Fort Rinau
A group of nobles strode with purpose through the grand hallway, their destination—a towering door flanked by house knights in full armour. At the centre stood Knight Commander Russel, unsettling, and immovable.
He held up a hand, halting their advance.
Russel eyes scanned them—not just their finely embroidered coats or gleaming signet rings, but the redness in their cheeks and the frost still clinging to their boots. They had clearly spent too long out in the winter air.
From their posture alone, he could tell they were no ordinary nobles; these were seasoned fighters. He quietly concluded that they must have arrived at the castle only moments ago—just enough time to change into formal attire before rushing here.
"State your business," Russel said, voice clipped.
"Knight Commander Lord Russel," the lead noble spoke, bowing slightly, "we carry an urgent letter for His Highness."
"Then why not submit it through proper channels?" Russel tone sharpened.
All letters must bear the seal of a Great House before they can even approach the king's hands—an essential measure for the safety and secrecy of the information they carry. Even then, such letters are to be handled only by servants personally appointed by His Majesty.
Another noble stepped forward and produced a sealed scroll. "The letter bears the crest of House Eigner, sir. It's already been screened by the Master of Whispers—Lord Lammert Eigner himself."
Russel squinted at the seal, unimpressed. "Good. But that still doesn't grant you the right to deliver it directly to the king. All letters be handed over to the appointed royal couriers—none of whom are you."
The nobles exchanged glances and, in unspoken agreement, all but one stepped back.
The remaining man stepped forward. "Knight Commander, I am Lenny Lys River," he said, pulling a crumpled green lotus from his coat. "I carry an Emerald Flower… from Lord Eigner."
Russel narrowed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh at the sight of the flower. He recognized it at once—a token Lord Eigner gave only to his most trusted agents, used as emergency clearance and passage into restricted areas.
Though wilted, the flower still pulsed faintly with magic. The moment Russel touched it, the bloom stirred, unfurling with a shimmer of light—then crumbled to dust. A soft green glow rose into the air before his face, dancing in silence.
Within it, a familiar voice whispered in his mind.
'Let him through, Lord Russel.'
It was unmistakably Lord Lammert voice—speaking across vast distance through magical means.
Russel sighed. "Very well, Sir Lenny. Follow me."
The heavy doors creaked open just wide enough to admit them, then shut behind.
Inside was a vast chamber adorned with historic artifacts from the golden days of Limelight past. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, heavy with books and tomes with records of some ancient, others recent—each one chronicling the advancement and development of the once Lands of Sheen, now Lands of Curse.
Russel strode to the centre of the room and came to a sharp stop. Lenny followed closely, but as soon as he reached the centre, he dropped to one knee in respectful silence.
With that, Russel turned and returned to his post by the door, standing tall, his eyes now fixed on Lenny back.
By the tall arched window, two silhouettes watched the scene unfold. One stood quietly in the shadows, while the other sat behind a grand desk strewn with scrolls, documents, and maps—affairs of state laid bare.
As the seated figure leaned forward, the light revealed his face.
It was King Lux Julia Sheen, sovereign of the realm. Beside him stood the towering presence of the Grand Master, Lord Windham Breaker Squall.
"My King," he said, holding the letter above his head with both hands. "I bring letters from Lord Eigner."
Tap Tap Tap
King Lux tapped his fingers against the armrest.
Lord Windham stepped forward, took the letter, and delivered it into the king hands.
Lux broke the seal with a knife and unfolded the parchment with care. His eyes scanned the contents quickly.
"Interesting…" he murmured. Then, looking up. "Raise your head. Tell me your name."
"My name is Lenny Lys River, Your Majesty."
"River, hmm? And Lord Eigner entrusted you with this personally?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then you were at Fort Rinau. Did you see the fog?"
"I did, sire."
"Describe it."
"From the fortress walls, we could see the line fog across the horizon deep within the forest, about one or two miles off."
"What else?"
"There was a mass migration of beasts. Animals fleeing aways from the approaching fog. Some attacked the fort. Only minor skirmishes, no losses."
"And the beast corpses?"
"Lord Eigner had half the garrison secure the bodies and send them back to the capital."
"I see." The king leaned back. "And… is there anything else Lord Eigner entrusted to you?"
"Yes, my king."
Lenny retrieved a slim, metal cylinder and raised it.
Windham returned to Lenny and took the cylindrical case, handing it to Lux.
Lux unsealed it carefully. Inside was a scroll, enchanted with powerful magic—sealed with a spell designed to extract memories directly from a persons mind. The process was excruciating, known to cause unbearable pain as the memories were forcibly pulled from the victim.
