Page 3 of Sanctuary and Spices

The Jhyra released their sweet scent as I checked their progress, their luminescent petals still faintly glowing from the night cycle. A flash of memory surfaced—the sacred groves of home, silver light stretching endlessly beneath twin moons. I allowed myself a brief moment of nostalgia before focusing on the task at hand. Some choices meant leaving things behind, even if you didn’t regret making them.

A tendril reached toward my hand as I passed, responding to the careful balance of Leyline energy I maintained—not suppressed, as my early training had demanded, but channeled with precision. The delicate plant had taken months to adapt to the station’s unique energy patterns, but now it thrived, proof that change could lead to growth.

”You’re early.” Soryn’s gravelly voice carried from the kitchen entrance.

”The candervines needed attention.” I adjusted their climbing lattice, hiding a smile at our familiar morning rhythm. “They’re nearly ready for harvest.”

“Hm.” The Thaskari’s heavy footsteps crossed to the prep counter, scales catching the light as he began laying out supplies. “Nothing to do with the new supply ship that just docked?”

”TheTeiria Star’sbrings good herb stock.” I moved to check the moisture levels in the aeroponic systems, ignoring his knowing look. The latest modifications were working well—another successful blend of Sylnithian wisdom and station innovation.

We worked in companionable silence, the routine as comfortable as an old glove. Through the garden’s glass walls, I watched the café’s public space slowly come alive. Regular customers drifted in: Ven’ra claiming her usual corner table, datapad already active; the Khiul sisters dropping off their morning delivery of exotic spices, their feathers bright with gossip they’d share later.

Then something caught my attention—a wave of emotion so raw it made my skin prickle. Grief. Exhaustion. The kind of bone-deep weariness I recognized from my own early days of choosing a new path. But underneath, a spark of something else. Determination, maybe. Or hope.

I focused on the plants, grounding myself in their steady energy. The station’s ancient systems had a way of amplifying emotions, making them echo through the Leyline currents. But this was different. Sharper. More focused.

“You noticed our visitor.” Soryn’s statement, not a question.

”Hard to miss.” I adjusted the nutrient flow to a bed of healing herbs, their leaves shimmering with stored energy. “But I’m sure they’re just passing through. Not much to see.”

”No?” He moved to stand beside me, looking out through the garden’s glass walls. “Take a look.”

My curiosity won out.

She sat alone on one of the benches, dark hair falling loose around her face, a small bag at her feet. I told myself I was watching because the garden’s plants had reacted strangely to her presence, but that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about her—a quiet strength beneath the exhaustion—that drew me, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Human. The rigid set of her shoulders spoke of someone used to authority, but her hands trembled as she stared down at something clutched in her fingers—a worn book, its spine cracked with use.

“Some people,” Soryn said quietly, “could use a welcome, even if they’ve wandered into an unexpected place.” He turned back to his prep work, but I caught the slight curl of his mouth. “Tea’s ready, by the way. Fresh batch of that blend that worked so well with the modified dhara leaves.”

I sighed at his less-than-subtle hint, but found myself pouring two cups. The morning blend’s aroma carried notes of home mixed with local herbs—a combination that had taken weeks to perfect.

She didn’t look up at my approach, but I noticed how her attention shifted to track the hanging gardens above. A professional’s assessment, noting species and arrangements with quick efficiency.

”Tea?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to startle her.

Her gaze met mine, sharp and assessing, and for the briefest moment, it felt like she could see straight through my carefully maintained reserve. Not just looking at me, but into me, measuring and cataloging with the same precision she’d given the plants.

She reached out, but not toward me—her hand stretched toward one of the hanging vines, fingers curled with curiosity.

”Is this Sylnithian teyrith? I’ve never seen it growing naturally before.” Her voice carried the raw edges of exhaustion, but her eyes lit with genuine interest. “The color’s different from the conventional hydroponic strain.”

I watched with interest as a temperamental unfurled toward her outstretched hand.

My skin warmed slightly, an involuntary response to the sudden shift in the garden’s energy. The plants recognized something in her, something beyond technical knowledge.

”Well,” I said softly, more to myself than to her, “you’re full of surprises.”

JANI

Ilightly brushed my fingertips over the plant. The texture felt different than any I’d worked with before—both silkier and more substantial. Like touching a cloud made solid. My curiosity pushed through the exhaustion that lingered even after sleeping fitfully during the twelve-hour journey on the transport.

“What an amazing pearlescent sheen.,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “Why? What’s different here?”

The green-skinned man shifted his weight, drawing my attention back to him.

He was unlike anyone I'd seen aboard the Crown - tall and broad-shouldered, with skin the deep green of forest shadows. Luminescent markings traced intricate patterns across his exposed forearms and up his neck, their gentle glow reminding me of bioluminescent herbs I'd once used in molecular gastronomy.

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