As the trio stepped back into the cabin, Lydia froze. Someone was already inside — seated comfortably at the table and sipping tea from one of Maera’s mismatched cups.

  He looked to be in his early twenties, with a neat vest, rolled-up sleeves, and a face that suggested he spent more time judging things than enjoying them. His posture was elegant; his expression was not.

  Maera’s eye twitched. “Haven’t I taught you any manners, sprout?”

  The young man clicked his tongue. “Hey, old hag, is that how you greet someone who came all the way here to finish your rush order?”

  “Hmph. Rush order or not, you could’ve waited outside like a normal person.”

  “And miss out on your charming welcome? As if.”

  Their bickering had all the sharpness of a knife but none of the bite — a dance they’d clearly performed many times. Lydia watched them, confused, until the young man abruptly went quiet.

  She felt it instantly.

  His stare.

  Heavy, sweeping, appraising every inch of her like she was an oddly shaped painting he wasn’t sure belonged in a gallery.

  “Oh,” he breathed, “this is, in fact, a fashion disaster.”

  Did he just—?

  Lydia looked down at herself, suddenly noticing the state of her clothing.

  Her sleeve was torn almost to the elbow. A smear of dirt trailed across her ribs. Something that looked suspiciously like leaf sap had dried in blotches. And the hem of her pants… When did those get shredded?

  …Wait. When did ANY of this happen?

  She didn’t remember getting caught on anything. Or… well, she did fall once. Or twice. And the mana-weird forest had been brushing against her, so—

  Oh no.

  Maera rolled her eyes at Thane. “Don’t mind him. He says this to every poor soul who walks in wearing something practical.”

  “Practical?” Thane sputtered. “Maera, a passing breeze could finish what the forest started! Those clothes are one enthusiastic sneeze away from disintegration!”

  Lydia’s hands flew to her shirt instinctively. “I— I didn’t realize it was that bad...”

  Thane sniffed dramatically. “You survived exploded Wyrdwood in that outfit. Frankly, that’s the real miracle here.”

  Maera nudged him with her foot. “Quit scaring the girl. She’s had a rough two days.”

  Thane sighed and set down his cup. “Fine, fine. But I was summoned for a reason, wasn’t I?”

  Maera jerked her chin toward Lydia. “She needs something that won’t fall apart if a squirrel looks at it funny.”

  Lydia shrank slightly. “S-sorry… I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”

  Maera waved her off. “The only thing causing trouble is that outfit. You’re just wearing it.”

  That… somehow made Lydia feel better. Slightly.

  Hest purred loudly, hopping onto the table as if offering moral support — or judging her just as hard.

  Thane set his teacup down with a click. “All right. First things first: her clothes. I can craft something proper, but anything worth wearing will take about a week.”

  “A week?” Lydia echoed, nervously tugging at the frayed edge of her sleeve.

  Thane nodded. “Quality takes time. And considering what you survived in that… ensemble, you’ll want quality.”

  Maera snorted. “Stop terrifying her and give her the spare set.”

  “Already ahead of you.” Thane reached into the bag he’d brought and pulled out a neatly folded outfit — soft fabric dyed a muted reddish terracotta, simple but well-made. “Casual wear. Nothing flashy. Nothing awful. Should fit.”

  Lydia held the clothes carefully, surprised by their warmth and softness. “Um… thank you.”

  “No need to thank me,” Thane said, waving her off. “It’s for my peace of mind as much as yours.”

  Maera pointed to the back room. “Go get changed, child.”

  Lydia obeyed. It took a moment to fumble through the ties and unfamiliar layering, but when she stepped out again, the fabric hugged her gently, warm and cozy — nothing like her shredded modern clothes. The skirt brushed lightly against her ankles; Lydia wasn’t used to wearing skirts, but this one was long enough that it didn’t bother her. A little odd, sure… but surprisingly comforting in a way she didn’t expect.

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  Maera gave a firm nod. “Now that’s more like it.”

  Thane circled her once, appraising. “Acceptable. You don’t look like you crawled out of a tree anymore.”

  Lydia wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but she decided to take it as one.

  Maera clapped her hands together. “Well then, if your week-long masterpiece is to be finished on time, you better be off.”

  Thane sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes. I know. That’s why I’m your only friend.”

  Maera snorted, turning away as if she hadn’t heard — but the faint twitch of her lips said otherwise.

  The comment made Lydia blink. Only friend?

  She didn’t quite understand, but something in Maera’s shoulders shifted — a brief stiffness, quickly smoothed away.

  Thane lifted his bag. “I’ll return when it’s ready. Try not to let her wander into anything else that wants to eat her.”

  “No promises,” Maera murmured.

  Lydia wasn’t sure if they were joking.

  Hest meowed like he wasn’t sure either.

  Maera ladled stew into two bowls and set one in front of Lydia with a thump that was less “gentle host” and more “eat before I make you.”

  Lydia didn’t argue. She shuffled to her seat, adjusting the long skirt so she didn’t sit on it weirdly. It still felt strange, but manageable.

