Icy blue starlight of the winter sky poured through the high glass above the throne room of Blackthorn. A white sword crossed with the lone wing of a goddess — etched upon a field of deep blue — stood in solemn, frozen grace. As the light struck, the shadow of Stormveil’s royal sigil crept slowly across the floor, inching toward the edge of the chamber… as though darkness were meant to last forever.

  His blue-gray eyes fixed unwaveringly ahead. The young king sat cross-legged in relaxed repose, his right arm hanging loosely beside the armrest of the white throne — forged from the bones of the Dragon King, slain by the Blue Dynasty to conquer and rule. The bone fragments were intricately carved and assembled as the very framework of the throne.

  Dragonhide was tanned and stretched taut as the throne’s backrest, cursed to never decay — the charcoal scales forever preserved. Rare platinum veins traced sharp silver-white patterns along the bone’s seams. Behind the throne, the dragon’s spine stood upright, jagged and razor-sharp. The remaining bones were crafted into a steep staircase, which every Blue King must ascend — one step at a time — to claim the throne.

  The nobles stood in solemn order, encircled by a silence that devoured all.

  They waited... for the word that would alter the kingdom’s fate for all eternity.

  Thud... thud... thud...!

  Footsteps echoed steadily across the throne room,

  drawing every gaze to their source.

  The young king lifted his chin slightly,

  beneath the weight of a dozen watchful eyes.

  Sir Hendrick bowed low

  and spoke with steady, solemn force.

  “Syrin is yours now, Your Majesty.”

  The king narrowed his eyes,

  casting a glance at the prince who stood beside the throne.

  The prince said nothing —

  only gave a subtle nod.

  The king turned back to meet Sir Hendrick’s gaze,

  his eyes cold and composed.

  “It is time... Begin the plan.”

  He gave the order in a voice that left no room for doubt.

  His face remained calm and unreadable.

  “Mother… where are you?”

  The once-clear voice gradually faded amid the falling snow.

  Theo trudged wearily along the outskirts of Syrin, the hand his mother once held tightly now gone.

  The cold deepened with every passing second. The boy forced himself to eat snow to stave off thirst, even as the chill seeped deep into his spine.

  The cold wind swept across his face. Tears froze into shards of ice. The scent of melting snow drifted to his nose.

  Step by step, his legs trembled, barely holding him upright. The boy hugged himself tightly.

  As he moved farther from the city, the trees lining the path began to show hints of green, and the snow that once blanketed the ground slowly faded away.

  Mother… please wait for me.

  It might be nothing but a mirage in a dream. Having gone so long without food,

  the boy once counted the days in his heart — but in the end… he had forgotten when it all began.

  Theo was barely able to continue. His arms and legs numb, the path ahead blurred and indistinct. His eyes struggled to stay open.

  He forced himself forward a few more steps…

  before slowly collapsing against a towering tree.

  Before him...

  a veil of white mist drifted gently, like petals floating in the air.

  The faint scent of sunlight brushed against his nose.

  He took a deep breath and rose once more,

  forcing his body forward…

  stepping into the shroud of mist.

  “Spring is coming soon… my dear.”

  His mother’s voice drifted softly on the wind from somewhere unseen.

  Theo slowly opened his eyes,

  glancing toward the window where sunlight streamed gently inside.

  He rubbed his eyes slightly…

  Sunlight touched his mother’s cheek

  as she sat quietly beside him.

  “Really, Mom?”

  Theo whispered, still groggy and not fully awake,

  before turning over and clutching his blanket tight.

  “Yes, my brave one,”

  she said softly.

  “Just a little longer.”

  “Stay strong, my child.”

  Her voice and smile —

  so tender, so gentle.

  The soft orange sunlight danced along the horizon, while a gentle white sea of mist lingered across the clear blue canvas.

  A small puffed-up bird fluttered its black-and-white wings across the sky, then perched on a snow-covered branch of a deep green tree, singing cheerfully as it glanced down below — a red fox leapt through the snow, hunting for a mouse hiding in an underground burrow.

