Chapter Text
Himmel is lost.
It takes him a few turns and a great deal of backtracking to admit it though, because how can someone possibly get lost when you can simply go back the way you came?
The fact is undeniable, no matter how much he wants to deny it. He is lost in the woods and it is dark outside. This development is not ideal.
He has never gotten lost before. Not near the outskirts at least. Then again, he has never gone searching for herbs in the middle of the night either—a bright idea that was.
It is not something he thought could ever happen to him. He has been proven wrong, though. Clearly. Children have a tendency to think that they are impervious to the world around them. Invincible, or rather, ignorant of the lurking danger. How could it possibly be them?
They all think that until something does happen. And when it does, it is almost always irrevocable.
Himmel has lost many things in his life. His home, his parents, his childhood—gone. Now, he has lost his way to the village. Somehow.
It is not the first time he has lost something, nor will it be his last.
But unlike the finality of his family's passing, this simmering uncertainty of not knowing where he is or where he is going makes him anxious. Tense. He continues wandering deeper into the forest as the cold air settles around his feet.
The time he spends searching for a way back is a lot for a child who, despite not having many people in his life, has never been truly alone. It is not a pleasant experience. Not one bit. But the children at the orphanage are sick and if he has to choose between their health and his safety, he will always pick the former over the latter.
That goes without saying.
After an indefinite amount of time, Himmel stops to seek refuge at the base of an old tree. It happens when he is sitting with his hands on his knees, back against bark, that he hears footsteps coming his way.
Logic dictates that he should be cautious of whatever is walking around at these hours. But Himmel is just a child. And so, he simply waits until that person is standing in front of him.
And they finally meet for the first time in their lives.
The basket in her arm is filled with plants. There is a worn cloak wrapped around her shoulders that stops just a fraction past her dress. The textiles seem to be made out of material that is foreign to their region. She is an elf, he notices. He has never seen one before.
Himmel stares at her and she stares back.
She points him in a direction and tells Himmel it will lead him to a nearby settlement. That is all she says.
Himmel has an abrupt thought, what a cold person she is.
Before he can get on his feet, however, she places her basket down and summons a staff into the palm of her hands. The air around them shifts.
In the blink of an eye, colors begin sprouting from the earth, engulfing him in a sea of petals.
At that moment, with the breeze brushing through his hair, and the glitter of stars shining in the ether, time slows to a crawl, and there is only one thought that surfaces in Himmel's mind.
Beautiful.
It is the first time Himmel thinks magic is beautiful.
Under the cover of night, bathed in the paleness of silver moonlight, he is surrounded by a medley of flowers that are bursting with unbridled vibrance.
The word echoes like a refrain to a song. He chants it, repeats it, like a mantra in his head.
The billowing of her clothes makes her look like she is floating; her white hair cascades gently behind her pointed ears. Everything about her is magical. Mesmerizing.
Himmel cannot look away, nor does he want to. Something flutters in the pit of his stomach and his heart does an involuntary flip.
It is the first time Himmel has ever felt this way—the first time he is completely and utterly enraptured by another person.
Her profile casts shadows that do little to dim the brightness of her face. Elegance follows her every move. Her gestures, her bearing, even her posture all look effortless.
Whether it is due to the blooming buds or the person in front of him, Himmel remains rooted, speechless, as his eyes follow her every motion. He can only gawk; he can barely breathe.
Without so much as a sound, she picks up her basket and disappears from sight.
Her unhurried figure fades into the shadows, but the image of her silhouette is burned into his eyes, flashing, like his own pulse. He places his hand over his heart as if to feel the blood that courses his body, spreading warmth through every vein and channel.
It does not last forever, but few things in life do. Even still, he will remember this moment for the rest of his remaining years.
He told Heiter about the elf he met when he got back. He was met with an expression somewhere between confusion and bewilderment. Then he got told off for foraging in the outskirts by himself.
Despite his insistence, Heiter didn't really seem to acknowledge what he said, choosing instead to ignore his strange behavior and making claims of how Himmel was probably cursed and something about his newfound determination to become a priest.
Himmel wanted to snap at him. He wanted to drag Heiter by the hand and show him the bed of flowers out in the forest that were far too late to be flourishing this time of year. But another part of him wanted to keep it all to himself. He wanted to retain that delicate beauty in the recesses of his mind and preserve that memory for as long as he possibly could.
But more than anything else, he wanted to meet her again. He wanted to know who she was and why she was out there all by herself.
It wasn't until later Himmel realized that he had never asked for her name let alone voiced a single word of gratitude. None could do her justice. Nothing could have better expressed what he felt than his starry-eyed admiration anyway.
When it finally sunk in, his desire to go back out and look for her was near fervent.
He knew it was useless, but the temptation kept gnawing at him during every waking moment.
He had to assure himself that it was real. The sound of her voice, the intensity of his emotions. He needed to be certain, to make sure that it had not just been a fleeting dream or a figment of his imagination. He wouldn't know what he would do with himself otherwise.
Cursed, he thought.
Maybe Heiter was right. For what explanation could there be for this irrational urge if not a hex or witchcraft of some sort? It consumed him.
Himmel did not understand why he was acting this way. All he wanted to do was wake up in the morning and go back to the tree where he had sat alone and wait for the chance to see her walk by again. He would do anything to make that happen. He would wait for years if that’s what it took.
Even decades.
That night, Himmel slept in his room thinking about magic, flowers, and an elf whose name he did not know.
He snuck out at the earliest opportunity, hoping to lose himself in the scent of flowers. Himmel retraced his steps to the spot where she previously appeared, hoping that a portion of her still lingered in the space they once occupied.
From the path he was treading, a narrow trail diverted and led him to a clearing in the woods. He saw a familiar trunk at the end and sighed, feeling relieved. Because there, just on the other side, was a patch of flowers lying in wait. They had not waned at all during the night. They stood tall and firm, enduring, just like he had.
Himmel took a tentative step forward, careful not to disturb a single stem. He bent down and, ever so gently, caressed their brilliant blush.
He had never realized how soft they were, nor how pretty they looked so close to each other.
It was unmistakable.
The doubts that had clouded him during the long hours of unrest had dissipated now that he was here.
Himmel sat himself down at the base of the tree, arms wrapped around his legs.
Then, for a little while longer, he waited.