The walk home had been quiet—almost eerily so.
Macaria finally reached her apartment building as the sky began to melt from navy into amber, the first hints of morning streaking through the skyline. Her footsteps echoed against the sidewalk, muffled by the sleepy hush of the neighborhood. Birds stirred in the trees overhead, singing drowsy morning songs as the city slowly came to life.
She fished through her bag for her keys, fingers brushing notebooks and loose receipts until she found them near the bottom. The familiar jingle broke the silence—but something tugged at her awareness.
Simon stood just a few paces behind her, lingering at the foot of the stairs. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where a small park sprawled across the opposite side of the street. Maple trees lined the edge, forming a tunnel over the road. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dancing shadows across the swing set and the silver arc of the tire swing still swaying from the breeze.
Beyond the trees, a stretch of glittering water shimmered. A small beach—barely visible from where she stood—was just beginning to stir. Early risers walked the shore or dipped their feet into the ke, undisturbed by the hour.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Simon murmured.
Macaria turned toward him, surprised to hear the softness in his tone.
“I haven’t been to this part of Ancaster often,” he continued, his voice distant. “It’s quieter. More... honest.”
Mochi, who had been perched dutifully on his shoulder, suddenly leapt into action. In one fluid motion, the cat darted across the quiet street, nimbly bounding over the center line and leaping onto the guardrail that overlooked the beach. She sat there, tail flicking, staring down at the waves.
Simon stiffened. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pebble, and tossed it underhand.
The stone skittered down the hill, bouncing against the rocks before disappearing out of sight. The sound echoed oddly in the early morning calm—an unspoken warning, perhaps, or a test.
Macaria finally unlocked her door. The keys jangled in her hand as she turned back to him. He was still watching the water.
She stepped inside. “Simon?”
He looked at her then—really looked. His orange eyes shimmered faintly in the golden light, unreadable as always.
“I almost forgot,” he said quietly.
Before she could ask what, he crossed the distance between them in three strides.
His hand reached up—not rushed, not flirtatious, but steady—and rested gently against her cheek. His palm was warm. Too warm.
Macaria froze. Her heart skipped a beat. “Simon, what are you—”
Before she could finish, she felt it—a subtle surge of mana, a swirl of cool wind inside her chest.
The spell shattered.
She gasped as her voice returned all at once, her breath catching. “You jerk!”
Simon rubbed the back of his neck. “I did say it was temporary.”
“You could’ve warned me!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, but there was a trace of weariness in his smirk.
“I almost punched you.”
“You almost kissed me.”
Her cheeks burned. “You’re impossible!”
“Debatable.”
For a moment, silence settled over them, save for the chirping birds and the rustle of leaves overhead.
Then Simon’s expression softened. “You’re stronger than you think, you know. That’s why I walked you all the way here.”
Her breath caught—not from surprise, but from the weight of his words.
She opened her mouth to respond—but in a blink, Simon vanished, reappearing just inches from her. His finger gently pressed against her lips again, pyful but with a warning edge.
“Careful,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I could silence you again.”
Macaria shoved him back, flustered. “You’re insufferable!”
Simon ughed and waved over his shoulder. “See you around, Macaria.” With Mochi back on his shoulder, the two of them turned and disappeared into the maple-lined street.
She stared after him, a swirl of emotions stirring in her chest. Confusion. Curiosity. Annoyance.
And something she couldn’t quite name.
With a sigh, Macaria unlocked her apartment and stepped inside.
The familiar creak of the hinges welcomed her home. The interior was dim, cool, and still, with only the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. She set her bag down next to the small wooden table by the door and drew back the curtains.
Warm, golden sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating everything with a gentle glow. Dust motes danced zily through the air like tiny spirits.
In the windowsill sat her lone pnt—a droopy, pale pink and purple flower in a navy-blue pot adorned with geometric patterns. She winced.
“I forgot to water you again, didn’t I?” she murmured.
It had been an impulse buy—a silent companion for days when the silence felt too heavy. She wasn’t good with pnts. But something about this one made her hope she could be.
