Zafron pulled his head out of the water, gasping—not for air, but for clarity. He ran his hands over his face, expecting the slickness of water, but his skin was dry. No choking. No sputtering. Just… dry.
Beneath the sprawling canopy of the massive tree, the soft rustle of leaves whispered a calm mockery. His chest heaved as he processed the impossibility of what he'd just endured—or imagined.
"Well…"
The casual voice snapped his attention. Sitting cross-legged on a spread of fabric, Aurelia plucked a fruit from a basket beside her, her posture as serene as a summer's afternoon. "Oh, you're back?"
Zafron blinked at her, words failing him. His heart was still racing, his mind still spinning.
"What?" she asked with a teasing lilt, taking a bite from the fruit and chewing leisurely. "So… how was it?"
"How was what?" he demanded, his voice sharp, though he was more bewildered than angry.
