Morning sunlight seeped through the shutters, thin and pale, but enough to nudge Lydia awake. Her body ached in ways she didn’t know it could, a reminder that chores and mana practice apparently used the same muscles. She sat up slowly, brushing her hair from her eyes, taking in the little room that had—somehow—already started to feel familiar.

  No dreams.

  Or if there were, they slid away from her like water between fingers.

  Lydia dressed in her new terracotta clothes, the fabric soft and warm in a way store-bought clothing back home never felt. The skirt still felt strange against her legs, but not bad. Just… new. New like everything here.

  When she stepped into the main room, Maera was already awake, bent over a mortar, grinding something that smelled like tangy mint and tree sap.

  “Morning,” Lydia said, blinking.

  “Mm. Sit,” Maera replied without turning. “Breakfast’s on the table.”

  A bowl of porridge with sliced dried fruit waited for her. Lydia hesitated a beat—she still wasn’t used to food appearing without her microwaving something—but she sat and ate quietly. Warmth spread through her chest. Simple, but comforting.

  Maera finally looked at her, eyes narrowing.

  “You slept fine?”

  “I… think so?” Lydia answered. “Woke up sore.”

  “Good. Soreness just means your body’s waking up to mana. It’s proof you’re adapting — proof of progress.”

  Lydia blinked. “Progress? Already?”

  “Aye.” Maera folded her arms, giving a rare, almost-smile. “Doesn’t come easy for most. Be proud of it.”

  Lydia looked down at her porridge, trying not to smile too wide.

  “…Okay. I’ll try.”

  Maera wiped her hands on a cloth and motioned toward the door. “Finish, then we’re going out.”

  “Where? The forest again?”

  “Aye. If you’re staying under my roof, sprout, you’ll learn how to live without me carrying every burden. Today you’re going to learn what’s safe to gather and what bites back.”

  Lydia swallowed.

  The Wyrdwood suddenly felt a lot larger in her memories.

  Hest leapt onto the table—despite the fact he absolutely knew he wasn’t supposed to—and head-butted Lydia’s arm.

  She scratched his chin. “You’re coming too, right?”

  Hest flicked his tail as if saying obviously.

  Maera strapped her satchel over her shoulder. “Before that, though… more mana practice. Yesterday you learned how to feel it. Today we see if you can actually read it.”

  Lydia stiffened. “I—I didn’t think we were doing that again today.”

  “You think mana waits on your convenience?” Maera snorted. “Out. Sunshine’s burning.”

  Lydia sighed, slid her bowl into the wash basin to clean later, and followed her out into the morning air.

  The morning sun filtered weakly through the trees as they followed the worn footpath toward the Wyrdwood’s edge. Hest trotted ahead, tail swishing lazily.

  “Learning the ins and outs of herbs will take years,” Maera said, stepping over a gnarled root. “But you have an advantage.”

  “I do?” Lydia asked, quickening her pace to keep up.

  “Yes, Lydia. You just need to learn how to feel the connection you were blessed with.”

  “I’m… not certain I follow. Connection?”

  Maera sighed loudly enough that even the birds hesitated. “Young folks these days need every little thing explained, don’t they?” she muttered to the trees as if reporting Lydia’s shortcomings to a higher authority.

  “It’s not like you’re that much older than I am,” Lydia mumbled under her breath.

  “Oh dear, is that so?” Maera let out a low chuckle. “It’s been a good decade since anyone called me young.”

  Lydia stopped mid-step. Hest jolted sideways to avoid bumping her, giving Lydia an offended flick of his tail.

  Maera glanced back. “Is something wrong, child?”

  “Well… um…” Lydia braced herself. “I don’t know how to ask this, but… how old are you?” Her voice cracked slightly. Asking a woman her age felt like trying to pick up a hot pan bare-handed.

  Maera stared at her for a long, quiet moment — not angry, just measuring. Lydia felt her soul begin to evaporate.

  “It’s just,” Lydia scrambled to justify herself, “Thane called you a hag, and you don’t even look over thirty…”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Maera waved a hand dismissively, still amused. “Child, when I was your age, anyone over thirty was practically elderly.”

  “E–elderly?” Lydia squeaked.

  “Aye,” Maera said with a humored sigh. “Folk don’t stay spry long in these parts. Hard work, hard winters… If someone reaches sixty, we call it a blessed life. Seventy’s a legend’s age.”

  She tapped her chest lightly.

  “I’m forty. Well past marrying years, no children, and too stubborn to settle. That’s all Thane meant with his ‘old hag’ nonsense.”

  Lydia exhaled, shoulders loosening. It wasn’t an insult — just… a cultural thing.

  Still, forty didn’t look anything like she expected.

  Hest padded back to her side, brushing against her leg as if sensing her unease.

  “Come along,” Maera said, striding deeper into the trees. “We’ve herbs to find, and you’ve much to learn about that ‘connection’ of yours.”

  And Lydia hurried after her.

  They walked deeper into the Wyrdwood, the air growing cooler and the faint blue motes of mana drifting lazily between the trees. Lydia still wasn’t used to seeing them — tiny glimmers like fireflies that only she, apparently, could perceive.

  Maera crouched beside a cluster of low shrubs. “Come here, child. Lesson one of a thousand.”

  Lydia hurried over, nearly tripping on a root. Hest chirped disapprovingly from Maera’s shoulder.

  “This,” Maera said, tapping a leaf, “is moonmint. Easy to spot — likes shade, keeps its silver tint even during the day. Good for settling nerves, steadying mana flow, and calming the stomach.”

  “Oh… so that’s what you gave me the first night?” Lydia asked.

  “Aye. You looked ready to faint after a stiff breeze.”

  Lydia blushed. “I was not that bad.”

  “You were,” Maera replied without looking up.

