Ivy

I found her. After three days of walking, asking, following whispers and half-remembered directions, I found Zara. And more than that—she said yes. She'll teach me. I could feel myself shaking when she agreed, not from fear but from something like relief, like a weight I've been carrying since I was twelve years old finally shifted. When she warned me it would be hard and take longer than I expected, I wasn't disappointed. I already knew that learning to heal wouldn't be quick. Mother deserved better than a healer who arrived too late. I won't be that person. Zara said she wants to start with listening, not herbs. I'm not sure what that means yet, but I trust her. I've learned today that trust isn't naive—it's the only way forward when you need someone to teach you something that matters. I'm nervous about dawn, about whether I'm ready, about whether I can actually learn what she has to teach me. But I'm also certain. This is why I came. This is what I'm meant to do.