The hotel Aaron had booked on the Ethernet was called Sylvan Haven, and by the time they arrived, it was already close to ten.

  It was a three-story wooden building whose outer walls were entirely covered by thick, leafy vines. Nestled among the foliage were glowing violet blossoms and golden fruits shaped a little like passionfruits. They stepped through a round wooden door hung with wind chimes and entered the reception area.

  “It’s like this hotel was grown straight out of a living tree,” Aaron commented, “I don’t even see any seams or joints.”

  A receptionist greeted them with a courteous smile.

  “Welcome to Sylvan Haven! How may I help you?”

  She had pointed ears and a pair of flower wings that shimmered in translucent green. The hotel was managed by plant half-naturekin, more commonly known in modern times as elves. And about Naturekin, it was the name given to all nature spirits, a broad kinship that included nymphs, satyrs, druses, panes, and many others.

  “Hello, we’d like to check in. I reserved a second-class room under the name Aaron Attenborough. Here’s my ID card.”

  The receptionist scanned Aaron’s ID, then handed it back to him.

  “Your room is number 208 on the second floor, and here is your key card. I wish you a wonderful stay. If you require any assistance, you can use the lily-flower telephone in the room.”

  “Got it, thank you,” Aaron said, giving a small bow before leading the group upstairs.

  Their room was medium in size, equipped with everything they could want. It had a TV, a refrigerator, a sofa, and a bathroom. Best of all, the window opened toward Lake Nerardeusis, giving them a great view of the water.

  “Squeak, squeak!” Jack-O and Pompo started chasing each other around the furniture.

  Squashy, however, seemed a little worn out and curled up to sleep in Aaron’s arms.

  “What’s that smell?” Luther asked, sniffing the air.

  There was a light, refreshing fragrance lingering in the room, barely noticeable but soothing as it brushed past the nose.

  “Oh, you’re right,” Aaron said, taking a whiff. “It’s faint, not strong at all… feels like it comes from some herb or flower.”

  “This is something quite common in places where plant energy has reached a certain threshold. Living in an environment like this is beneficial not only for physical health but also for one’s state of mind,” Acher explained.

  “Staying at a hotel run by plant elves really feels different,” Aaron said. “Luther, I picked this place because a lot of the online reviews said their lemonade is amazing. Did you see the fruit growing on the vines on the wall? Those are Mistdrop lemons.”

  Luther, who had been on the verge of falling asleep, perked up at once. “Can we try it tomorrow?”

  “Hmm.” Aaron tapped his chin. “You’ve been drinking way too much lemonade at home lately. If you’re not careful, you’ll get a stomachache. How about we try it and then tell you what it tastes like?”

  “…”

  Luther pressed his lips together in silence, then used his ultimate move: merciless tickling.

  “Hey! That tickles! Hahahahaha, stop, I give up! I was just kidding! Hahahahahaha!”

  “Squeak! Let us join too!” The pumpkins hopped over.

  …

  The next morning.

  After breakfast at the Mocking Pine, a tree-house café where the pinecones never stopped cracking cheeky jokes at the customers, the group headed out to explore the city.

  Sicily was especially crowded this season, packed with travelers from every corner of Earth, and even visitors from outer realms. All around them were supernatural beings of every kind, both the familiar and the rare. They glanced at a family of five walking past. Their skin was pale, their teeth gleamed with long fangs. The two children in that family were sipping on a dark red smoothie.

  Aaron leaned close to Luther and whispered:

  “Look over there, I think they’re vampires.”

  “Oh, so the bloodkins are now called vampires,” Acher commented, his head tilting.

  “Bloodkin, yeah, that name feels a lot more accurate.” Aaron nodded.

  “Corpse eater,” Luther muttered, glancing across the street at an old woman whose mouth stretched almost to her ears.

  “How can you tell that?” Aaron asked, blinking. “She looks creepy, sure, but how could you be certain just from that?”