  The little bird tilted its head curiously...

  while the fox seemed more like it was joyfully leaping about, celebrating the warmer air at last.

  Before long… the little bird spread its wings and took flight once more. This time, it soared higher, revealing the mountain range encircling the land, a vast lake stretching endlessly into the distance. Gentle ripples moved across the water, stirred by a soft breeze, while a delicate dusting of snow fell lightly from the sky.

  Not far away… a little rabbit hopped back and forth on a patch of green grass just emerging from the snow.

  The little bird swooped past the sharp spire of the clock tower, marking the early dawn…

  People slowly gathered at the village’s church, to offer prayers of thanks to the goddess of harvest.

  The bird flew over snow-covered rooftops, where a few chimneys still released faint wisps of smoke.

  It paused gracefully in midair, then swooped down to perch on the edge of a window — the glass lightly fogged with dew.

  Inside…

  the fat orange cat paced along the windowsill, ignoring the little bird that watched it intently.

  It then lazily jumped onto the bed, softly licking its paw before gently nudging the boy’s cheek with its head.

  Theo slowly opened his eyes, still clutching the blanket tightly.

  The cat’s blue eyes stared unblinking at the boy’s face.

  “Who… are you?”

  Theo’s groggy voice broke the silence.

  He rubbed his eyes, then glanced around.

  Before him… a large wooden table stood pushed tightly against others. Shelves brimmed with an array of test tubes in various shapes, lined up in neat rows.

  Along the walls, shelves were crowded with thick books, pressed so closely together they seemed to spill over.

  Small candles flickered softly, placed near a portrait of a young woman with light brown hair. Her eyes held sadness, yet her smile was tender and gentle.

  Theo rose from the bed, the wooden floor creaking softly in greeting to the morning. He twisted his body to avoid the scattered piles of books strewn across the floor, then lifted his head.

  CRASH!

  Theo jumped back in shock,

  sending a pile of books crashing to the floor.

  A human skeleton stood towering in the corner of the room.

  The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth agape.

  But before he could shout anything,

  a hoarse voice broke the silence.

  “Awake already?”

  A faint scent of medicine drifted softly from the slightly ajar door.

  Theo quickly crawled under the bed.

  The creaking sound of footsteps on the stairs grew louder.

  His body trembled with fear.

  Someone’s feet appeared,

  stepping into the room —

  pausing at the scattered pile of fallen books on the floor.

  “Where did that kid disappear to…”

  The voice spoke again, accompanied by a raspy sound, like scratching one’s head in thought.

  The feet shifted slightly in a circle before slowly stepping closer.

  Theo held his breath, his teeth grinding sharply.

  The man stopped right in front of the boy —

  a middle-aged man with pale skin and dark brown hair —

  leaning down close…

  “What are you doing under the bed?” the man asked, his face full of curiosity.

  Theo jumped in surprise.

  “W-who are you?” the boy asked, his voice trembling.

  “I’m a potioneer,” he replied calmly.

  “You were almost freezing to death outside the village.”

  Then, his tone sharpened.

  “Hey! Come out already. I’m not free all day.”

  “Y-you’re not going to eat me, are you?” Theo’s voice faltered.

  “What are you talking about? I have to get back to brewing cough potion,” he snapped quietly.

  “Let’s go, Ginger.”

  The man called someone’s name before walking away without looking back.

  The fat cat gracefully leapt down from the bed, glanced briefly at the boy, then turned away and slowly padded toward the door, leaving behind the warm scent of herbs mingled with faint candle smoke.

  The boy remained still under the bed, stiff as a board. At his feet… the skeleton still stood in place, as if silently watching him.

  Theo hesitated for a moment, lips pressed tight, then gathered his courage and crawled out from under the bed.

  He stepped carefully around the pile of fallen books — making sure to avoid the gaze of the skeleton still staring silently — and slipped out through the door.

