The path to Verdant Veil is narrower than expected.
Not difficult.
Just… quiet in a way that makes each step feel more noticeable.
The forest closes in gently as we walk.
Leaves thickening overhead.
Light thinning between branches.
Three hours, the others said.
But time here does not feel counted.
Only passed through.
We went in the late afternoon.
The air still warm, but beginning to soften toward evening.
Only the women of the caravan came.
Ryn led the group without announcement.
A few others followed without question.
I did as well.
No one spoke much on the way.
Not from tension.
From ease.
The deeper we went, the more the world began to change its texture.
Damp earth.
Thicker air.
A faint scent I could not place at first.
Mineral.
Stone.
Heat held beneath ground.
Then the forest opened.
The Verdant Veil was not revealed all at once.
It unfolded.
Layer by layer.
As if the world itself was deciding how much to show.
Steam rose before we saw the water.
Soft.
Constant.
Hanging between trees like a slow breath.
Three pools.
Tiered.
Natural.
As though the ground had once softened and never fully returned to stone.
The largest basin sat below, wide and still.
Green-blue water, deep with mineral color.
Edges lined with moss and dark stone.
Water fell from above in a thin, steady stream.
Cold meeting heat.
Breaking into mist before it touched the surface below.
Everything was quiet here.
Not empty.
Just… contained.
We undressed without ceremony.
No one commented.
No one needed to.
Ryn stepped into the water first.
Unhurried.
Certain.
There is a way she carries herself even in stillness.
Not to be seen.
But as if being seen is not something that changes her position in the world.
I noticed I was looking at her longer than I intended.
Not because she was doing anything.
But because she did not need to.
She paused once.
Looked at me.
“Why?”
That was all she said.
I did not answer.
I think she already understood.
I sank into the water shortly after.
Deeper than necessary.
The heat settled into the body quickly.
Muscles loosening.
Thoughts slowing.
Around us, the steam thickened.
Turning the forest into something half-visible.
For a while, there was only sound.
Water.
Breath.
Occasional movement beneath the surface.
Then my attention drifted again.
Back to her.
Ryn was leaning slightly against the stone edge of the pool.
Completely at ease.
Not performing anything.
Not aware of being observed.
Or perhaps aware… and unaffected.
It was not beauty in the way I have understood it before.
It was certainty.
I think I forgot to look away for too long.
Ryn tilted her head slightly.
“…What.”
One word.
Flat.
Direct.
As if it had already answered the question before I spoke it.
I felt my face go warm.
I looked down into the water immediately.
Nothing needed to be said.
But something had already been understood.
After a moment, she added—
still without looking particularly concerned:
“It's will grow.”
That was all.
I did not ask what she meant.
I assumed I was not meant to.
The rest of the time passed more quietly after that.
At some point, conversation began to form again between the others.
Lighter now.
Occasional laughter breaking through the steam.
Talk drifted toward Yggdra.
Toward the Moonfen territories beyond it.
I listened without interrupting.
At one point, I agreed to something without fully realizing what I was agreeing to.
To assist Ryn again when we arrive.
As I did in Tailwind.
She did not elaborate.
Neither did I.
It seemed… already decided.
The thought of Yggdra still feels distant.
But less uncertain than before.
We will not enter as a full caravan.
Only the women will pass through the gates.
The rest will wait outside.
That structure is known to them.
Less so to me.
But I am beginning to understand how it shapes movement.
When we left the water, the air felt colder than before.
Not unpleasant.
Just honest again.
The path back was quieter.
Not because nothing was said.
But because nothing needed to follow what had already been understood.
I do not know if Verdant Veil is a place meant to be remembered.
Or only visited.
But I think I understand now
why people come here when they are tired.
Not to heal.
Not entirely.
But to become briefly unguarded
without consequence.
And I am not sure
if that is comfort.
Or something else
that only feels like it.
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