"Kid."
Riven opened one eye from his spot on the mat.
"What," he muttered, voice still groggy.
"Get up. You've got a mission today."
Riven groaned, dragging himself upright. "Please don't let it be more roof cleaning."
His master tossed a small leather pouch at him. "Climb Mount Vireal. Half a day's trek east. Look for a plant with orange leaves, purple veins, and it smells like old socks."
Riven blinked. "...What?"
"It's called Razorleaf. Grows near cliff edges. Rare. Annoying to find. I need it."
"For what?"
"Foot soak."
Riven stared.
"Your... foot soak?"
"Feet hurt," his master said matter-of-factly. "Now go. Be back before sunset or sleep outside with the mountain goats."
Riven wanted to scream. Instead, he grumbled and strapped on his boots.
The Mountain Climb
Mount Vireal was less of a "mountain" and more of a vertical death sentence. The path was steep, riddled with loose rocks and tree roots that reached like twisted fingers to trip him. Birds circled above like they were placing bets on how soon he'd fall.
The sun beat down mercilessly. The air grew thinner.
Twice he slipped. Once, he nearly rolled off the edge entirely.
But he kept going.
Somewhere between a near-fatal tumble and a crumbling ridge, he started thinking.
Why was he doing this? Not the plant—the climb. The pain. The sweat. The blisters.
He could've said no. Could've turned back.
But he didn't.
Because some part of him wanted to suffer through it. To prove something. To endure.
At the top, he finally spotted the plant: orange, veiny, and—yep—smelled like unwashed socks. He plucked it and looked out over the horizon.
From here, he could see the entire valley. The forest. The village. Even his master's small home far in the distance.
It felt peaceful.
For once, his mind was quiet.
A strange sense of calmness settled in his chest. Clarity. Stillness.
He didn't expect to find it—but here it was.
Back at the House
He stumbled through the gate just as the sun dipped below the trees. Covered in dust, scrapes, and sweat.
His master didn't even look up. Just raised a cup of tea and said, "Took you long enough."
Riven tossed the plant into his lap.
"There. For your precious feet."
His master sniffed it, nodded approvingly, and limped toward a steaming bucket on the porch.
"You know," he said, settling in, "I could've picked that plant a week ago."
Riven narrowed his eyes. "You what?"
"I just wanted to see if you'd do it. See how far you'd go without asking why."
Riven stared at him, blinking slowly.
Then something clicked. "Wait… you didn't send me up there to teach me about calmness? Or discipline? Or patience?"
His master glanced at him, confused. "What?"
"I—I thought I figured it out," Riven said, slightly deflated. "That peace at the top of the mountain… I thought it was some kind of lesson."
His master dunked his feet in the bucket and sighed with bliss. "Nope. Just wanted my foot soak."
Riven stared at him, utterly betrayed.
"You're the worst."
His master smirked. "But you climbed it, didn't you?"
Riven flopped down beside him, too tired to argue. "You're insane."
"Probably. But hey, my toes feel like royalty."
There was silence for a while.
Then Riven muttered, "...I still feel like I learned something, even if you didn't mean to teach it."
His master shrugged. "Then I'll take the credit anyway."
Riven shook his head.
But deep down, he smiled.