  The corridor was narrow, yet lined with countless doors. Drawings of the human body overlapped across the walls, leaving barely an inch of space untouched. Unfamiliar terms pointed to various parts — the brain, the eyes, the chest, the organs within. Theo paused before one image, its tangled lines a chaotic web. He turned his face away, swallowed hard, and continued on slowly.

  Through the old window, he caught sight of a glasshouse not far away. It reminded him of the garden at home — only wider, brighter. A faint, sweet scent drifted in on the breeze. The little boy slowly made his way down the stairs, as if something unseen were quietly calling to him.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The shelves lined the winding corridor, packed tight like a labyrinth. As Theo walked past, a few potion bottles began to tremble — as if they were alive.

  His small hand brushed along the edge of the aged wood — rough to the touch, and cold as ice that had never known warmth.

  A worn wooden table sat not far from the entrance. A few books lay scattered across its surface, alongside an hourglass, an ink bottle, and a feather quill. A tall, backless chair on wheels stood nearby.

  Mounted on the wall was a large blackboard, covered in notes Theo couldn’t begin to understand. Behind it stood a shelf filled with books, and at the center of the room — a grand fireplace.

  A strange, fragrant scent — like flowers in the rain — drifted steadily through the air, as if the entire room were breathing softly.

  Ginger let out a soft meow from behind, its tail swaying gently as it locked eyes with the boy.

  Theo trailed after it, his gaze drifting curiously over his strange new surroundings.

  Lining the shelves were strange and wondrous things —

  velvety black blooms shaped like roses, blades of grass in a shimmering blue hue, and glowing pollen floating within round glass jars.

  A clear glass walkway stretched ahead, leading all the way to a grand greenhouse.

  The glass doors stood slightly open, as if waiting to welcome him in.

  Ginger glanced back at him a couple of times, gave the slightest flick of its tail... then continued on in silence.

  A soft, natural light shimmered as if spring had returned once more.

  The scent of earth, rain, grass, and blooming flowers lingered warmly in the air.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of plants lined the path,

  some of them gently trembling — whispering to one another in the sunlight.

  The boy recognized some of them.

  Noctis — his mother’s favorite bloom — with vivid green stems and leaves, deep indigo petals edged in black as dark as midnight.

  Valorsong, with its velvet-like crimson leaves.

  Fogmint, which released a soft mist when plucked.

  He knew them from picture books and bedtime tales.

  But the rest… were complete strangers to him.

  Multicolored butterflies fluttered like fragments of a rainbow, while fine droplets drifted softly, like a faint mist in a dream. Inside, the air was warm and gentle —

  a stark contrast to the soft snow still falling outside.

  Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling!

  The sound of boiling water echoed faintly from the heart of the glasshouse.

  A large wooden table surrounded the mysterious man, resembling a laboratory nestled within a magical garden.

  The table was cluttered with racks holding test tubes, three or four books stacked atop one another — one lying open on a stand.

  Pale flowers, green plants, and purple vines unfamiliar to Theo soaked inside glass vases.

  He stirred a murky liquid in a glass jar set atop a compact stove.

  Most striking was a glass tube boiling the liquid — intricately connected to another tube by a complex iron joint.

  “Kid, go fetch some Verdeveil leaves,” he ordered sharply.

  “Excuse me?” the boy frowned in confusion.

  “Verdeveil leaves! Light green, translucent like glass — haven’t you seen them before?”

  The man’s tone grew harsher.

  Ginger nudged Theo softly with his fluffy tail like a puff of cotton, then spun around and quietly led the way.

  The boy followed the cat to the left, passing by a variety of strange, colorful plants. After a short walk, Ginger stopped, fixating its gaze on a particular leafy stalk — long stemmed, heart-shaped leaves of jade green, yet as translucent as glass. Theo plucked one stalk but flinched slightly, caught off guard by a thorn. Fortunately, no blood was drawn.

  Its scent was warm and gentle… like a cup of hot tea on a quiet morning.

  “Meow.”

  The orange cat’s voice pulled the boy from his trance, leading him back to where they had started.

  “Uh, here you go, mister…”

  The boy stammered, holding out the Verdeveil stalk.