She poured a bit of water into its soil, then colpsed onto her warm gray sofa with a soft groan. Her body throbbed from the night’s chaos: the battle, the wind magic, the strange dream, Simon, and his spell.
Her limbs felt like lead, her eyelids heavier by the second.
Just as sleep began to cim her, a whisper curled through her thoughts like a breeze.
Rest now. You’re going to need it.
Macaria barely registered it. Whether it was real or imagined, she didn’t care.
For the first time in what felt like days, she let her mind go still.
acaria finally reached her apartment building as the sky began to melt from navy into amber, the first hints of morning streaking through the skyline. Her footsteps echoed against the sidewalk, muffled by the sleepy hush of the neighborhood. Birds stirred in the trees overhead, singing drowsy morning songs as the city slowly came to life.
She fished through her bag for her keys, fingers brushing notebooks and loose receipts until she found them near the bottom. The familiar jingle broke the silence—but something tugged at her awareness.
Simon stood just a few paces behind her, lingering at the foot of the stairs. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where a small park sprawled across the opposite side of the street. Maple trees lined the edge, forming a tunnel over the road. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dancing shadows across the swing set and the silver arc of the tire swing still swaying from the breeze.
Beyond the trees, a stretch of glittering water shimmered. A small beach—barely visible from where she stood—was just beginning to stir. Early risers walked the shore or dipped their feet into the ke, undisturbed by the hour.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Simon murmured.
Macaria turned toward him, surprised to hear the softness in his tone.
“I haven’t been to this part of Ancaster often,” he continued, his voice distant. “It’s quieter. More... honest.”
Mochi, who had been perched dutifully on his shoulder, suddenly leapt into action. In one fluid motion, the cat darted across the quiet street, nimbly bounding over the center line and leaping onto the guardrail that overlooked the beach. She sat there, tail flicking, staring down at the waves.
Simon stiffened. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pebble, and tossed it underhand.
The stone skittered down the hill, bouncing against the rocks before disappearing out of sight. The sound echoed oddly in the early morning calm—an unspoken warning, perhaps, or a test.
Macaria finally unlocked her door. The keys jangled in her hand as she turned back to him. He was still watching the water.
She stepped inside.
He looked at her then—really looked. His orange eyes shimmered faintly in the golden light, unreadable as always.
“I almost forgot,” he said quietly.
Before she could ask what, he crossed the distance between them in three strides.
His hand reached up—not rushed, not flirtatious, but steady—and rested gently against her cheek. His palm was warm. Too warm.
Macaria froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
Before she could finish, she felt it—a subtle surge of mana, a swirl of cool wind inside her chest.
The spell shattered.
She gasped as her voice returned all at once, her breath catching. “You jerk!”
Simon rubbed the back of his neck. “I did say it was temporary.”
“You could’ve warned me!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, but there was a trace of weariness in his smirk.
“I almost punched you.”
“You almost kissed me.”
Her cheeks burned. “You’re impossible!”
“Debatable.”
For a moment, silence settled over them, save for the chirping birds and the rustle of leaves overhead.
Then Simon’s expression softened. “You’re stronger than you think, you know. That’s why I walked you all the way here.”
Her breath caught—not from surprise, but from the weight of his words.
She opened her mouth to respond—but in a blink, Simon vanished, reappearing just inches from her. His finger gently pressed against her lips again, pyful but with a warning edge.
“Careful,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I could silence you again.”
Macaria shoved him back, flustered. “You’re insufferable!”
Simon ughed and waved over his shoulder. “See you around, Macaria.” With Mochi back on his shoulder, the two of them turned and disappeared into the maple-lined street.
She stared after him, a swirl of emotions stirring in her chest. Confusion. Curiosity. Annoyance.
And something she couldn’t quite name.
With a sigh, Macaria unlocked her apartment and stepped inside.
The familiar creak of the hinges welcomed her home. The interior was dim, cool, and still, with only the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. She set her bag down next to the small wooden table by the door and drew back the curtains.
