Chapter 10 - Soft as a Bloom Unfolding

The sun spilled like warm honey across the high branches, and in the hush of Selathryn’s morning, Iris followed Nymeris through winding paths of dappled light. The grove was just beginning to stir, its early stillness marked by the whisper of dew evaporating from stone and leaf alike. Ayda had gone off with the younger apprentices to observe some healing lessons, and Nymeris, carrying a simple satchel of ritual tools, slowed her pace with a smile.

“I could use another cleric today,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “There are only a handful of us here, and the others are off tending to their own wards.”

Iris tilted her head. “You want me to help with a ritual?”

“I do,” Nymeris replied. “The rites to Rillifane are gentle, but they require intention and time. I could do it alone, but it would be far more meaningful with your presence.”

A warm flutter of surprise rose in Iris’s chest. “You really think I can help?”

“You’re a cleric, child. And we don’t see many pass through Selathryn, let alone stay. You may serve a different god, but you’re still one of us. That counts for something.”

And so, she did.

The next two days unfolded in a quiet rhythm, shaped by sunrise prayers, offerings left by moonlit waters, and long hours spent in the temple glade gathering herbs and tending to sacred groves. Iris shadowed Nymeris with bright-eyed curiosity, eager hands, and an open heart. But as the older cleric had warned, things did not come easily.

Where Nymeris coaxed life with a touch, Iris’s power flared too hot or flickered out entirely. She tried to purify springwater with a soft chant, only to scald it with sudden heat. A ritual meant to encourage budding growth instead singed the moss it was cast over. Her frustration never showed more than a small crease between her brows, but each failure settled like a stone in her chest. Still, she stayed.

She rose early and worked late, her hands smudged with dirt and her notes scribbled across worn parchment tucked into her sleeves. Even after Nymeris had gone to rest, Iris knelt by the temple pool and continued to whisper prayers beneath her breath. Her soft voice carried through the hollowed roots, steady and persistent, a thread of light weaving through the dark.

Elarion noticed. He never interrupted, not at first. He simply passed by more often than usual, always on his way to something else — training, herb gathering, scouting the forest edge. Each time, he found her deep in focus, her hair tied messily atop her head, sleeves rolled up, and eyes narrowed in concentration.

Once, he saw her seated cross-legged on the temple floor, her eyes closed and hands cupped around a small crystal meant to hold a blessing. Her lips moved in near-silent prayer, and when the spell took hold, a soft golden glow pulsed gently between her palms. The light no longer scorched or flickered. It simply warmed. He stood there longer than he meant to, watching.

It didn’t match the image he’d carried in his mind. The easy smile, the teasing tone, the polished confidence of someone raised with everything. This was someone else entirely. Someone who stumbled, stood up, and tried again. Someone who didn’t perform for anyone but gave her best even when no one was watching. That evening, as she carried a tray of dried roots toward Nymeris’s study, she caught sight of him leaning against the doorframe.

“You again,” she said with a grin, brushing a bit of dust from her brow. “You checking up on me?”

He didn’t look away. “Maybe.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice.

“You’re… good at this,” he said. “Not just the magic. The work.”

Her smile softened, a little surprised and oddly touched. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The next morning, Nymeris placed a small woven pouch into her hands. Inside were the petals of an iris, a sprig of elderroot, and a smooth white stone etched with prayer. “There’s one last piece,” she said gently. “It grows near the falls, just past the edge of the grove. Normally I would go myself, but my hands are full with preparations for the moon rites. The path isn’t dangerous, but it isn’t marked either.”

Iris looked up. “You want me to fetch it?”

“If you’re willing,” Nymeris replied. Then she smiled, glancing over Iris’s shoulder. “You won’t go alone.”

Iris turned, and there he was again, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes steady as ever. “I know the way,” Elarion said. “It’s not exactly a proper trail, and I’d rather you didn’t twist your ankle on a root.”

Iris grinned. “Are you offering to catch me if I do?”

He gave her a dry look, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “Just don’t do it on purpose.”

She slung the satchel over her shoulder. “No promises.”

They stepped out together beneath the light of a waking sky. The trees shifted above them, parting like curtain folds in a quiet theatre. Somewhere behind them, Nymeris whispered a blessing into the wind. And in the stillness that followed, the grove listened.