  “Romney… call me Romney.”

  A hoarse voice responded.

  Mr. Romney took the translucent green stalk from Theo’s hand and ground it in a small glass mortar before pouring it into a boiling glass tube. Green steam drifted gently through the clear pipes.

  “My name is Theo.”

  The boy said brightly.

  Theo smiled with excitement, eyes fixed on the clear green drops slowly falling.

  Mr. Romney glanced at the boy and returned a faint smile.

  Soft orange sunlight streamed through the shop window as people passed by outside. A little girl stood with her hands pressed against the glass, watching Ginger nap on the steps. Theo sat nearby, engrossed in a book titled Botany and the Basics of Potioncraft — a renowned work by Lilia Meadowcroft, the famed potioneer. Bit by bit, he began to remember the names of the herbs. Meanwhile, Mr. Romney was busy checking the rows of potion bottles lining the dark wooden shelves.

  Ding! Ding!

  The bell above the door chimed.

  Theo jolted upright, hastily slipping a quill between the pages as a makeshift bookmark.

  Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate, then came to a stop in front of the wooden counter.

  “Romney! I’m here for that cough potion,” a tall, dark-skinned man announced. His hair was jet-black, with a wild, unkempt beard to match.

  “I’ve got it ready for you, Frederick,” Mr. Romney replied, handing over a glass vial filled with clear green liquid. A neatly written label was affixed to the front.

  “One spoonful after breakfast and dinner,” he reminded him, then asked —

  “Did you bring the letters?”

  “Of course I did, my friend. I wouldn’t forget.”

  Mr. Frederick pulled three or four envelopes from his satchel and set them down on the table.

  He paused for a moment… then said quietly,

  “Hey, Romney… I could use something to help me sleep.”

  “Do you have anything?”

  Mr. Romney stood still for a second before replying.

  “If you take it too often, you’ll find it harder to sleep without it.”

  “Can’t be helped, mate,” Mr. Frederick muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I’ve been working overtime every night lately.”

  “Those birds just keep bringing letters — nonstop.”

  He furrowed his brow and let out a long, weary sigh.

  Mr. Romney gave a small nod, then tapped Theo lightly on the shoulder.

  “Mind if I borrow your chair for a moment?”

  He slid the chair down the narrow aisle between the shelves, stopped, and crouched to adjust a mechanism beneath it. With a quiet click, it unfolded into a stepladder. Climbing up, he retrieved a bottle from the top shelf before returning to the table.

  He set it down — a dark liquid in a glass vial, neatly labeled and just about a handspan tall.

  Even with the lid still sealed, the scent wafting from it was enough to make Theo nearly doze off.

  “Half a spoon before bed. No more than a week straight,” Mr. Romney said brusquely.

  “Appreciate it, mate. Those birds just won’t give me a moment’s peace,” Mr. Frederick muttered with a sigh.

  “Birds… sir?”

  Theo’s clear voice chimed in, his face puzzled, eyes shining with curiosity.

  “I work at the Bird Post, kiddo,” Mr. Frederick replied with a wide grin.

  “If you ever want to see them, come find me — from Portjay, Fogbird, to Blueraven — nearly a dozen different species, haha.”

  “How much is it in total, Romney?”

  “A flood of prescriptions keeps coming in — I have to brew more every day…”

  Mr. Romney sighed, pausing to think for a moment.

  “Six renn for the cough potion, eight for the sleeping draught — that makes fourteen. But since you brought the letters…”

  He hesitated slightly.

  “Let’s say twelve renn altogether.”

  Mr. Frederick handed over a handful of silver coins, smiling warmly.

  “Thanks a lot, mate. I’ll be back with more letters soon.”

  The moment Mr. Frederick stepped through the door,

  Mr. Romney tore open the letters, jotting notes on the blackboard as he read.

  He slid his chair closer to inspect the bottles on the shelves...

  then returned to erase some words.

  “Theo, would you like to try brewing a pain potion?”

