Waking clears the mind.

The gardens outside the north wing were expansive, a blend of symmetry and chaos. Neatly trimmed hedges bordered patches of wildflowers that spilled over the edges of their beds. Cerina wandered among them, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure if she was admiring the beauty or trying to keep herself occupied. The air was cool, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the earthy aroma of soil. But even the familiar smells couldn’t quiet her nerves.

Some of the plants she recognized—marigolds, rosemary, ivy curling up ancient trellises. But others were alien, their leaves shimmering faintly in the light as if coated in a fine dust of silver. One bush bore clusters of deep purple flowers shaped like teardrops, their edges lined with delicate spines. Another had mushroom-shaped fruit that pulsed faintly yellow, almost imperceptibly, as though alive.

She shuddered and **** her gaze away, trying to focus on the path beneath her feet. The flagstones were uneven, but worn smooth by countless footsteps. She couldn’t help but feel they were leading her somewhere specific, though she couldn’t say where.

Yes, walk.