  “Her smell,” Luther answered. “I don’t know how I know it. I just do. Like the Agares ancient tongue.”

  “That’s normal,” Acher explained. “A divine entity of the Abyss holds authority over most beings of darkness. For him, such recognition is instinct.”

  “Luther is the strongest and coolest one in the whole cosmos!” Aaron said out loud with a wide grin.

  Luther:

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  “…”

  He’s definitely teasing me on purpose to make me embarrassed!

  The group continued wandering through the streets of Sicily.

  “Squeak, big bananas!!” Jack-O squealed in delight.

  He was pointing at a cluster of green trees along the roadside. Their trunks were smooth and cylindrical, and their broad leaves were spreading wide. From the crown of one tree hung a cluster of snow-white bananas, each one as large as a human arm. Aaron plucked one and shared it among them.

  “This tastes amazing!” Aaron praised after taking a bite.

  Luther nodded.

  “Cold. Like ice cream. Delicious.”

  “Now that you say it, I realize, this must be the famous ice-cream bananas from Glaexia,” Aaron said.

  “That’s correct,” Acher confirmed with a solemn bob of his head. “Still as delightful as they were long ago. In the early years of the Era of Heavens, when Sicily was at its peak, this place was home to all kinds of mythical fruits. Even a kind of Golden Apple could be found here. Anyone who managed to answer all five ridiculous riddles of that Green Python Sage brat would be rewarded with one.”

  Sicily was a city of greenery, blossoms, and fruits. Every street was lined with trees that bore harvest all year round: gemstone cherries, angry pears, mud grapefruits, water plums, and so many more.

  People were free to pick them, but the whole city was enchanted with a spell so that each person could only pluck a single fully ripe fruit from each street a day.

  “This one is tasty too, you should try it,” Aaron said as he peeled a mangosteen and held it out to Luther. “I’ve fallen in love with this city already. I wish I could bring my parents here one day.”

  “There will be a chance,” Luther said.

  “I just don’t know when I’ll ever be able to tell them.” Aaron frowned. “I’m scared that if they find out, they’ll panic and forbid me from having anything to do with the magical world. I… I can’t do that.”

  He hesitated, then added, “And I don’t even dare tell my parents about Tarisel. For ordinary people like them, there’s nothing they could do against him. Knowing about him would only make them afraid and worried for nothing.”

  “Then we wait until. We’re strong enough to kill him,” Luther said, reaching out to clasp Aaron’s hand.

  “Squeak! Defeat the bad guy!”

  “Squashy helps too!”

  “Me too!”

  The pumpkins all bounced up and down at once, shouting their eagerness.

  Aaron burst into laughter.

  “Eat your fruit first; the banana is already melting.”

  In truth, ever since he reached high knight, he had been casting blessing and protection spells upon his family and friends in secret. Though he hoped that those blessings would never need to be used.

  “Let’s head to the Therompós Temple. It’s one of the must-see locations in the Golden Wheat Valley,” Aaron said, adjusting his bag as they set off.

  The group soon stood before a grand temple towering more than three hundred feet into the air, rising from a wide stretch of green grass along the lakeshore. Sunlight washed over the pale stone and living wood of the Temple of Therompós, its broad steps and tall columns standing open and calm beneath the clear sky.

  Yet even the temple seemed secondary to what stood beside it: the Great Sanctuary Tree.

  The ancient tree towered far above the temple itself, its massive trunk stretching upward until it vanished into the layers of leaves overhead. Its vast canopy spread wide across the square, casting deep, cool shade over the grass below. Sunlight filtered through the overlapping leaves in shifting patterns, dappling the ground in soft gold and green, while a quiet, steady presence seemed to settle over the space.

  “So bigggg!” Squashy marveled and hopped closer.

  Beneath the tree, small groups of people stood in silence. Some had their heads bowed in prayer. Others moved slowly across the grass, carefully picking up fallen leaves. One by one, they held the leaves in their palms and traced symbols or words across the surface with their fingers, the veins of the leaf briefly glowing where they were touched. Afterward, they knelt and gently buried the leaves in the soil, pressing the earth closed with quiet care.