  She motioned for Lydia to kneel. Lydia obeyed, skirts pooling around her ankles.

  “Now, lesson two: don’t just look. Feel.”

  “…Feel what?” Lydia asked, already dreading the answer.

  “The connection I mentioned.” Maera plucked a leaf and held it between two fingers. “Mana likes balance, child. Plants pull it in, you push it out, the world keeps turning. If you quiet your mind, you’ll sense that pull.”

  “Quiet my mind,” Lydia muttered. “Sure. Easy. I’m great at that.”

  Hest snorted. Lydia didn’t know cats could snort.

  Still, she closed her eyes and reached out. At first she felt nothing but cool air and embarrassment.

  Then—something gentle. A soft tug, like a breeze brushing the back of her hand.

  “I… think I feel it?” she whispered. “Like it’s… humming?”

  Maera grinned in approval. “Good. That’s the start of it. Once you can sense a plant’s mana, you’ll know what’s safe, what’s sick, and what wants to eat your face.”

  Lydia’s eyes shot open. “What?!”

  Maera pointed to another patch of greenery a few feet away. At first Lydia saw only leaves — until they shifted, teeth glinting faintly.

  “Oh. Oh no.”

  “Wyrdwood rule one,” Maera recited. “If it looks too lively, leave it alone. If it looks hungry, run.”

  Lydia swallowed hard. “Right. Great. Nice comforting rules.”

  “Good.” Maera stood. “Now. Pick three moonmint leaves. Don’t pluck more than you need. Plants remember.”

  “…They what?”

  Hest meowed ominously.

  Lydia crouched again, staring hard at the two moonmint sprigs she’d gathered.

  They looked identical… probably?

  One felt calm and cool in her hand.

  The other… well, it prickled. That couldn’t be normal.

  “Hest,” she whispered, holding the leaves out like a child offering a peace treaty. “Uh… which one is the safe one?”

  The cat stretched, hopped off a log, and approached with grand, dramatic importance — like a king inspecting tribute. Lydia held her breath.

  Hest sniffed the first leaf.

  Then wrinkled its nose with a dismissive mrrft.

  “Oh, okay. So that’s a no,” Lydia muttered.

  Hest moved to the second, gave it one single dignified sniff… and then flicked its tail in approval before turning away entirely, as if bored.

  Lydia blinked.

  “Right. Got it. Thank you. Very helpful.”

  The cat did not acknowledge her.

  Maera was right, Lydia thought, tucking the approved leaf into her satchel. Hest is judgmental.

  When she looked up, Maera was watching her with an amused little smirk.

  “Good instincts,” Maera said.

  “I’m… not sure I did anything?”

  “You didn’t argue with the cat.”

  Maera motioned her forward. “Come along. Plenty more to learn before noon.”

  Lydia hurried after her, clutching the leaf like it was a passing grade on a test she didn’t study for.

  By the time the sun hung high overhead, the group had gathered a modest bundle of herbs. Lydia’s legs ached, her head throbbed, and her eyes felt like they’d been staring at a magic-eye puzzle for three hours straight.

  Who knew that simply perceiving something could be so exhausting?

  When they finally made it back to the cabin, Lydia slumped against the doorframe for a moment, letting her muscles remember what “not walking” felt like.

  Maera glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t collapse there. You’ll block the door.”

  “I wasn’t—” Lydia started, then gave up. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  The moment she stepped inside, the cool shade and the familiar smell of herbs felt like heaven. Hest leapt onto the mantle with the grace of someone who absolutely did not spend the morning judging every leaf in existence.

  Lydia dropped her satchel on the table and rubbed her temples.

  From what she’d gathered — and, honestly, it wasn’t much — anything that felt tangly or prickly in her mana-sense was probably poisonous.

  It didn’t mean everything else was safe… but it was safer.

  The margin between “good” and “deadly” in this world felt insultingly thin.

  She sighed, sinking into a chair.

  “So,” she said weakly, “is it normal to feel like my brain just ran a marathon?”

  Maera gave her an approving nod as she sorted today’s herbs. “Aye. Your senses are raw. You forced them wide open. Rest and they’ll adjust.”

  Lydia exhaled in relief. At least she wasn’t just dying quietly.

  Maera brewed Lydia a steaming cup of moonmint and set down a plate of simple sandwiches — soft bread, sliced roots, a touch of herb paste that smelled far better than Lydia expected.

  “Eat,” Maera said, already sipping her own tea.

  Lydia didn’t need convincing; she took a grateful bite. The warmth in her stomach soothed the lingering edge of mana dizziness.

  Once they’d eaten in companionable silence, Maera wiped her hands on a cloth.

  “Once you’ve rested,” she said, “you should spend the rest of the day meditating.”

  Lydia deflated a little. More meditation. She’d hoped for something exciting, or at least something that didn’t feel like her brain was doing yoga.

  But she didn’t want to argue. Maera had been patient with her, and this world was… dangerous.

  “Okay,” Lydia murmured.

  Maera nodded, satisfied. “Mana is a reflection of yourself, in a way. As it is with plants. Understand it — and understand yourself — and you’ll learn to guide its flow. That is the key to making it obey.”

  Lydia traced her finger along the rim of her cup. “…Will it eventually come as naturally as breathing?”

  Maera leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp but warm.

  “That depends,” she said. “How strongly do you want it?”

  Lydia opened her mouth… then closed it.

  She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she wanted to be a mage, a healer, or anything at all in this world. She just didn’t want to die to a plant, or a monster, or her own anxiety.

  But she did want control.

  She wanted to stop feeling powerless.

  “…Strongly,” Lydia whispered. “I… I think I want it strongly.”

  Maera nodded once, like she had expected that answer all along.

  “Good. Then we’ll make a mage of you.”