  His hoarse voice broke the quiet.

  The little boy’s eyes sparkled once more.

  Even on the warmest day in many days, Theo’s heart still trembled with cold.

  At night, as the boy closed his eyes and prepared to enter the realm of dreams, he often heard the faint sobbing of a woman drifting from somewhere — sometimes from outside his door, sometimes from downstairs — interwoven with the soft footsteps pacing up and down the stairs.

  The boy might have grown used to the skeleton keeping him company, but the heart-wrenching screams made his whole body tremble. His hands clenched the pillow tight as he turned away,

  too afraid even to open his eyes.

  Whenever the sound drifted in, he would pull the covers over his head, praying for silence...

  “It’s alright, my child. Just a bad dream.”

  Then his eyelids grew heavy, and at last, he fell asleep.

  Time turned in endless cycles, the sun and moon rising and setting in turn. The snow that once blanketed the land slowly melted away. Birdsong floated softly through the air, and a tiny squirrel darted along the windowsill.

  Theo flung the door open with excitement, stretching and drawing in a deep breath of fresh air — only to catch Ginger lying by the door, staring at him with the same look as a cat left forgotten outside.

  “Just a little late waking up…”

  “No need to look so serious about it,” Theo said with a smile.

  The orange cat turned its back, then strode ahead with an air of indifference.

  Branches swayed gently in the breeze, leaves unfurling in a spectrum of colors. Theo smiled widely at everything before him.

  Two ducks glided in circles on the emerald water stretching to the horizon. The mountains embracing the lake were carpeted in lush green meadows, where the pale white skyline blended softly with the golden-orange glow at the edge of the sky. People strolled along the gray brick paths — faces Theo knew well. He smiled and greeted those who passed by.

  The village was small. An old man and a little girl played a board game in a nearby garden, while a father and son paddled off to fish.

  “Look at that!” a little girl gasped.

  “Woah!” said the other.

  “It’s splendid!”

  Their eyes sparkled in awe as they gazed at clusters of colorful bell-shaped flowers in full bloom.

  Instead of falling, the blossoms floated gently as if carried by the breeze, releasing a delicate, sweet fragrance — like the first raindrops of spring.

  Theo took a deep breath, closing his eyes involuntarily, as if unwilling to let the moment fade away.

  Was this a fairy tale, or a dream…?

  Houses and shops faced the sea breeze, their windows wide open. The murmur of conversations mingled with the soft laughter of children, echoing along both sides of the street.

  Near the spired church stood a spacious courtyard with a small fountain. Children ran and chased one another, full of life beneath the gentle sunlight. People gathered in circles, telling stories or singing songs.

  Theo paused to watch, a soft smile playing on his lips.

  By the fountain, a man sketched a portrait of a young woman sitting still as his model. Behind her stood a statue resembling a cloud — the little goddess holding a harp, floating gracefully in midair.

  Not far from there...

  The boy stopped in front of a warm, simple gray stone house. Small clear glass windows reflected the soft light from the sky. A gentle wisp of smoke drifted lazily from the chimney above the eaves.

  Warm yellow light spilled out, as if memories themselves still lingered there.

  Theo reached out and pushed open the old wooden door.

  Ding! Ding!

  The bell rang, catching his attention.

  Ginger jumped up and waited at the table by the window, gazing out at the mountains and the lake beyond.

  The small shop was adorned with antique lanterns, its old wooden tables and chairs still sturdy and well-used. A long wooden bar stretched out in the shape of a bird’s wing, while on the wall hung a

  curious set of antlers resembling those of a strange deer.

  Mr. Romney said this was Ginger’s favorite place.

  Click!

  The young woman’s small hand set down a plate filled to the brim with milk by the window.

  The cat’s eyes widened with joyful excitement.

  “Good morning, Theo. What would you like today?”

  Her soft, sweet voice filled the room.

  “Smoked sausage, toasted bread, sunny-side-up eggs…”

  “And a warm glass of milk, please,” Theo replied brightly.

  “The same as always, huh?”

