Misha

A group of imperials in bandit garb exchange stories and laughs as they sit around a boiling cauldron. One of them adds a few pieces of wood to the fire underneath and is rewarded with the sound of crackling and a sweet aroma slowly wafting into the air. Misha can tell what they're cooking with a quick sniff—a few fluffy mushrooms, a bunch of green bean vines, and a dash of qirriberry jam to bring it all together. This is a recipe familiar to anyone who spent time in the Dark Forest. The aroma always evokes distant memories of her mother's cooking—the unique scent of her food was powerful enough to draw even those creatures that preferred to stay hidden in the darkness. And now Misha is like one of the creatures in the darkness, only drawn out by trespassers. Were it not for these strange "guests" who encroached on her home, she would not have let her curiosity get the best of her. In the valley behind this dense forest lies a secret that the Wilders have guarded for millennia. The rumor that there's a great treasure buried deep inside has attracted countless fortune seekers to test their defenses. Decades ago, a band of thieves blinded by the allure of riches used a mysterious power to break through the final spectral barrier laid by the Wilder guardians. If only they knew the truth—that the Dark Forest never held any treasure at all. Hidden in the valley lays only an ancient tomb, where the Wilders' goddess enjoys her final rest. Just as the goddess once granted peace to the Wilders who suffered in the Scorched Expanse, generations of Wilders now honor her by ensuring her resting place is undisturbed. Misha's ancestors were among those who received the goddess' blessing and protection. Convinced that their goddess would one day reawaken, they instructed their descendants to keep a silent watch over the valley and prevent those who would bring harm from approaching. This is the first time Misha has seen any outsiders approach their sacred place since the previous incident. Having taken over her mother's duties, Misha stands guard over the ancient tomb, and she knows that this is the last area where "guests" will be allowed to leave in peace. She won't allow them to proceed any further. Misha takes cover in the dusk mist and blends the rustling sound of her calculated steps in with the breeze blowing through the grass. The whiteveil orchid sways around her waist, calming the creatures around her. She gently raises her magic mirror and gets to work. A faint fragrance spreads along the road, and at the end of the inconspicuous path, the entrance to her illusion waits patiently for the "guests" to arrive. Misha and her mother shared a love for the flower, and Misha still keeps the flower pinned beside her ears like her mother did. Native to the valley, the flower is as white as snow and exudes a fragrant aroma. The first bit of floriculture Misha's mother taught her was that the whiteveil orchid can be dried and ground into a fine powder and used as a seasoning, but when overused, it can have hallucinogenic and paralytic effects. Misha has never wanted to leave this valley, so full of memories of her life with her mother. She still remembers that cool summer night when her mother sprinkled a dash of whiteveil orchid into the soup and, with a warm smile, asked her what she wanted to do in the future. The young Misha sat on a fallen tree nearby, swinging her legs back and forth as she responded that she wanted to be a herbalist. That dream did not come to pass—she never became a herbalist, nor did she join the Yuexi Botanists to study her favorite plants. People often told her that she looked exactly like her mother, and so she, too, became a child of the mist. As she guards her goddess, so too does she guard her mother's final resting place. That incursion decades ago caught the Wilders off-guard, but Misha's mother refused to allow evil to desecrate their valley. And so, she used a magic mirror bestowed upon their ancestors by the goddess Dura to summon a powerful illusion and draw the intruders into the mirror world to stop them. But no one thought that these fortune seekers would be so blinded by greed as to consort with the Hypogeans. The young Misha hid behind a tree as she watched her mother step purposefully into the illusion, using all her power to maintain the fragile world inside. No one saw what happened inside, only a stream of flames and darkness rushing into the sky from the mirror. Misha's last memory was the mirror world collapsing, swallowing everything inside. Back in the real world, she could still hear the sound of insects chirping and long breaths coming from the ancient tomb that had been dormant for thousands of years. Back in the present, the bandits cheer and celebrate at finding the illusory treasure they've been seeking, unaware of the price they would soon pay for their greed. Misha tucks the strands of hair in front of her eyes back behind her ears and takes the magic mirror into her arms as she hums a ballad her mother once sang to her. The true magic mirror had been shattered on that fateful day—the one in Misha's hands was just one of the larger surviving fragments. Her illusion couldn't last nearly as long, but it still bought enough time for the whiteveil powder to enter the bandits' bodies and gradually paralyze them. Her work is done. She no longer has to sully herself with the presence of these "guests". Her fellow Wilders would handle the rest. Without any whiteveil powder, the soup's aroma would soon fade away. She sniffed the residual warmth of the charcoal fire in the air and made a snap decision—it's soup for dinner for tonight. Misha gently hopped over the blades of grass, allowing the wind to guide her to the food. The ancient tomb still sleeps in the peaceful valley, surrounded by the chirping of insects and the cool night breeze.

"My apologies for not having a gift ready. Next time, allow me to bring a bowl of my mother's soup—there's nothing quite like it."