The steam curled lazily into the evening air, catching the glow of the fireflies as they drifted above the glade. The Jungle of Iya, with its towering sun-touched trees and whispering leaves, held its breath in golden silence, as if honoring the rare peace granted to its two most exhausted daughters.
“Stars above, if Mama asks me to haul one more barrel of sunwater, I’m going to combust,” Idia groaned, her arms draped along the edges of the wooden tub. Her almond-toned skin shimmered against the warm glow, the intricate gold cuffs that normally adorned her forearms now resting beside the tub. Her hair—jet black, coiled into two high buns—was loose at the edges, with two spiraling curls that clung damply to her cheeks. Even in rest, the lines of her strength remained: sculpted arms, a small waist, and the faint outline of defined abs from too many hours sparring with her fists.
“Idia boom! Poppy fly!” came the squeaky voice of a small figure mid-bubble launch.
Poppy, her barkling familiar, popped up from the water with theatrical flair, her chibi-like wooden frame gleaming wetly under the moonlight. A tiny golden gem pulsed in her chest, glowing whenever she got excited—which was often. Her little leaf hair had gone limp from the soaking, giving her the look of a drenched seedling with far too much attitude.
From the other side of the tub, Uwa let out a long, aching sigh. Her pale, almost luminous skin was barely visible beneath the rising steam, but the violet gleam of her eyes caught the moonlight clearly. Her albino features were soft and striking—a gentle contrast to her taller, slender frame. Her muscles were more subtle than Idia’s, but no less capable. Her blonde dreads, usually swept into a regal side bun, were now undone and floating around her like sunlit vines in water.
“I can’t remember the last time we slept for more than a blink,” she murmured, voice heavy with fatigue. “I dreamed last night that I was giving a healing salve to a tree stump. It thanked me. With a poem.”
Melody peeked up shyly from Uwa’s shoulder, a delicate barkling with a tiny blue gem glowing faintly in her chest. She was barely four inches tall, shaped like a miniature doll carved from bark and leaf. Quiet and observant like Uwa, she patted more bubbles gently onto her mistress’s head, placing them with the care of a temple acolyte arranging flowers.
“Melody fix,” she whispered, placing a damp petal against Uwa’s temple. “Uwa pretty.”
Idia snorted, one leg splashing out of the water. “She is pretty, isn’t she? Even slumped and sleep-starved like this.”
She raised an arm dramatically, striking a tragic pose. “But alas! Our youth has been wrung out by sun blessings and life-root weaving and whatever else Mama dreams up for us while sipping her moon-moss tea.”
Uwa let out a sleepy chuckle, warm and fond. “Don’t forget morning chants. And dawn patrol. And grounding rituals. And mid-morning silence oaths. And…”
Idia cut her off, eyes suddenly sparkling with childlike glee. “Ah-ah! But! Guess what?”
Uwa peeked open one eye. “If you say we’re brewing another soul potion—”
“No!” Idia sat up, water sloshing over the edge. Poppy yelped as she was flung from her bubble perch, spinning like a cork. “We have the day off tomorrow!”
Uwa blinked. Then blinked again. “…Truly?”
“Truly truly. Mama said it herself. Said the forest is stable for once, and even the sun roots are behaving.”
Uwa sank deeper into the water, the barest smile curling her lips. “Then I’m going to sleep until noon.”
Melody clutched her braid and nodded solemnly. “Uwa sleep. Melody guard.”
Poppy swam by and slapped a bubble against Melody’s face. “Poppy guard too! Big splash boom!”
Idia burst into laughter, then sighed contentedly, leaning her head back to watch the canopy sway overhead. Her honey-gold eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet and heavy with steam. “It’ll be nice to see everyone. I miss Papa’s quiet humming. And Teni’s obnoxious singing at dawn.”
Uwa’s voice softened, “I miss Yemi. She said the baby kicks every time someone sings.” She closed her eyes, a soft longing in her tone. “Maybe I’ll bring her some moonfruit. And one of those skyfolded blankets Mama weaves.”
“Let’s not forget—Mama may be merciful tomorrow,” Idia said, wagging a wet finger. “But the day after that? We’re probably climbing the Sun Tree blindfolded.”
Uwa groaned.
