The sky blushed with the last light of day, streaked in hues of peach and gold as the sun dipped behind the western cliffs. The hill path was quiet, save for the crunch of gravel beneath two sets of boots.
Mira walked in silence beside Cassian, her brows furrowed in thought, her dress tugged lightly by the sea breeze.
“Mira-san, if you can forgive my prince,” Cassian muttered, more to himself than to her, “I’m sure he had a good reason for going to your house without prior notice.”
Mira didn’t answer.
Her eyes were on the cottage ahead—but her senses were tuned elsewhere.
Something didn’t feel right.
She stopped.
“Hold on,” she whispered.
Cassian blinked. “What is it?”
Mira didn’t reply.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath. The scent of lavender was thick in the air... but beneath it—movement.
Stillness that wasn’t natural. Like the hush before a bowstring snaps.
Her gaze flicked to the hedgerow flanking the bend just below the cottage.
There.
Three heartbeats. Close. Controlled. Watching.
She stepped back into the shadow of a tree, motioning for Cassian to stay put.
“Wait here,” she whispered. “We’ve got company.”
Then she was gone.
Light on her feet, Mira circled wide, ascending the hill through tall grass and wildflowers. Her boots barely made a sound—like she was gliding on the wind.
She crouched low behind a thicket, peeking through the foliage.
And there they were.
Three cloaked figures.
One—a lanky young man, chewing on a fig stem like it was a toothpick.
Another—a woman with silver-threaded hair, a dagger in hand, idly flicking it between her fingers.
And the third—masked and silent, watching the path like a predator in wait.
It was them. The strangers from that morning. But their leader was missing.
She crouched lower, just out of sight, straining to listen as their voices carried softly through the underbrush.
“You really think she’s a saintess?” the fig-chewer—Rook—muttered, tossing the stem aside. “She doesn’t look like much.”
“Neither do explosive runes—until they’re already in your lungs,” the silver-haired woman—Leila—replied dryly.
The masked one—Grey—said nothing. But his eyes were fixed downhill. Right where Mira and Cassian should have walked, had they not stopped.
“We should’ve grabbed her back at the cliff,” Rook said, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Would’ve been easier without the prince around.”
“We weren’t paid to grab her,” Leila replied. “Just to observe. For now.”
Mira’s expression darkened.
So this was their purpose. Monitoring her—on someone’s orders.
Her gaze drifted back uphill—toward her home—wondering if their leader had gone there.
And then she saw him—Lucien.
Still standing at the door, axe in hand, posture relaxed but alert. He was scanning the horizon. Waiting. Guarding.
Mira frowned, a tightness blooming in her chest—yet her lips curled without her realizing.
She turned her attention back to the spies.
She steadied her breath, reassessed their formation—and stepped forward without hesitation, snapping a twig on purpose.
All three Silver Fang members whipped around.
Rook scrambled upright. “What the—!?”
Leila’s dagger was already in her hand.
Grey didn’t move—only stared as Mira emerged from the shadows like a ghost in twilight.
“I’m kinda in a hurry,” she said calmly. “So why don’t you tell me who sent you—real quick.”
Rook blinked. “Wait… how the hell—?!”
“She snuck up on us,” Leila muttered, eyes narrowing. “And we didn’t notice a thing.”
Grey’s voice was low and thoughtful. “You’re way too stealthy for a healer.”
Mira’s eyes glinted. “Who told you I’m just a healer?”
She took a slow step forward, her presence quiet but firm, as the wind stirred around her like it, too, sensed the shift in the air.
“Anyway,” she said. “I’m not in a good mood right now. So why don’t you just tell me what I want to know?”
The air thickened, heavy with the scent of earth and something older—wilder.
Mira lifted her hand.
The ground responded.
With a sudden crack, thick roots erupted from the soil, tearing through grass and gravel. They lunged like serpents—fast, deliberate, and alive.
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“What the—?!” Rook staggered back, but too late.
The roots coiled around his legs, snapping him off his feet. He thrashed wildly, but the vines wound tighter, climbing his arms and yanking him upright like a puppet.
Leila leapt back, slicing one root with her dagger. It twitched and split—but two more shot up in its place, wrapping her from the waist down.
She slashed again, snarling. “I’m not gonna be strangled by garden weeds!”
Grey tried to vanish into the trees—his body shifting like a shadow—but a wall of thorns surged from the ground, halting him mid-step.
The roots coiled around him in eerie silence, locking his arms before he could throw a single knife.
Within seconds, all three were bound—upright, cocooned in layers of twisting bark and vines, their feet inches from the earth.
Only their faces remained uncovered, breathing hard.
The wind stilled.