  The woman, with light brown hair and wearing a cream-colored apron, smiled gently as she spoke.

  “Miss Nell?” the boy called softly.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Why is there no lodging in such a beautiful village?”

  “Doesn’t anyone ever visit?” Theo asked, his face filled with curiosity.

  The young woman paused thoughtfully, then spoke in a gentle voice.

  “I once heard a story from my grandmother when I was little.”

  “Would you like to hear it, Theo?”

  “I’d love to!” The boy replied eagerly.

  “This village has never welcomed visitors,”

  “And it has never had a proper name.”

  “People just call it Brumelake, after the lake.”

  “My grandmother told me that here lies a magic of the mist.”

  “A magic that chooses who may come — and who must leave.”

  “It has been this way for ages.”

  “People come only to seek what is most precious.”

  “But if they do not find it… they must remain here forever.”

  “And those who leave…”

  “Fade away into the mist, forgotten by all.”

  Miss Nell’s soft voice slowly grew tinged with mystery in the air.

  Theo’s hand resting on the table trembled slightly, unnoticed by himself.

  The scent of steaming milk mingled with the rich aroma of grilled meat. Sizzles blended with the soft clinking of pots, glasses, plates, and cutlery. Voices murmured warmly, filling the room with lively chatter.

  The boy glanced around —

  When had they all come in?

  Theo pushed open the door and stepped back into the potion shop...

  No sign of Mr. Romney.

  On the blackboard, a hurried scrawl read,

  “One bottle of invisibility potion.”

  The boy flipped open his usual book but couldn’t find the invisibility potion recipe anywhere.

  Ginger leapt onto the table, pressing its body gently against Theo’s hand.

  "Not this book?"

  The cat leapt down from the table, then led the boy upstairs.

  In the bedroom, it settled atop a thick, worn book — the fourth potion-brewing manual, its author’s name faded beyond recognition.

  Theo flipped to the table of contents and found the entry for “Invisibility Potion” on page 133.

  Without hesitation, he dashed to the heart of the grand glasshouse and set the book carefully on the stand.

  He paced about, gathering all the ingredients: Dreamshade blossoms, Blackcat flowers, Wineglass leaves, Mistwood twigs, and Mooncitrus fruit.

  Theo used a knife to crush the Mooncitrus fruit — glossy black, shaped like a lemon.

  He then squeezed the juice into the boiling clear liquid, stirring gently with a Mistwood twig.

  Carefully, he added the petals and leaves shaped like wine glasses into another glass tube, from which fragrant smoke billowed.

  Soon, the thick black liquid began to form, its sweet scent fading completely.

  Just a few drops of Mooncitrus extract were enough to transform the liquid into a pure, clear color.

  Theo filtered it through the glass tubes,

  his body tense with anticipation as he watched the drops slowly fall one by one.

  At last… he had two full vials of clear potion.

  “Meow,” Ginger’s voice broke the silence.

  The boy lifted the glass vial for a closer look, a smile spreading across his face.

  This was the first time he had ever brewed something beyond the usual healing potions.

  Theo and Ginger walked back to the shop’s front with lighthearted steps.

  Mr. Romney sat behind the worn wooden desk, head bowed over a towering stack of letters, his expression deeply furrowed.

  The list on the blackboard grew increasingly strange — ‘Memory Restoration Potion,’ ‘Sorrow’s Forgetfulness Elixir,’ and even ‘Nightmare Cure.’

  “This is the invisibility potion!”

  The boy exclaimed cheerfully, holding out the glass vial filled with clear, pure liquid to Mr. Romney.

  He paused for a moment, locking eyes with Theo in silent stillness,

  then offered a faint smile before nodding in approval.

  “MR. ROMNEY!— MR. ROMNEY!”

  The shop door burst open, accompanied by the panicked voice of a young girl.

  “What is it, Anne? What’s happened?!”

  Mr. Romney asked sharply, eyes wide with alarm.

  “There’s... someone lying near Bloodvale,”

  the little girl stammered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “He’s not breathing!”