Slowly.
Gently.
The sea remained beside us.
But no longer at eye level.
The land changed into rolling green hills the locals called The Verdant Bluffs.
I understood the name immediately.
The hills stretched endlessly beside the northern road like layered waves frozen beneath sunlight.
Grass covered everything.
Soft emerald-green fields bending beneath the wind in slow motion.
Wildflowers scattered across the slopes in pale colors.
Lavender.
White.
Faded yellow.
The road itself curved naturally along the hills.
Smooth enough that even the wagon seemed calmer.
Sometimes, from higher points, I could see the sea far below us.
Blue-green water beneath silver morning light.
Other times, fog gathered quietly between the valleys before dissolving beneath the sun.
The air smelled clean.
Wet grass.
Soil.
Salt carried from somewhere far below the cliffs.
Large trees occasionally stood alone atop certain hills.
Ancient things with wide branches stretching outward like giant umbrellas.
Travelers often stopped beneath them to rest.
So did we.
By then, Ryn had finally stopped avoiding me.
Apparently eldritch emotional retaliation has consequences.
For two entire days after the Silver Reed incident, she had become strangely cautious around me.
Not dramatic.
Just…
careful.
As if I might suddenly begin speaking forbidden truths about existence again at any moment.
Eventually I admitted the truth.
I told her it had only been an impulsive response I failed to suppress.
And that it was revenge for her comment back at Verdant Veil.
At first she looked confused.
Genuinely confused.
She insisted she had said nothing wrong.
So I explained.
Very slowly.
The moment realization finally reached her face, she burst into laughter.
Real laughter.
The kind she rarely let escape completely.
Then she looked at me and said,
“Even without any ‘assets,’ you’re already very cute.”
She paused briefly.
“Sadly also slightly psychotic and deeply creepy.”
I still do not know if that was praise or an insult.
Probably both.
The wind moved softly through the hills around us.
Grass swayed beneath golden afternoon light while several horses grazed further below the road.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Ryn suddenly asked something unexpected.
“How did you improvise that so quickly?”
She looked genuinely curious.
“What you said sounded absurd… but also strangely real.”
“Like it came from something ancient.”
I laughed a little at that.
Then told her the truth.
“That’s basic storyteller skill.”
“I’m just very good at making ordinary things sound epic.”
I also admitted something else.
I told her I was actually terrible at memorizing stories.
Ryn stared at me in complete disbelief.
Which I felt was somewhat rude.
After thinking for a moment, she suddenly leaned back against the tree and crossed her arms.
Then she challenged me.
“If that’s true,” she said, “then try turning something completely ordinary into a legend.”
I asked her what she wanted.
She thought for a while before answering.
“The café.”
“The orange.”
She looked entirely too confident.
“That should be impossible.”
I asked for a moment to think.
Only a short one.
Then I smiled.
I sat across from her beneath the tree while the wind moved through the hills around us.
And I began.
In the primordial hush between thunder and tide, where the Southern Sea clawed at the bones of the world, a simple maiden—weaver of forgotten songs and dreamer of elder glories—stood upon the storm-lashed shore. Lightning crowned the heavens as the ocean itself bowed and parted in curtains of liquid starlight. From those abyssal depths ascended the sovereign of all southern waters: an eternal Lady of sublime and terrible grace, her raiment woven of moonlight upon foam, her presence both gentle as dawn and vast as the uncharted deep. No mortal eye could fully bear her splendor, yet her gaze held only ancient kindness.
With hands luminous as pearl under the moon, she offered forth a single fruit that seemed forged from the sun’s own heart and the sea’s deepest secret. “Behold the Naranga,” her voice rolled like distant tempests turned into song, “born of celestial fire and the eternal womb of waves. Within its golden flesh slumbers the light of drowned empires and the undying strength of tides that never yield. Take it, daughter of earth and longing, and let its nectar rewrite the thread of your fate. For on this night, legend has stepped from the veil and chosen thee.”
The maiden’s trembling fingers closed around the radiant Naranga, and the heavens themselves seemed to pause in awe, as though the bards of ages yet unborn had already lifted their voices to sing of the mortal girl who received heaven’s fire from the hand of the sea’s own queen.
Silence followed.
Wind passed through the grass.
Far below, I could hear faint waves striking the distant shore beneath the cliffs.
Then Ryn laughed again.
Quieter this time.
She covered part of her face with one hand before looking at me with visible concern.
“Okay,” she said.
“You are actually dangerous.”
I laughed after that.
But only briefly.
Because somewhere beneath the joke, I realized something uncomfortable.
I truly did not think that story was particularly difficult.
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