with the happiness of having saved a small life.

  Then a sound moves through the air.

  It begins with leaves brushing against one another in a long dragging line, followed by a low breathy rasp that grows closer, carrying across the grass.

  At the same moment, Mira and the squirrels turn toward it.

  Her body reacts before her thoughts can form. The air along her skin tightens, and the ground beneath her feet sends up a vibration she can feel through her soles.

  The forest melts away from her awareness. Every distant birdcall and rustling branch fades, replaced by the clear, rushing glide of scales brushing through leaves and soil. Her skin tightens, her pulse rising as if her body recognizes danger before her mind can name it. Her hearing sharpens with sudden clarity, catching the speed, the direction, the force behind the movement.

  Leaves tear across the ground beside the oak, a sharp hiss of movement slicing through the clearing, and in the same breath the long dark body surges out from the roots, whipping upward in a blinding curve, coils flashing as it snaps toward the place where the squirrel has been sitting. The strike is so fast it feels as if the air itself has been cut open, the shape filling the space in front of Mira in a single overwhelming motion, shining, slick, writhing, a living mass rushing straight toward her.

  The squirrel vanishes upward at that exact instant, a blur of fur jolting into the high branches as claws scrape bark.

  The snake’s head shoots past the vanished target, jaws closing on nothing as momentum carries the thick length of its body forward, coils twisting sharply before crashing down onto the damp ground with a heavy slap of scales against leaves and soil. Grass flattens beneath the impact as the powerful form strikes the earth where prey had been a heartbeat earlier, the force rippling through the clearing like a sudden shockwave.

  Terror crashes into Mira all at once.

  Her breath locks in her chest, her scream trapped before it can rise, her body frozen as the massive creature lands so close the ground seems to jump beneath her.

  Her body vanishes into her own clothes in a second, fabric collapsing around empty space as the grass dips softly where she had been.

  At once the damp earth around the oak erupts with motion.

  Thick stalks force upward through leaves and roots, large mushrooms bursting into the clearing in a heartbeat, their wide caps unfolding in blazing reds and whites, crowding the space where air had been moments before, and in the same instant clouds of spores surge outward like a living mist, swirling through the clearing, brushing against bark, grass, cloth, and scales, filling the air with drifting color and heavy scent.

  The snake jerks back from the impact and the sudden eruption around it, its body twisting sharply as spores and vibration overwhelm its senses, coils lashing through fallen leaves before it surges away into the forest, vanishing between the trees as fast as it had appeared.

  Spores float slowly downward through the damp air while the squirrels cling high above, bodies pressed tight to the bark, and among the folds of fallen clothes on the grass Mira lies tiny and shaking, her heart pounding wildly as the aftershock of fear and magic spreads through the earth, the moment too sudden and overwhelming for understanding, marking the first awakening of something powerful within her.

  Silence settles around the forest. Inside the loose curve of her T-shirt, Mira curls tightly into herself, her small body shaking from her chest down to her fingers and toes. The trembling refuses to stop, gripping her muscles again and again as though fear is still moving through her. Her breathing comes fast and shallow, each breath catching in her throat before sliding out in a rush. She presses deeper into the fabric, pulling the cotton closer around her as if it is the only barrier between her and the vast space outside. The world beyond the cloth feels too large, too open, and far too close at the same time. Her eyes stay squeezed shut, and the thought of peeking out sends another shiver along her spine. Her hands clutch the shirt tightly, fingers curling and uncurling as she searches for something solid to hold onto.

  Slowly, the realization settles in her chest that the snake has disappeared.

  A warm touch brushes Mira’s ear. She remains still while a large nose nudges through her hair, bringing a flow of warm breath against her cheek. Beside her, the squirrel rises like a soft wall of copper and burnt orange. Each strand of hair glows with a deep ginger hue. This dense fur presses against her arm with a springy touch. The other squirrel pads around the fallen bag. It lowers its head to sniff along the strap before pushing the soft leather with its nose. The bag rocks. A second, stronger push sends the satchel leaning until it tips over onto the grass.

  The squirrel leaps back while its ears lift straight. Its body freezes for a single breath as its tail flicks sharply, yet curiosity soon pulls the creature closer to the opening where a vibrant glow spills over the edges.

  Inside the bag, thin threads rise from the layered pages of the old book. They weave together into sturdy stems that push toward the light. One after another, mushrooms open and unfold into a riot of colors. Some shine crystal clear in soft blues and silvery whites to shimmer like morning frost. Others glow in warm golds and gentle pinks, looking smooth and bright in the damp air.

  Tiny clusters sparkle like beads of light along the edges of the pages, while bigger caps stretch wide and round to fill the space. Between these mushrooms, emerald vines emerge and spiral outward. They curl in elegant loops, reaching toward the squirrel with tiny crystal shining blossoms at every tip. The squirrel leans closer to sniff the light, its whiskers trembling while it studies the living garden growing inside the bag.

  A sweet scent of damp earth and honeyed nectar reaches Mira like a soft invisible blanket, filling her lungs and easing the tension in her limbs. A deep sense of peace washes over her mind, and every muscle relaxes into the plush fur of the squirrel beside her. Mira’s eyelids grow heavy as the rhythm of the squirrel’s breathing lulls her into a daze. The world becomes a haze of soft light and perfume until Mira and the squirrels fall asleep.

  ?