The Door to Eternity

Slowly the laughter ebbed and reality set in.

Her muscles ached from the run, and exhaustion pressed heavily on her chest. Everything felt overwhelming—too much and too fast. Only days ago, her biggest concern had been finals and the looming prospect of graduation. The naive simplicity of that life felt distant now like a dream slipping through her fingers.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. Across the room, two gleaming silver orbs blinked in the dim light. Meeko, ever-watchful, lifted his head from the bed where he had sprawled in luxurious ease, wholly indifferent to the storm raging outside. His tufted ears flicked toward her, alert but unbothered.

Recognizing her scent, he yawned wide, revealing teeth sharp enough to remind anyone that this was no ordinary housecat.

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" Amriel muttered wryly, peeling her damp cloak from her shoulders.

Meeko stretched with feline grace, every movement fluid and deliberate. His thick, velvety fur rippled as he leapt down from the bed without a sound. His massive paws made no noise against the worn wooden floor as he padded toward her, eyes steady and untroubled.

He butted his head against her thigh, purring low and deep—a steady vibration that rumbled through her bones like a balm. Soft chirps followed, halfway between scolding and affection, as though he were berating her for being foolish enough to get caught in the rain.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Amriel murmured, crouching to bury her fingers in his thick fur. His warmth seeped into her cold skin, a welcome contrast to the damp chill clinging stubbornly to her clothes. "I should've stayed inside with you, huh?"

Meeko's purrs deepened as she scratched beneath his chin and along the tufted ears that always made him melt.

"For the record," she added with a faint smile, "I totally get why you didn't join me today. Smart move."

The forest cat blinked slowly, a gesture filled with the kind of knowing arrogance only felines could manage.

Obviously.

Amriel huffed a laugh, the tension in her chest easing just a little. Whatever strange path lay ahead, at least she wouldn't be facing it alone. For now, that was enough.

Her gaze drifted to the cozy interior of the cottage—a simple space, worn but welcoming. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke lingered in the air, grounding her in familiarity. For as long as she could remember, this had been her refuge, standing steadfast on the outskirts of town where the forest met the open fields.

Unlike many students at the Academy, Amriel hadn't grown up in one of the grand estates dotting Vhengal's wealthier districts. There had never been gold-threaded tapestries or sprawling marble courtyards in her life. Her world had always been rooted here, in this humble cottage with its weathered stone walls and thatched roof.

It hadn't mattered to her. The forty-minute trek to the Academy each day was manageable, especially with Niamh and Simon beside her, their lively conversations making the walk feel shorter. And even if living on campus had been an option, Amriel doubted the Academy's strict regulations would have welcomed Meeko with open arms.

The thought made her smile—a rare but welcome relief from the weight of recent events.

Meeko chirped again, nudging her insistently as though to remind her that life carried on, storm or no storm, ancient mysteries be damned.

"Alright, alright," she relented, pushing herself to her feet. "Let's get these herbs away so I can settle in for the evening."

The storm outside roared on, but within the cottage, there was warmth, purpose, and unwavering certainty that no matter what came next, they would face it together.

A soft chuckle escaped Amriel's lips as she glanced toward Meeko, sprawled luxuriously in front of the cold hearth, his greeting evidently concluded.

Forest cats rarely resembled their domestic counterparts in anything but vague shape. Meeko was no exception. Easily the size of a medium dog, his powerful frame radiated the effortless grace of a predator, muscles shifting like liquid beneath his thick, velvety coat. Ebony streaks merged with tawny dapples, reminiscent of sunlight piercing through dense forest canopies.

What captivated Amriel most, however, were his eyes—keen, almond-shaped, and shimmering like polished silver under moonlight. Intelligence mingled with playful mischief there, always reminding her that Meeko was more than a companion. He was a sentinel, a judge silently observing her every decision.

His long, tufted ears flicked lazily as if acknowledging her gaze, but he made no move to rise. His tail swept idly across the floor, a slow, deliberate rhythm that spoke of complete contentment.

Amriel shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Sometimes she envied the cat his freedoms. To come and go as he pleases, but always have a safe roof over his head when he desired. Yep. He's got it all figured out, she thought wryly, kicking off her damp shoes near the door.

Cool floorboards greeted her bare feet, grounding her after a day filled with unanswered questions and the weight of unresolved mysteries. The familiar ache in her shoulders from hours spent trudging through underbrush lingered, but it was dulled by the comfort of home.

The scent of rain clung stubbornly to her clothes, mingling with the faint herbal fragrance that always permeated the cottage. As she hung her belt and knife on the iron hook by the door, she felt the relief of the familiar weight lifting from her hips. Her damp braid swayed gently as she moved, loose tendrils sticking stubbornly to her cheeks until she brushed them back with a weary sigh.

The cottage stood humble but sturdy, its stone walls weathered by countless seasons. Shelves lined the wall behind the door, filled with books whose spines had softened with age and use. Across from the books, in the corner that served as her kitchen and herb preparation area, was another set of shelves. These were cluttered with glass jars filled with dried leaves, roots, and powders in hues ranging from earthy browns to vivid greens. Bundles of herbs, in all states of drying, hung from the rafters, their mingled fragrances steeping the space in tranquility.

It was humble, yes, but it was hers. And it was enough.

Slipping the herb pouch from her belt, Amriel padded across the room, her movements instinctive as she approached the worn worktable near the window. Light filtered weakly through the narrow panes, catching motes of dust that drifted lazily in the still air.

She untied the pouch, letting its modest contents spill onto the scarred wooden surface. Her foraging had been less fruitful than hoped, but not entirely disappointing.