Warm, golden sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating everything with a gentle glow. Dust motes danced zily through the air like tiny spirits.
In the windowsill sat her lone pnt—a droopy, pale pink and purple flower in a navy-blue pot adorned with geometric patterns. She winced.
“I forgot to water you again, didn’t I?” she murmured.
It had been an impulse buy—a silent companion for days when the silence felt too heavy. She wasn’t good with pnts. But something about this one made her hope she could be.
She poured a bit of water into its soil, then colpsed onto her warm gray sofa with a soft groan. Her body throbbed from the night’s chaos: the battle, the wind magic, the strange dream, Simon, and his spell.
Her limbs felt like lead, her eyelids heavier by the second.
Just as sleep began to cim her, a whisper curled through her thoughts like a breeze.
Rest now. You’re going to need it.
Macaria barely registered it. Whether it was real or imagined, she didn’t care.
For the first time in what felt like days, she let her mind go still.
She opened her eyes.
The field of glowing flowers greeted her like an old memory.
Stars twinkled in the sky above. The same gentle breeze stirred the petals, and soft orbs of light drifted upward like nterns.
Macaria slowly turned, the familiarity of the scene grounding her.
“I’m dreaming again,” she murmured.
A stronger breeze blew behind her, carrying the glowing orbs higher into the night sky. They shimmered like stardust. The world was quiet—but not empty.
Then, a hand brushed her shoulder.
She spun around.
No one.
“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”
Silence.
She moved toward the tree—the same glowing tree from before. Its bark shimmered faintly, as if ced with starlight. She reached out to touch it.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind surged from behind the tree. Petals, leaves, and strands of grass whirled into the air. Macaria braced herself, arms around the trunk.
At her feet, a small blue flower bloomed. Its crystal-like petals shimmered, casting fractured reflections across the grass.
A loud snap echoed through the field.
A massive branch, ripped loose from a nearby tree, came hurtling toward her.
She screamed, ducking—but the branch smmed into her hands, knocking her loose.
The wind howled.
She was airborne.
Macaria reached wildly, her fingers cwing for something, anything, to hold onto. Thin branches tore away in her grasp.
Then—a hand.
Cool, gloved, and steady.
It grabbed hers.
The wind vanished in an instant, dropping her gently to the glowing grass below.
Macaria nded on her feet, dazed but safe. She looked up.
He stood before her, just as before—his cloak billowing softly in the wind that dared not touch him. His turquoise hair shimmered beneath the stars.
“I didn’t think it would take us this long to meet,” he said, his voice warm and calm.
Macaria stood slowly, her breath ragged. “Who are you?”
“I am Hoshiko,” he said, bowing slightly. “A wind spirit. Sent by Oakuss, the wind god... or so I believe. The truth feels distant.”
Macaria gnced around. “Why do I keep coming here? What is this pce?”
Hoshiko gestured to the field. “This is a space between worlds. A reflection of your soul. And mine.”
At their feet, a crystal-blue flower pulsed with light. Hoshiko knelt and picked it up.
“This is a memory flower,” he expined. “They bloom where emotions are strongest. And this one… is yours.”
He held it out to her.
She took it, feeling the cool, delicate petals in her palm. Its light brightened with her touch.
“What do I do with it?”
“Drop it.”
She hesitated, then let it fall.
The flower shattered into sparks of light, and around them, the air shifted.
An image unfolded—a vision of herself, clutching the tree, the wind ripping through the dreamscape. The moment of panic. The branch. The rescue.
A memory.
Macaria stared at the fading fragments. “That’s me. That’s what happened.”
Hoshiko nodded. “These memories will guide you. They are the key to understanding what’s awakening inside you.”
“And you?” she asked softly.
“I’m your guide,” he said. “Your connection to what’s coming.”
A deeper wind stirred.
The stars above began to shift.
Macaria clutched the fading light of the shattered flower, her voice trembling.
“What is coming?”
Hoshiko’s expression turned solemn.
“Change,” he said.
“Change—and a storm.”