"A Mind Ripper scroll…" Lux mused, inspecting the runes. "These are painful to use."
He looked to Windham. "Would you like to do the honours, Lord Squall?"
Windham grunted in irritation but said nothing.
"Thank you for your service to the kingdom, Sir Lenny," Lux said with a bright smile. "You may leave now."
Lenny bowed slightly, then turned to walk toward the door—where Russel stood silently, watching.
Suddenly, a flash of light burst struck him from behind.
A stunning spell, cast by Lux. Lenny body seized mid-step, paralyzed in place.
"My apologies, Sir Lenny," Lux said gently, approaching. "This will only take a moment."
Windham and Russel moved swiftly, each grabbing hold of Lenny arms, lifting and steadying his stunned body. Lux followed behind, scroll in hand, his expression was excited.
Lux placed one hand on Lenny head, the other gripping the scroll. As he began the incantation, Lenny face contorted in agony. His body trembled violently but held firmly by Windham and Russel.
Then his limbs went limp.
Lux closed his eyes—and stepped into Lenny memories.
He stood atop Fort Rinau towering wall, wind biting through his coat. Below, a sea of snow-covered forest stretched to the horizon, and beyond that—a wall of fog so tall it scraped the heavens. Beast corpses littered the base of the fort. Blood. Burn marks. Minor damage to the fort wall.
Soldiers moved among the bodies of the beast, preparing wagons for transport.
"So… this is Fort Rinau," Lux thought.
After a moment, he shut his eyes—and returned.
He blinked. "How long was I gone?"
"About a minute, Your Majesty," Russel replied.
Lux exhaled and looked down at the unconscious Lenny.
"Take him to the infirmary," he said.
Russel lifted the noble limp form onto his shoulder and left.
Lux slumped into his seat as Windham leaned beside the table.
"Well?" Windham asked. "What did you see?"
"Nothing noteworthy," Lux replied. "I just need to see the fog myself."
Windham grunted. "Is it bad?"
Lux tone turned cold. "Yes, bad enough that we must abandon Fort Rinau. If Lammert's letter is accurate… and the fog moves hundreds of meters each day…"
He looked toward the window, toward the future.
"…Then the fog will reach the cities in three to four years."
Lux turned to him, voice sharp.
"Tell me what you think."
Windham answer was grim and immediate,
"Disaster."
Lux nodded, eyes narrowing.
"Precisely. And it will only get worse from now."
Upon the wall, he saw the future end—where fog would sweep and swallow whole,
a silent tide with breathless dread, that crept to claim both land and soul.
Justice for Birdy and Truth for Them.
Gustmill household kitchen. Late morning.
Thok Thok Thok Thok Thok Thok Thok Thok
Kimmi drummed her fingers against the bottom of the flipped wooden bowl, her head lowered to the table, eyes downcast—as if the bowl might somehow shield her from the judgeful glance.
Around the kitchen table sat her mother, right across from her, casting a quiet, watchful gaze at her.
Her traitorous little friend, Leyla, stood beside her own mother, Emeline, who was calmly washing cups at the sink. And further back, standing apart from the rest, was Leyla's father—Leighton—a man Kimmi had never paid much regard.
The bowl hid most of her face, only her eyes peeking just above the rim. Watching and waiting for a verdict.
Too many eyes. Too much scrutiny.
With a quiet flick, Kimmi flipped the bowl upright and—without hesitation—pressed her face into it. To completely hide herself from the world.
"Kimmi… no," came Catherine voice, calm but firm.
Obediently, Kimmi leaned back into her chair, only to immediately began to slowly slouch under the table.
"Kimmi," Catherine warned again.
"Mom! I didn't do anything wrong! Sure—I messed up my room a little... BUT! I already cleaned it up!" Kimmi voice rose in self-defence, arms flailing in protest.
"But you've yet to tell me what upset you," Catherine replied, her voice edged with worry. "What made you so sad... and so angry?"
'Well, that's complicated—even for me!' Kimmi screamed internally. She still was not sure herself—only that it had something to do with the carved wooden bird.
Unwilling to answer, Kimmi turned sharply to Leyla and squinted at her, a glare full of betrayal. Leyla met it with one of her own, not backing down an inch.
Emeline, observing them both, reached over and stroked Leyla hair with approval.
"You did the right thing," Emeline said gently.
Leyla beamed under the praise. "Kimmi also snuck into the forbidden storage!" she announced proudly, adding fuel to the fire.
