The Temple infirmary hummed softly, a place of murmured comfort and the faint scent of linen and herbs. Lytavis tied the final bandage around a novice's ankle, murmured a word of healing, and smiled when the glow faded clean and the pain left the girl's eyes.
"Try not to challenge the stairs again," she teased.
The novice flushed and nodded, limping out with exaggerated care.
Lytavis turned as another Sister entered, this one with a minor burn. She cooled it with a soft breath of light, wrapped it neatly, and sent her on her way. When the door closed, she sighed, stretched, and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
Tyrande leaned against the doorway, eyes bright. "Done saving the world?"
"For now," Lytavis said, setting her hands on her hips.
"Good. Come with me to Blooming Brews. I'm buying."
Lytavis blinked, amused. "That's either very kind or very suspicious."
Tyrande grinned. "Half an hour?"
"Half an hour," Lytavis promised.
The café terrace basked in late afternoon sun. Blooming Brews smelled of honey and mint and freshly baked bread; the soft murmur of conversation mixed with birdsong from the hanging planters.
Tyrande was already at a small table outside, hair pinned up with an ivory comb. Skye perched imperiously on the back of a chair, head tilted in judgment.
"Reserved seating?" Lytavis asked as she approached.
"Obviously," Tyrande said, waving her into the seat. "I ordered mint tea and honey cakes for me, cinnamon roll for you."
Lytavis smiled as the waitress arrived with a tray, setting down their plates and a steaming pot of tea. "You remember everything," she said, breaking off a warm, fragrant piece.
"Of course I do." Tyrande poured their tea, eyes gleaming. "And I have news."
Lytavis raised a brow. "You always have news."
"This one's special."
Lytavis smirked faintly, ready to play along. "All right. Tell me."
Tyrande lowered her voice dramatically. "I kissed Theridan Morningstar."
Lytavis froze mid-sip. "You what?"
"He was helping me carry candles to the courtyard, and it just—happened." Tyrande's grin was unabashed. "He smells like sunlight and ink."
"Well," Lytavis said after a moment, "he is handsome."
"And sweet," Tyrande added quickly.
Lytavis smirked. "So? How was it?"
Tyrande tilted her head, thoughtful. "…Wet."
Lytavis nearly choked on her tea. "You really do keep me entertained."
"Oh, I'm not finished." Tyrande leaned forward, conspiratorial. "I've made a decision."
Lytavis arched a brow. "Should I brace myself?"
Tyrande's smile softened. "I'm joining the Temple as a novice."
For a heartbeat, Lytavis just stared—and then she was on her feet, flinging her arms around her friend. The chair clattered, Skye squawked indignantly, and the waitress ducked behind the doorway with a grin.
"That's wonderful!" Lytavis said, laughing. "Elune will be lucky to have you, but you might have to quit kissing everyone."
"Quit?" Tyrande gasped. "And deprive the world of spiritual enlightenment? I'm practically performing blessings."
The girls dissolved into helpless laughter. The tea steamed, the cinnamon roll cooled, and for that sunlit moment, the world was nothing but honey, feathers, and joy.