  “Eat,” Maera ordered, already halfway through her own bowl. “You’ll need strength for what comes next.”

  Lydia froze mid-bite. “What… comes next?”

  “Training.”

  She nearly choked. “T-training? Already? I just got here—”

  “And you nearly got eaten.” Maera raised an eyebrow. “We’re starting now.”

  That was… fair. Annoying, but fair.

  After they finished eating, Maera guided Lydia to sit on a cushion near the fireplace. “Close your eyes.”

  Lydia obeyed automatically. The cushion was a little lumpy, but warm. She folded her hands awkwardly in her lap, trying not to let her skirt bunch weirdly.

  “Breathe in,” Maera said. “Slow. Deep. Feel the forest around you.”

  “I— I can feel the floorboards?” Lydia offered.

  Maera clicked her tongue. “Not the boards. The mana. The life. It’s everywhere.”

  Lydia frowned behind her closed eyelids. Feel mana? That was like asking someone to sense… emotions in the air. Or faith. Or vibes.

  She didn’t feel anything except the faint itch of panic creeping up her spine.

  “I don’t think I can—”

  “Don’t think.” Maera’s voice softened, just a little. “Let it come to you.”

  Lydia tried again. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. She reached for something she wasn’t sure existed.

  Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the faint glow she’d seen last night — those tiny motes of light that had floated around her like dust in sunlight. She focused on that memory. The warmth of it. The softness.

  What if I try to… gather them?

  She imagined cupping her hands together, pulling the lights in, drawing them closer, like collecting fireflies into one bright sphere.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then—

  A soft glow bloomed behind her eyelids.

  Lydia gasped. Her eyes flew open.

  Tiny orbs of pale blue light floated gently around her hands, as if responding to her heartbeat. They weren’t bright — barely visible, like the ghost of a glow — but they were there.

  “Wha— I— I did that?” Lydia whispered, stunned.

  Maera’s voice snapped in. “—And that’s enough.”

  A firm hand tapped Lydia’s shoulder, breaking her concentration. The orbs winked out instantly, fading back into nothing.

  Lydia blinked at the empty air, dazed. “I… lost it.”

  “You didn’t lose anything,” Maera said, standing. “You’re just not dumping half the forest’s mana into my living room.”

  Lydia flushed. “S-sorry.”

  “Hmph. No harm done.” Maera shoved a small stack of bowls into her hands. “Now go do the dishes. Then sweep the floor. After that, you’ll help me sort herbs.”

  “Oh.” Lydia blinked. “I thought we were training.”

  “We are. Training starts with discipline.” Maera smirked. “Magic or no magic, everyone does chores.”

  Hest meowed from atop a shelf like he was backing Maera up.

  Lydia dragged herself toward the basin, long skirt swishing around her ankles in soft, clumsy movements.

  Magic. Meditation. Suddenly glowing orbs.

  And now… dishes.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected from fantasy life, but it definitely wasn’t this.

  The water finally began to boil, rattling the metal pot just enough to snap Lydia back from the haze of meditation. She poured it carefully into the basin, watching the steam curl upward like pale ribbons. It was strange—doing dishes in a wooden cottage, wearing a long terracotta skirt, after spending the afternoon trying to feel something as intangible as mana.

  The suds gathered slowly as she worked. The warm water soothed her hands, but her mind refused to settle.

  Is this really my life now…?

  She paused, a wooden cup halfway submerged.

  Back home, everything had structure—school, chores, the predictable rhythm of daily responsibilities. Here… she was scrubbing bowls by candlelight in a witch’s cottage after accidentally manifesting glowing orbs earlier in the day. She almost laughed at the absurdity.

  In anime, protagonists always went through hell before getting anything good. There was training, danger, humiliating early failures, and usually some world-ending crisis lurking behind it all. Did they ever stop to ask if going back was even worth it? Or did they just… accept their new life because the plot demanded it?

  Lydia hadn’t asked herself the question until now.

  Do I even want to go home?

  She froze. The thought landed heavier than she expected.

  On her second full day here, the idea hadn’t fully formed before. Maybe it was because everything had been one chaotic blur—fang-beasts, witches, glowing mana, strange villagers, ripped skirts, and being called a “fashion disaster” by someone she’d met five seconds earlier.

  But now, alone with chores and quiet, the thought finally unfurled.

  Back home… was anyone waiting for her? Were there people who would notice she was gone? Panic pricked at her chest for a heartbeat, but it softened as she rinsed the last bowl.

  Maera’s gruff, no-nonsense voice echoed faintly from the other room. Hest chirped his usual complaints at being made to tidy up after tracking mud inside. Oddly enough… the little cottage felt warm. Lived-in. A place where she wasn’t being judged, just gently pushed to try—whether it was chores or magic.

  Maybe… maybe this isn’t the worst place to land.

  Lydia stacked the bowls carefully to dry. The day faded outside the small window, turning the sky a deep blue.

  Her life here was strange, unpredictable, and maybe a bit dangerous.

  But so far?

  It wasn’t lonely.