  “What are they doing?” Luther asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure, hold on, let me look it up,” Aaron said, already pulling out his phone. He scrolled for a moment, then brightened. “Oh! It’s a local prayer ritual. It’s said to be especially effective for wishes related to crops, plants, or anything to do with visiting Sicily. They write their wishes on fallen leaves and bury them in the soil so Sicily can receive them. We should try it!”

  The group crouched down together, searching the grass for fallen leaves.

  While they worked, Luther glanced at Acher. “You don’t want to try?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Nonsense like this has no effect on me.” Acher shook his head.

  They then copied the others, holding each leaf in their palms, whispering their prayers, writing on them, then pressing the leaves gently into the earth and covering them with soil. Squashy even stuffed a few leaves into her mouth, clearly determined to keep them as souvenirs.

  “What did you wish for?” Aaron asked.

  “For the garden to grow well,” Luther replied.

  “I knew it.” Aaron laughed. “As for me, I wished for this trip to be really, really fun. What about you guys?”

  “Food! Yummy fruits!” Jack-O declared.

  Squashy puffed up proudly and mumbled around her full mouth, “Soft dirt, warm sun, good sleep!”

  Pompo hopped in place and raised his little vines. “Play games all day!”

  “Hahahahaha.”

  After that, they continued exploring the temple. Both inside and outside, crowds of people bustled about, taking photos and marveling at the sight. The building was constructed of white stone bricks, with large columns supporting heavy crossbeams, and a sharp triangular roof at the top.

  Its main gate was a lofty arch, carved with patterns of trees, fruits, and grains. At the very peak of the arch, a golden statue of a wheat stalk gleamed in the sunlight.

  “This used to be the most sacred place of the Cult of Harvest. It was built so many years ago. Hard to believe it still stands after all that time,” Aaron remarked.

  They took several pictures at the main gate, then followed the steady stream of tourists going inside.

  The temple’s interior was vast and airy. Murals stretched across both walls and ceilings, most depicting a young woman with long and wavy golden hair that reached down to her waist.

  In one painting, she was sowing seeds into fertile earth. In another, she was teaching farming to groups. And in yet another, she flew across the skies above a world gradually turning lush green with flourishing vegetation, a colossal silhouette of a World Tree rising behind her to uphold the heavens.

  The temple had long since been transformed into a museum. On stone pedestals stood all sorts of relics, each protected beneath crystal-clear glass cases.

  The items on display included seeds, cloths, blocks of preserved soil… and in the sanctuary, at the very heart of the temple, stood a statue of that same golden-haired woman: Demeter, one of the Twelve Major Gods of the Peak of Glory.

  She held a bundle of ripened wheat in her hands, smiling with serene kindness. Around her feet, plants of every kind, trees, flowers, and fruits, grew thickly, overflowing with life. All around her statue, creatures of every form bowed low, expressing gratitude for her gifts.

  Not far away, a guide spoke to a group of tourists. His voice was steady as he gestured toward the grand hall.

  “After the Lady of the Harvest and the Tree of Creation sacrificed themselves and the First Heaven Eudemia to bestow everlasting abundance upon all Gaian realms, the Cult of Harvest gradually weakened and declined, all the way until the successor of the plant pantheon re-emerged and founded Breath of Nature. And when the Pact of Sacred Fire was signed, the entire Golden Wheat Valley was taken over by Chlorarborion, then later transformed into a popular tourist destination as of today. Even so, the Therompós Temple continues to be recognized as one of the most sacred pilgrimage sites for plant-type beings across the whole cosmos.”

  The guide was an elderly man wearing a pointed straw hat, leading a group of forest deer whose coats were not fur but of living green grass.

  Not far away, a nun in white robes stood in silence with hands clasped together, murmuring a prayer in words too soft for anyone to hear.