---

The forest grew quieter the farther they went, the sounds of Selathryn fading behind them like a memory. Only the soft rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant whisper of water marked the passing of time. Above, the canopy stretched thick and dark, letting only scattered moonlight drip through in silver threads. Their path twisted between moss-laced roots and uneven stone, illuminated by the soft pulse of the lantern hanging at Elarion’s side. It was not fire, but something gentler, an arcane light suspended in a glass orb, glowing like starlight caught in crystal.

He led the way with effortless grace, his steps sure even as the terrain shifted beneath them. To him, the path was familiar. His body knew how to move through this place, as if the forest breathed with him. For Iris, it was a quiet challenge. The ground sloped unpredictably, roots reached to trip her boots, and stones gave just enough to throw her balance off. She grumbled under her breath once or twice, but never asked for help.

Elarion heard her stumbles and resisted the urge to turn. She would tell him if she needed anything. And she didn’t. When the silence had stretched enough to settle into comfort, he finally spoke.

“You said you worship Sune.”

Iris looked up. “I do.”

He hesitated, not wanting to sound rude. “That’s… not common in places like this. Most of the Seldarine clerics I’ve met focus on nature, the hunt, the stars. Yours is a goddess of beauty, isn’t she?”

She smiled. “Yes. And love. And passion. And art. And joy. All the things that remind people what it means to be alive.”

Elarion glanced over his shoulder, curious despite himself. “And you chose that?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

There was no pause in her step, no hesitation in her tone. “Because I believe beauty is worth protecting.”

He blinked. “That simple?”

She nodded, stepping carefully over a patch of damp moss. “The world’s a hard place. You know that. There’s cruelty and injustice and loss everywhere you turn. But even in the middle of that, there are moments that shine through. A painting. A laugh. A sunrise. The way someone’s eyes light up when they see something they love.”

She smiled to herself, not looking at him now but speaking with quiet conviction. “Sune teaches that those moments are sacred. That beauty isn’t just decoration. It’s proof that we’re still human. That we still feel. Still hope. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a sunset or the way someone holds your hand when you’re scared. If it stirs something in your heart, it’s worth honouring.” The words settled around them like the mist curling through the trees, soft and warm and lingering.

“I know that sounds shallow to some,” she added, glancing at him with a wry smile. “But there’s a saying among Sunites: ‘Beauty is more than skin deep. It issues from the core of one's being and shows one's fair — or foul — face to the world.’”

Elarion didn’t reply. He could only look at her.

The soft moonlight kissed her cheeks, turning her skin pale gold. Her hair shimmered faintly with each step, catching the lantern’s glow like spun silk. She looked like a dream, walking through the dark like she belonged to the night itself. But it wasn’t the way she looked that made his chest ache. It was the way she spoke, the way she believed. With Iris, everything was honest. She didn’t shrink from beauty, didn’t downplay joy or hope or softness the way so many did. She embraced it, fully and without shame.

And somehow, she made him want to believe in it too.

---

The sound of water grew louder, curling through the trees in a steady, beckoning rhythm. Iris caught a shimmer between the branches ahead. Soft glows like scattered starlight, rising from the earth. Her breath caught.

“There it is,” she whispered.

And then she was running.

Elarion’s stomach dropped.

“Iris—wait!”

But she was already gone, darting between trees and over roots with wild, unrestrained joy. Her laughter rang through the night like the echo of something too bright to be held. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know what lay just ahead, where the forest floor split without warning into a narrow chasm hidden in the dark.

He ran.

The lantern swung at his hip, casting wild shadows across his path as he surged forward. His heart slammed against his ribs, breath burning in his throat, and still she stayed ahead, smaller and faster than she had any right to be. The brush thinned, the ground tilted—

“Iris!”

She turned to look at him, her face still alight with joy.

And then her foot slipped.

There was a moment. Just one, fragile moment when her body tipped forward, weight leaning toward the open earth, and all the world seemed to hold its breath.

His body moved before his mind could catch up. He lunged forward, every muscle surging in one desperate motion. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, yanking her back with everything he had. The force of it pulled them both off balance. They hit the ground hard, tangled in a mess of limbs and breath and startled silence.