Kimmi gasped. "You traitor!" she hissed. Then, turning toward her mother. "She was with me! She snuck in too!"
Leyla eyes widened in horror. She looked at her mother, aghast.
Emeline crossed her arms and raised a single eyebrow. Her disappointment was immediate—and clear.
Leyla turned back to Kimmi with an expression of sheer betrayal. Kimmi, meanwhile, tried her best to stifle a laugh, her lips twitching wildly.
"Enough—both of you," came the sharp baritone of Leighton Frasier, Leyla father.
"Kimmi," he continued, directing his gaze to the child. "Your mother is worried sick. If you don't speak to her, if you keep hiding behind this masquerade, she cannot help you. None of us can. Be reasonable—she is your mother. The only one you have."
"Oh, darling, don't speak so harshly," Emeline said with a sigh, placing a hand on her husband shoulder. "You'll only wound her further."
Leighton did not flinch. "Perhaps. But sometimes the truth must be spoken plain."
Catherine, hearing those words, felt a quiet ache. She understood his meaning—too well. She watched her daughters small theatrics with quiet concern. Kimmi was clearly uneasy—fidgety, tense, her body shrinking lower the longer the conversation went on.
She recalled Leyla shout from earlier, echoing down the hallways—about Kimmi causing a mess in her room. She would had to excuse herself and ask Healer Raimund to leave the kitchen prematurely.
Thankfully, Herman had understood at once and helped escort Raimund out with quiet grace, sparing her from further delay.
Leyla had described how Kimmi suddenly burst into tears, threw a tantrum, and tore her room apart in a fit of anger. But when She arrived, the room was neat—everything was in order and Kimmi stood calmly at the centre, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.
Still, the redness around her eyes betrayed her. Something must had happened.
Whatever it was—whatever had upset her—Kimmi was trying hard to hide it. And this time, she did so in the most peculiar, endearing way.
"Okay…" Kimmi finally gave in, letting out a breath of defeat. She reached inside her pockets and pulled out a rough, dust-covered wooden carving of a bird. Then she brought out another—this one charred, only its head remain.
Without a word, she placed both on the table for everyone to see.
"This is why I was sad. And mad," she muttered, eyes downcast. But her sadness was not for the burn carvings. It was deeper—a quiet confusion over why something so meaningless could cause such a surge of emotion.
Catherine and Emeline immediately understood.
"Oh dear… oh no… I'm so sorry, Cane. I didn't mean to," Emeline whispered, guilt washing over her face.
"It's not your fault, Emeline. It's mine." Catherine looked stricken.
Kimmi blinked, unsure what had just happened. Her mother and aunt both seemed shaken—sympathetic in a way that confused her.
"What did you do?" Leighton asked his wife curiously.
"I—I burned Kimmi's toys. To fuel the furnace…" Emeline admitted softly.
Leighton brow rose. "And here I thought I was being harsh earlier. Who's the harsh one now?"
"No, it's not her fault, Mr. Leighton," Catherine cut in. "I'm the one who told her to throw them away. After the disaster, I feared Kimmi might develop a fear of winged beast. I thought it was better not to risk it."
"I see," Leighton murmured, his tone softening.
"She was once scratched by a squirrel at the park," Catherine said, her voice trembling. "After that, she couldn't stop screaming at anything that even looked like one. She refused to go back for months… I just thought this might be the same."
"We understand," Emeline and Leighton have long experience and known Kimmi tantrum.
As Kimmi listened, a quiet thought settled in her mind—something had been taken from her, though she still could not quite understand why it mattered so much. Why did she feel so attached to something so meaningless.
But none of it seemed to matter anymore, for she now knew—her mother had taken it for her sake. A quiet sense of relief settled in her heart.
Kimmi stood and walked toward her mother, hugging her warmly. "It's okay, Mom. Birdy had outlived its purpose and had to be cleansed by flame. It was… Justified."
Leighton stared at Kimmi, troubled by her words.
"Oh! Not all the them were burned," Emeline suddenly remembered. She walked over to a high kitchen cabinet, reached up, and pulled down a small woven basket. She set it on the table.
Inside, were a few varieties of wooden bird carving—undamaged except a few that have a bite mark.
Kimmi eyes widened as she looked into the basket, awe washing over her face like someone reuniting with a long-lost friend. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, arms flung wide, and hugged the basket earnestly to her chest.
Leyla peeked inside, blinking in surprise at how many carved birds were tucked within. It was not just one or two—there were dozens, each one shaped slightly differently. Suddenly, she understood why Kimmi had been so upset. It was not just a toy. It was a collection. A flock.
