Chapter 88: Spontaneous Adventure
The departure was set for two days out. Meeting point: the big inn near the rainforest.
Uriel told Seraphina "See you at the inn," turned on his heel with what he hoped was appropriate nonchalance, and headed home.
His brain was already running through a checklist. What did he need to bring? Collection bags, insect repellent, canteen, rations — the usual. But the real question was harder.
How was he going to explain this to his mother?
---
When he pushed open the door, Galatina was crouched on the balcony watering the mint plant. Classes were suspended, so there was no reason to keep up the Tian disguise. She'd just stayed as herself.
She heard the door and looked over, watering can still in hand.
"You're back. How was the ceremony?"
"Indefinite suspension. They'll notify us when classes resume." Uriel swapped into his slippers, walked to the coffee table, poured himself water, and took a sip. "Oh — I'm heading out the day after tomorrow."
"Out?"
"Helping Seraphina with some kind of holiday fieldwork assignment, I think. We're going south to the rainforest to collect some materials. We'll go during the day and be back before dark. It's pretty far, though, so I'll probably stay overnight near there before coming home."
He kept his tone casual.
Galatina's expression shifted anyway.
Uriel saw her eyes light up and knew exactly what was coming.
She set down the watering can, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked at him with bright, eager eyes.
Uriel cut her off before she could start.
"Just the two of us. If you come, it'll be weird."
Galatina blinked. The words "I'll come too" died on her lips.
She thought for a moment, then walked over and sat on the sofa, hands folded neatly on her knees.
"Does little Uri know what's in the rainforest?"
"Plants. Insects. Probably some small magical beasts."
"Not just that. There's humidity. Mud pits. Rain." She began counting on her fingers. "You need slip-resistant boots. A waterproof jacket. Bring extra socks. Don't pack rations that are too sweet or too salty — you'll get thirsty. Fill your canteen all the way. Never drink raw water from the rainforest."
Uriel listened as she rattled off item after item.
Every single one was correct. And none of it sounded like something she'd read in a book. These were the kind of details you learned by getting your boots stuck in mud and being soaked to the skin at least once.
He remembered she used to be the Hero. She'd probably walked through more than just rainforests.
"Got it." His tone softened. "I'll bring all of it."
Galatina frowned thoughtfully, then stood and walked into the kitchen.
When she came back, she was carrying a small cloth bundle. She set it on the coffee table and opened it — inside were several small packets of dried herbs, each tied neatly with thin twine. Every packet had a handwritten label in round, slightly clumsy script, the kind where some strokes tilted at odd angles. Unmistakably Galatina's handwriting.
"This one's insect repellent — hang it from your belt. This one's for stopping bleeding — crush it and apply it to the wound. This one repels snakes — scatter it around your campsite. Little Uri, do you know how to start a fire? Wood in the rainforest is wet. You have to peel off the outer bark — the inner core is what's dry."
Uriel looked down at the packets, picked one up, and turned it over to read the label.
Insect repellent — mugwort and...?
Galatina listed several more herb names. He didn't catch all of them, he figured she'd probably learned these recipes firsthand during her time as the Hero.
"I know how to start a fire." He rewrapped the herbs carefully and tied them shut. "You taught me before, back behind the old cottage. Just toss a fireball."
"That was dry kindling. The rainforest is different. And you should know how to do it without magic too. Let me show you again."
Rummaging under the coffee table, she produced a few unused chopsticks and snapped them into short segments. A quick trip to the kitchen later, she returned holding a half-peeled carrot.
Chopsticks: dry wood. Carrot: wet wood.
She crouched beside the table and used a peeling knife to scrape off the carrot's outer skin, revealing the slightly paler core underneath.
"See? The outside is wet. The inside is dry. Remove the wet part and use the core to start your fire. Shave it into thin strips with a small knife first — thin catches faster than thick."
Uriel crouched beside her and watched as she peeled the carrot layer by layer, shaving it into fine strips that piled up on the table. She picked up a chopstick and arranged the carrot shavings into a tiny little fire lay.
A memory surfaced.
Years ago. Back at the old cottage. Before she'd taught him magic. She'd taught him to start a fire the same way.
He'd been internally complaining at the time about teaching a kid to play with fire.
She'd crouched on the ground, building a small fire structure out of sticks and wood shavings, explaining that fire needed airflow, that you had to add fuel gradually from thin to thick. Her hair had been longer then. The wind had caught it, and a spark had singed the ends. He'd nearly knocked over the water bucket in panic. She'd just laughed, pinched out the ember, and said "It's okay, I'm fine."
Ten years had passed.
She was still crouching on the ground in the exact same posture, teaching him how to start a fire.
The same patience. The same willingness to repeat the most basic survival lesson without complaint.
Anyone else would have gotten tired of him by now.
He pulled himself back to the present and nodded.
"Got it. Peel off the wet part. Use the dry core."
---
Two days later.
Early morning. Sunlight hadn't turned harsh yet. The streets were wrapped in a thin layer of fog.
Uriel stood in front of the mirror, running through his checklist one last time.
Waterproof jacket rolled and strapped to the top of his pack. Spare socks stuffed in the side pocket. Canteen full. Rations wrapped in oiled paper. The herb packets his mother had prepared were clipped to the inside of his belt. The slip-resistant boots were new — deep treads, noticeably heavier than his usual shoes.
He shouldered the pack and opened the door.
Galatina was standing there, ready to see him off.
Uriel glanced at her.
"I'm going. I'll probably be back the day after tomorrow. These next two days... take care of yourself. Eat properly."
"Mm." She smiled and nodded. Then she reached out and tugged lightly on his backpack strap, adjusting the shoulder harness that had gone slightly crooked. Her fingers followed the strap downward, then brushed some dust off his shoulder. She pulled him into a brief hug, stepped back half a pace, and added one more reminder.
Be careful. Stay safe.
Uriel walked out the door.
The cool morning air hit his face.
The fog was clearing. The streetlamp across the way had just gone out. The bakery's door was half-open, releasing the warm, toasted smell of fresh dough. He walked a few steps, then couldn't help glancing back.
He glanced back. The fourth-floor curtain twitched—a slight flutter of fabric as someone quickly stepped out of view.
He turned and kept walking.
For some reason, a lingering, almost ridiculous sense of worry washed over him.
Now that he thought about it — this was the first time since coming to this world that he'd actually gone somewhere without Mom and stayed away from home overnight.
Would she be alone tonight, realize she'd taken out too much food for one person, lie awake wondering if he'd remembered to cover himself with a blanket?
He used to think she worried too much. Now here he was, stepping out for one trip, and somehow he'd turned into the anxious parent.
He took a slow breath and forced the sentiment down.
Not the time.
He walked with purpose toward the coach station.
Rainforest. Here I come.