Poppy raised her arms triumphantly, her gold gem flashing. “Climb! Poppy lead!”
Melody stared flatly. “No. Poppy fall.”
Poppy stuck out her tongue and blew a tiny raspberry. “Rude leaf.”
Idia, already melting back into the bath, grinned. “We’ll survive. Just… not tonight. Tonight we rest.”
And with that, the forest held them in its quiet arms, the fireflies weaving around them like stars made soft, while the daughters of Andradia drifted in and out of laughter and stillness — barklings close, bubbles rising, and the gentle peace of home pulsing all around them.
The laughter faded slowly, replaced by the gentle crackle of nearby sun-moss lanterns and the distant chirp of night-swallows nesting high in the canopies. The bathwater had begun to cool, and the stars had started to pierce through the leafy veil above them — tiny lights, like scattered dreams.
Uwa leaned her head back against the tub’s rim, eyes tracing the sliver of moon peeking through the boughs. “Do you think we’ll ever leave?” she asked softly.
Idia turned to look at her, the question unexpected but not unfamiliar. Her honey eyes softened. “You mean… truly leave?”
Uwa nodded. “Not just to the southern roots for a barkling ceremony. I mean past the sunwatch cliffs. Past Andradia. To the other kingdoms. The other trees.”
There was a pause, as a breeze stirred the steam around them — fragrant with elderblossom and soap root.
“I want to,” Idia said, her voice hushed now, reverent. “Ever since Papa told us stories of the War of the Eclipse. He spoke of warriors with skin like milk and ears like dagger-points. Mama said she once danced under the moon in the Kingdom of Endell, barefoot, with stars tangled in her braids.”
She smiled faintly, more to herself than anyone else.
“I want to see it all. I want to know if the air tastes different there. I want to meet the other conduits — the guardians of Life, Death, Water, and Wind. I want to stand beneath every sacred tree and feel if their song is different from Efe’s.”
Uwa’s voice warmed with gentle amusement. “You want to fall in love with a moon-eyed stranger too, don’t you?”
Idia gave a mock gasp, tossing a handful of bubbles at her. “I am romantic at heart! But yes, I do. I want the kind of love that makes your magic bloom and wither in one breath.”
Uwa giggled. “Well… I want to visit the Aletheian Hold. They say it stretches deep into the earth — with books older than the stars, guarded by spells even the fae fear. Imagine that. Reading without needing to copy the scroll yourself.”
“Scandalous,” Idia whispered with mock horror. “No barkling librarian breathing down your neck, no runes fading the second you blink.”
Poppy surfaced with a dramatic gasp, clutching a twig. “Poppy read! Poppy smart!”
Melody, from her perch on the tub’s rim, tilted her head. “No read. Poppy loud.”
Poppy pouted, folding her arms. “Rude leaf.”
They both laughed.
But beneath the laughter was the ache that lingered — the kind born of girls who had never truly left home. Who had known nothing but the sacred glades of Iya, where every sunrise began with sunroot meditation, and every dusk ended with prayer beneath the golden Tree of Efe. They were born of a world so full, so vast within itself, that they’d never needed to leave.
And yet… they wanted more.
They were 364 years old — adults by even Andradian reckoning. And still, their feet had never touched sand from the beaches of Onda. Never seen snow fall over Silvaaren. Never watched wind-spirits swirl across the cliffs of Gia.
Only Iya. Only here.
Duty bound them. Iyonmana had raised them both with love and rigor, calling them her daughters, shaping them with fire and water both. They were being prepared for something far greater than ordinary life — to become the next conduits of the Sun Tree. To carry divine light in their blood.
But sometimes, duty and dreams didn’t speak the same language.
“I want to go with you,” Uwa said quietly. “Wherever you go, Idia. Even if it’s terrifying. Even if we get lost.”
“You’d probably get lost in a library,” Idia teased gently.
“Then I hope you’ll come find me.”
“I always will.”
The night deepened, and the bath began to still. Above them, a single falling star cut through the velvet sky.
Idia watched it burn across the heavens — and whispered, as if the star itself could carry her longing to the edge of the world:
“Just once… let me be more than the girl of the sun. Let me be the girl who saw everything.”
ns18.226.4.129da2