Elarion lay on his back, the dirt cool against his spine, Iris curled half across his chest. The lantern had rolled away, but its light was still close enough to catch the edges of her face. And she was beautiful. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His arms were still around her, holding tight like he didn’t quite trust the world not to take her again. Her breath was hot against his throat. One of her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers curled like she hadn’t realized she was holding on.

His heart wouldn’t slow. He could feel hers, too, pressed against him like a second rhythm, stuttering between shock and something else. Her scent wrapped around him, and every inch of his body was burning with awareness. She smelled like a summer bloom at first light — soft rose and lychee wrapped in a whisper of musk and warmth.

She shifted slightly, just enough for her lips to brush the edge of his jaw.

“Iris,” he breathed, not even sure if it was a warning or a prayer.

She blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and still a little dazed. “Oops,” she said softly, her voice barely a breath. “Nearly fell into a chasm there. Ehe…”

He closed his eyes for half a second. She was joking. Laughing, even. And she didn’t realize what she had just done to him.

“I should be angry with you,” he said, his voice quiet and low. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“I didn’t know—”

“I know,” he murmured, looking up at the canopy. “I know you didn’t.”

He wanted to be mad. He wanted to scold her, to tell her how reckless that had been. But she was still in his arms, warm and alive, and all he could feel was the weight of his relief.

“Gods, you scared me.”

She stilled.

“I saw you turn, and I knew what was coming, and I couldn’t—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “If I hadn’t caught you…”

“But you did,” she whispered.

His arms were still around her. He hadn’t let go.

She tilted her face up, meeting his gaze fully now, and her eyes were softer than he’d ever seen them. “You caught me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, taking in every detail. The way her hair had fallen into her face. The scrape on her cheek from where she’d hit the ground. The way her lips parted slightly when she breathed. She was everything he didn’t understand and everything he hadn’t realized he needed. Bright, reckless, radiant. And in this moment, impossibly close.

Her hand was still resting on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and fast beneath her palm. Her own was no better.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Elarion’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. “You make it very difficult not to worry about you.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Right,” she pouted. “Next time I see floating flowers, I’ll walk.”

“That would be appreciated,” he said, but the words came softer than he intended.

She smiled. He looked at that smile like it was the only light left in the world. “You can, um… let go now,” she added, though her voice caught slightly on the words.

His grip loosened, but not fully. His gaze drifted to her lips, then back to her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Miss Iris Ranessa” he said quietly, his voice lower now, as if speaking any louder might break the spell. “But if you keep doing it… you’re gonna make me fall for you.”

She froze.

The world seemed to hush around them, the forest holding its breath once more.

Her heart tumbled in her chest, too fast and too loud. She stared at him, at the serious line of his mouth, the faint pink still colouring the tips of his ears, the tension in his jaw that betrayed how much it had cost him to say that aloud. Her lips parted, but no words came.

And then, slowly, he let go of her.

He stood and extended a hand to help her up. She took it, fingers slipping into his as he pulled her to her feet. Neither spoke as they crossed the makeshift bridge, their shadows long in the lanternlight.

Ahead, the clearing opened like a secret. The waterfall cascaded into a quiet pool, and beside it, the saren lilies bloomed in soft white clusters, glowing faintly with golden veins. They shimmered like stars that had fallen to earth, their light reflected across the surface of the water. Elarion stopped at the edge.

“Those are the ones,” he said. “Be careful when you pick them. The stones are slick.”

He looked at her then, eyes steady beneath the moonlight, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a faint, unmistakable smirk.

“And I don’t want you ending up in the water like I did at the pond.”

Iris opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Her brain had apparently short-circuited somewhere between the fall, the look, and that line. She turned away quickly, crouching beside the lilies to give herself something to focus on besides the echo of his voice in her head. The saren lilies shimmered softly in the dark, their golden veins catching the light like threads of fire in silk. She reached for one with steady fingers, though her heart hadn’t quite recovered.

What had he meant by that? Was he teasing? Was he serious? And why is he so calm about it?

She wanted to ask. She didn’t even know what — just something, but she just bit the inside of her cheek, lips twitching into a helpless smile. She was happy. And flustered. And confused. And just a little bit doomed.

Because there was no way she was walking out of this grove with her heart untouched.