With gentle care, Kimmi lowered the basket to the floor and gestured for Leyla to join her. She immediately began sorting the birds—some she left in the basket, others she lined up in neat rows across the floor, their little wooden beak pointing at same direction at her.
"So… this is what made you unhappy," Leyla said, settling beside her. "I guess I get it now. I'd be pretty mad too if someone took my things and burned them."
"It doesn't matter anymore," Kimmi murmured. "Mother already disowned them. They're not mine anymore." She gave a small, unsettling smile. "Sinners must be cleansed… by fire."
"What do you mean? You don't want it anymore?" Leyla blinked, confused. "Can I have it?"
Leyla tilted her head, watching as Kimmi hesitated, then picked up a few birds from the floor and carefully placed them into Leyla lap.
"Here. Take these. I've granted them pardon," Kimmi said solemnly.
Leyla grinned brightly. "Really?! Thanks! But… what about those?" She pointed—just a bit too eagerly—at the rest of the birds still inside the basket.
"Oh, these?" Kimmi looked down, voice quiet and reverent. "These are offerings for Mr. Furnace."
Leyla blinked again. "Offering? Who's Mr. Blaze?"
Kimmi gave her a wide-eyed look, as if surprised she had to explain.
"You know… that big iron furnace that blocked my path just then. The flame keeper. The one in the hallway."
Leyla gasped. "The furnace… the Iron furnace?! That's Mr. Blaze?!"
Kimmi nodded solemnly.
"He accepts sacrifices. Mostly wood… I feed it sometimes."
Leyla blinked, suddenly looking nervous. "You did? You almost burned the house down last time!"
"I did? I don't remember…" Kimmi blinked too, surprised by Leyla word.
"And you gave that thing a name?" Leyla asked, almost accusing.
"I do? I… doo!" Kimmi whispered, her eyes widening.
It was thrilling. She had not meant to named anything, but the name had come out all so sudden—like something had slipped loose inside her.
She did not remember much from before… but this—this is wonderful.
"Semantic memory…" she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. A sharp pain flickered behind her eyes, and her face scrunched in sudden discomfort.
Kimmi realized that even if she could not remember the past, pieces of it still lived in her—quiet facts, strange names, trivial things she somehow knew without knowing why. They were not tied to a moment or a memory, but they were there, in wait.
"What's wrong?" Leyla leaned in. She thought Kimmi might have bitten her tongue.
But Kimmi just shook her head and smiled faintly.
"Nothing."
Something had changed.
Her voice was quieter now, her face calm—too calm. Almost blank.
Leyla stared. She knew that look. She had seen it before… It's the face Kimmi made when eat her medicine.
"Are you gonna sleep now?" Leyla asked. Usually after her meds, Kimmi would curl up like a cat and nap.
But Kimmi just blinked slowly and said, "No. I feel wide awake." She leaned in with a curious smile. "Do you want to knows something wonderful?"
"What is it?" Leyla whispered.
Kimmi pointed at the carved birds spread across the floor.
"This one's Thirteen Seed. That one—Forty-Two Bud. Then Twenty-Three Care, Thirty-Seven Care, Three Harvest…"
She pointed into the basket. "Forty-Seven Fall. Forty-Eight Fall. Eighteen Gloom. One Fear. And finally… One Death."
Kimmi looked down at her lap. "I know their names… or—guess it." She muttered.
Leyla blinked. "Wait… did you now named them?"
Kimmi shook her head. Her voice turned distant, almost wistful.
"No. I already named them. A long time ago."
Leylas heart pinched a little. "Then… they must've been really precious to you."
Kimmi did not answer right away. She just stared at the little wooden birds, her hand brushing against one of them gently.
"What's strange is…" she finally said. "I think… I named them after days and months it was given to me. But I never learned days or months before. At least… I don't think I did."
She turned to Leyla, frowning slightly. "Do you know what day or month it is?"
Leyla shook her head. "Nooo… but I know it's winter," she said, shivering from the cold.
"Yes. That's what I thought too…" Kimmi murmured.
She glanced across the room. Her mother, Catherine, was speaking in hushed tones with Emeline and Leighton. Though their voices were low, their eyes kept drifting back to her.
"Cane! Do we have a calendar?" Kimmi called out suddenly.
Catherine sighed softly, her tone patient but gently firm. "It's Mother, if you please… and no, my dear, we are not venturing anywhere in the heart of winter."
"Yes, Mother…" Kimmi corrected herself with a sheepish nod. "I just want to see it. Do we have one?"