Mira lowered her hand slowly, the roots still writhing faintly under her control. She took a step forward, her eyes calm but sharp.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGOGdHNTcqR
“Now,” she said. “Do I have your attention? Start talking.”
Rook twisted in his bindings. “Y-you can’t just root people! That’s so not saintess!”
Mira arched an eyebrow. “You’re right. I’m not.”
Leila hissed through her teeth, trying again to slice through a vine. It bled sap and hissed with magic. “These damn roots are too strong.”
Grey let out a slow breath, his eyes on her. “The Saintess of the South… makes more sense now.”
“You don’t say,” Rook grumbled, squirming in his leafy cocoon.
Mira’s gaze sharpened. “I want answers.”
“Okay—okay! You win!” Rook yelped, wriggling against the roots. “Just don’t mulch me or whatever! It was Count Elmhurst! He’s the one who sent us!”
Mira didn’t blink.
“He told us to observe,” Rook added quickly. “And try to figure out whether you’re the real deal.”
“Why?” Mira folded her arms, puzzled. “What does he want with me?”
“I—I dunno the whole plan! Honest!" Rook gulped. "All we got was a short briefing, and we were already on our way to Mermaid’s Cove.”
“That’s not good enough.” Mira’s eyes narrowed again as the roots tightened slightly around them.
Leila, still pinned but calm despite the vines coiled around her arms, let out a breath. “Wait. I think it’s for recruitment. He wants you to work for him.”
“What makes you think that?” Mira asked slowly.
Grey, ever silent, finally spoke. His voice was low and even. “Rumor has it, Elmhurst’s been gathering favors. Building connections. Preparing for something big.”
Mira’s frown deepened. “And what makes him think I’d agree to something like that?”
“How the hell should we know?” Leila snapped. “We’re just hired hands.”
A sudden rustle of hurried footsteps behind her made Mira glance over her shoulder.
Cassian emerged from the path below, slightly out of breath, one hand on his sword hilt.
“I heard shouting—what’s—”
He froze mid-step.
His eyes swept over the scene: Rook squirming like a netted trout, Leila bound tight in writhing roots, and Grey pinned upright, unmoving, his eyes locked on Mira.
"...Am I interrupting something?” Cassian asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“We’ve got some mercenaries here,” Mira said evenly. “Working for Count Elmhurst.”
Cassian blinked. “Elmhurst? As in the Marshal of the South?”
Mira didn’t answer—she just turned her gaze to Rook.
The young man swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah… that Elmhurst,” he squeaked. “Please tell me you’re not about to stab me.”
Leila let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. “For gods sake, Rook. You sound like a squirrel. Stop embarrassing us in front of strangers.”
Mira’s expression didn’t shift. She stepped closer, arms still folded, her voice calm—but colder now.
“Where’s your leader?” she asked, eyes flicking between the three of them. “The pale one. I don’t see him.”
Rook’s eyes flicked to Leila, then to Grey—wordlessly pleading for someone else to speak first.
“He’s not here,” Leila said at last, her tone clipped. “Kael left before sundown. Said he had a message to send.”
“To whom?” Mira asked, voice steady.
Grey gave a slow blink. “To the Count. Said we needed to renegotiate the payment—something about the prince complicating things.”
Cassian narrowed his eyes. “And he just left the three of you behind? To handle this alone?”
Rook gave a sheepish shrug, still tangled in roots. “We thought she was just a healer. Not a valkyrie in disguise.”
“Serves you right,” Mira muttered.
She let the silence linger for a moment, her gaze sweeping the darkening treeline. Still no sign of the fourth presence.
But her instincts wouldn’t let it go—Kael was out there. Somewhere.
Her fingers curled.
The roots tightened in response, eliciting soft grunts of discomfort from the captives.
“You’re staying put,” she said firmly. “And when your boss comes back—if he comes back—tell him where to find me.”
Rook squirmed as the roots creaked tighter around him. “Wait—what? Y-You can’t just leave us like this! You’re a saintess, remember? You’re supposed to heal people, not… burrito-wrap them!”
Mira raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to tap your head and give you a blessing?”
Rook hesitated. “Uh… not if it comes with extra vines, no.”
Mira rolled her eyes and turned away, brushing past him without another word. Time to go home.
Leila groaned. “Rook, for once in your life, shut up.”
Grey let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh—or just defeat.
“You should count yourself lucky she didn’t use ice,” Cassian said offhandedly.
Rook blinked. “Ice? What do you mean?”
Cassian’s mouth twitched, clearly holding back a grin. “You’ll find out when you get back to town.”
Then he followed after Mira, leaving the three mercenaries swaying in their leafy bindings, as the last light faded from the hill...
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