Hermione was quite sure she was dreaming. Her breathing was slowed, almost too slow to be keeping her alive. All around her crickets chirped and the sound of water slipping passed moss covered stones awakened her senses. The smell of smoke from a campfire eased her soul like a balm and her eyes opened. There was no fire in front of her, but the broken derelict structure of the temple atop Mount Motuo was lit by several thousand fireflies blinking at her slowly.