A small victory is still a victory, she reminded herself.

First, her fingers brushed over a feathery clump of Chaliss Moss, its soft texture like the damp undergrowth hidden beneath towering trees. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, quiet but firm: Always keep this close. In fresh wounds, it guards against rot and sickness.

Setting the moss aside, Amriel reached for the twisted roots of the morrow plant. The earthy scent clung stubbornly to her fingertips. She remembered its strange duality—how its leaves brought joy when steeped in teas, while its roots, when dried and ground, could quiet restless minds and ease fraying nerves.

Balance in all things, her mother had often said. The forest offers both joy and peace, but never without effort.

The final find made Amriel's lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. The blue-green leaves of the Horissa Vharia curled delicately between her fingers, vibrant even under the dim light. Sacred and uncommon, this plant was a healer's boon, capable of soothing the fiercest pain when prepared correctly.

Even magic had its limits when it came to easing suffering, but Horissa Vharia did not.

The rhythmic sorting of leaves and roots became a quiet ritual, pulling her from the gnawing edges of doubt and fear. Each motion grounded her, the familiar clink of jars and the soft rustle of foliage creating a melody that steadied her heart.

Her mind, usually restless, began to calm as she slipped into the rhythm of her craft. Thoughts of ancient tomes, strange discoveries, and looming uncertainties faded into the background, replaced by the simplicity of the moment.

Here, there were no mysteries, no impossible questions. Only creation—delicate, deliberate, and wholly her own.

Behind her, Meeko's purr vibrated low and steady, filling the room like a song of reassurance.

Here, in the quiet sanctity of her home, surrounded by the living memory of the forest, Amriel found steadiness again.

The storm clawed at the world outside, rain striking the stone walls with relentless fury. Gusts of wind howled through the trees beyond the cottage, their branches thrashing wildly in defiance. Water traced erratic patterns on the fogged windowpanes, glimmering faintly in the warm lantern glow that flickered against shadowed walls.

Inside, however, the small room held onto its fragile sanctuary of calm. The dim light softened the worn edges of the furniture and illuminated the neat piles of herbs Amriel had painstakingly sorted. The rhythmic ritual of preparation had soothed her frayed nerves—if only for a moment.

But now the storm's weight pressed against the cottage, creeping in through unseen cracks and seams. Cold air licked at her damp skin, and despite herself, Amriel shuddered.

A familiar warmth brushed against her leg, grounding her amidst the chaos. Meeko had padded over silently, his sleek, muscular frame radiating steady reassurance. Without hesitation, he pressed his head firmly against her thigh—a wordless reminder that he was there, watchful as ever.

"Hey, you," Amriel murmured, her voice softer than she intended. She crouched to scratch behind his tufted ears, right at the spot that always made him melt. Sure enough, his purr deepened, filling the space between them like music meant only for her. "I think you'd appreciate a fire as much as I would."

A thunderclap cracked overhead, sudden and brutal. The sound reverberated through the cottage, rattling the wooden beams and causing jars to clink together on their shelves. A fierce draft swept through the room, carrying with it the wild energy of the storm.

Amriel shivered harder, the damp chill seeping into her bones. Pulling her shawl from the back of a chair, she wrapped it tightly around herself and moved toward the hearth. The fire had long since died, leaving only cold ashes behind.

Kneeling by the darkened fireplace, her fingers moved with practiced precision, arranging a careful bed of dry leaves and twigs from the basket beside the hearth. Pieces of kindling were layered carefully on top, forming a fragile cradle for the flames she hoped to coax into life.

From a pouch near the hearth, Amriel retrieved a piece of flint and a slender steel striker. The tools fit comfortably in her palm, their weight grounding her. She bit her lower lip in concentration and struck the steel against the flint, each sharp click sending sparks dancing through the darkened hearth.

She struck the flint sharply against the steel, each click igniting brief sparks that danced across the tinder before fading into darkness. Leaning closer, Amriel narrowed her focus, shutting out the storm's roar.

Another strike. Sparks leapt, kissed the tinder, and curled into faint threads of smoke. Amriel exhaled slowly, guiding her breath toward the fragile ember. Steady and measured. Smoke thickened, twisting upward.

Come on…

The ember glowed brighter, clinging stubbornly to life before finally catching. A flicker of flame wavered uncertainly, then blossomed into steady fire.

"There you are," she whispered as if coaxing a shy friend into confidence. The flames crackled in response, their golden light flickering against the stone walls. Heat blossomed outward, wrapping around her like a long-lost embrace.

Meeko, ever practical, wasted no time. He circled once before settling near the hearth, his thick coat shimmering in the firelight—a tapestry of tawny gold and deep black, like shadows beneath the forest canopy. His eyes glinted briefly, silver and unbothered by the storm's fury.

His purring filled the space between them, steady and sure, a sound that made the cottage feel less fragile against the night's chaos.

The storm raged on, but its wildness felt distant now—a force barred by the warmth and flicker of the cottage hearth.

"I think it's time for some tea," Amriel said softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Meeko chirped in response, lifting his head to nudge her hand with gentle insistence.

"Yeah, I figured you'd agree," she said with a smile, rising from the floor.

The fire crackled behind her, its warmth spreading through the small space as she moved toward the kettle hanging from its iron hook. She filled it with water, the familiar sound of metal meeting liquid soothing her frayed edges.

Tonight, the world beyond the cottage could rage all it wanted. Inside, there were small rituals—tea, warmth, and quiet moments that mattered. And for now, that was enough.