Dahlia
Eryon pulls me close and sinks us back into the hot spring. The warmth of the pool washes over us as the sky above begins to blush with the first hues of dawn, dappled light filtering down to paint the scene in soft golds and pinks. His heartbeat thumps beneath my ear as I rest against his chest, and for a moment, I wonder if this is what paradise feels like.
My jaw-cracking yawn breaks the peaceful silence, pulling a laugh from both of us as he mirrors mine with one of his own. I promised myself today would be the day I leave, but the pull of this place—and the weight of my exhaustion—make it impossible to go just yet. First, I need sleep or I can’t possibly hike away from here and continue my search.
And I don’t know how I’m going to explain to Eryon that I need to go. Especially after this time together. My heart is trying to dig in its heels and keep me here, but my mind, and my will to survive, insist that I go. There is no choice.
As he scoops me up bridal-style, ignoring my usual insistence that I can walk, I can’t help but take in the local flora, nowpainted with the soft hues of the breaking dawn. The early light slowly reveals the amazing colors around me, erasing the muted greys of night.
Yellows and peaches and corals compete with reds and oranges and a thousand shades of greens. Even blues and whites emerge in the morning sun, speckled with dew. All the colors of the rainbow are here in this amazing flora.
My gaze catches on the plants clustered near the head of the spring, their delicate leaves and flowers struck by an errant ray of dawn light filtering down through the trees above. Something about them tugs at my memory, and a frown creases my brow as my sex-addled brain tries to figure out why this plant seems so familiar.
The heart-shaped leaves, the compact growth, the star-shaped flowers nodding gently on their delicate stems—petals the exact violet-blue of my unusual eye color passed down to me by my mother.
My breath catches as my heart beats out a staccato rhythm. The realization strikes with the force of an avalanche. My lips part, but no sound follows. There are no words when my thoughts are spiraling, frantically clawing at something impossible—something that can’t be.
Silene vitalis.
The name blooms in my mind, unbidden and impossible. I want to scream at him to stop so I can share this amazing discovery, but in my state of shock, it’s all I can do to weakly pat his arm in protest. He walks on, up and out of the water, passing by the plant without a second glance—while I am left grappling with the impossible truth it holds.
I have spent months searching for this. Weeks trekking through these mountains. I nearly died in a fucking avalanche. And it's here. It’s been rightherethe whole time. I twist in Eryon’s grip, struggling to free myself, desperate to touch it—to prove it’s not a dream.
“Eryon, stop,” I force out through the lump in my throat, wriggling free and sliding to the ground.
Racing over to the plant, I collapse to my knees. My hands move without thought, reverently tracing the heart-shaped leaves, the velvet-soft petals with shaking fingers. The key to everything I’ve searched for lies right here, within my reach. I never would have found it tucked away in this specialized microclimate. Never.
“Sruhnar,” he calls sharply.
As if calling to me from a great distance, Eryon’s voice breaks through my excitement, its sharp tone a strange juxtaposition to the elation coursing through my body.
My heart stutters as his shadow falls over me, stretching long in the morning light, and suddenly, the weight of his presence feels immense. Something is wrong. I can sense it.
I snap my head around, and my stomach clenches.
He isn’t moving. He isn’t blinking. He simply stands there—still, silent, as unreadable as the mountain we stand on.
The air thickens, so charged it crackles like a coming storm. But I’m too caught up in my discovery to understand what’s wrong. What could possibly be wrong in a moment like this when all hope has been restored?
I’m already explaining, the words pouring out in a rush. Already assuming he’ll understand.
“Eryon, this is the plant I was looking for.” My voice cracks, a mixture of disbelief and relief flooding me. “This is the entire reason I came to the mountains.”
He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t acknowledge the biggest discovery of my lifetime. The discovery of my life itself. My excitement falters but doesn’t die. The cognitive dissonance is too much to process.
“I was going to have to leave to find it, but it’s been right here the whole time.” I swallow hard, still shaking, still breathless. “I’ll need to take it with me.”
The words feel huge, as if speaking them aloud makes it real. Frustration gnaws at me as I think over the supplies I lack. Without my pack, I don’t have what I need to preserve and transport the plant properly.
I launch into a rush of problem-solving, speaking more to myself than him.
“I’ll have to extract it here. I need something sterile—a way to store it without breaking down the enzymes. It might be heat-sensitive, so I’ll have to find a way to cool it—maybe wrap it in damp moss. Then I’ll need to leave quickly, get back to Migdhari and my supplies.”
I spin toward Eryon, reaching blindly, my hands brushing his chest, seeking his help and understanding.
“Eryon, do you know if there’s more of it? If the population is stable? If there’s enough, I might be able to?—”
“No,” he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