Leighton arched a brow with mild amusement. "A calendar? What business have you with one, Catherine? You're not managing a farm, are you?"
Catherine offered a light, practiced laugh. "Nothing so rustic. I use it to track incoming shipments and negotiate better prices. Timing is everything, after all."
"Cunning," Leighton murmured with a respectful nod.
Emeline, drying her hands with cloth, turned with a soft smile. "Oh, Kimmi… winter has only just begun, and already you yearn for spring? Believe me, once your school begins, you'll come to cherish these quiet days."
'School?' Kimmi blinked. 'A place where people learn things?'
The word rattled in her head like a loose marble.
"No, I do not believe she need be at school—not yet. I can still see to her learning here, within the comfort of our own home. It would be better so."
She gave Kimmi a tired smile and pointed toward a thick wooden pillar that jutted slightly from the kitchen wall.
Kimmi followed the gesture and wandered toward it, Leyla trailing close behind.
There—half-tucked against the pillar and hanging just above eye level—was the calendar.
It was not what Kimmi expected.
A large, rough, circular sheet of stiff paper, its edges worn, bore numbers spiralling across it like a whirlpool. Strange, unfamiliar words dotted the surface, and several days were marked with fingerprints of red dye.
But what caught her attention most was the number of days.
"Fifty days… per month?" Kimmi murmured, stunned.
Leyla leaned closer, her face scrunching. "That's… many-many more days before spring."
Behind them, Leighton chuckled darkly. "And we're just in the Month of Fear, girls. Still plenty of winter left—hundred days. Thats many-many pages of reading, Leyla."
Leyla paled. "That's not fair…" she mumbled, already imagining mountains of study.
Kimmi, meanwhile, was still staring at the spiral of days and months, entranced.
Two months per season. Four seasons. A whole year stretching endlessly outward.
'It makes sense… and yet it doesn't. Why?' Kimmi wondered.
Creak— Creak—
The sound of footsteps echoed up the stairwell. Everyone turned their heads toward the noise just as Herman stepped into view, returning to the kitchen with a soft sigh.
"Haaaah… I apologize, Mrs. Gustmill," Herman said, offering a slight bow. "I didn't mean to bring Lord Raimund into your home unannounced. He was… insistent. Especially with his clerics hovering around."
"It's quite alright, Mr. Hartmann," Catherine replied politely.
"A visit from a man of such stature is not altogether unusual, even in our district," Leighton added with composed ease. "There's little reason for alarm."
"Does that also excuse them entering private party as they please?" Emeline said sharply, a note of indignation in her voice.
"They do seem rather taken with my daughter," Catherine murmured with concern.
"You fret too much, Cane," Emeline said with a soft, almost teasing smile. "I'm certain their intentions are far from ill. If anything, take it as a rare… opportunity."
She turned to Herman with a graceful nod. "Since you've here, Mr. Hartmann, would you be so kind as to look in on my daughter?"
"Ah—yes, of course." Herman gave a nod. Declining was not an option.
"Leyla, dear, come here." Emeline patted a chair, guiding her daughter to sit.
Leyla obeyed and took her seat without a word. Kimmi trailed behind her, curious, her eyes wide with concern as Herman gently lifted Leyla's shirt. A deep bruise bloomed across the side of her waist—dark red and purple, raw in its coloration.
Herman began to gently apply a salve, his fingers spreading a thick cream across the bruised skins.
Kimmi's brow furrowed. "How did that happen?"
Leyla shifted awkwardly. "I… I'd rather not say."
"Oh, little Kimmi," Herman said with a chuckle. "Leyla's fine—just a bruise. A bit of ointment and a few days of warmth will do the trick, as long as she stays out of the cold."
"That makes sense…" Kimmi mumbled, but her thoughts were already spiralling deeper.
The cold slows the blood… less flow means less swelling. Since it's not an open wound, Leyla will recover. A patch of witch hazel and comfrey could accelerate the process.
Kimmi fingers twitched. Her eyes diluted slightly as a strange thought flickered across her mind—But we could do better than that… We could heal her now…
Her gaze dropped to her trembling hand.
Magic. It's possible. I could do it. I could heal her.
The idea whispered to her like a song in the wind. Gentle. Persistent. Urging her do to it.
But she resisted.
Too many eyes. Too many questionings.
She scanned the kitchen. Everyone was distracted—talking, watching Herman work, unaware of her thoughts. But the pull inside her grew stronger. It was more than curiosity now—it was a compulsion.
Catherine, watching her daughter closely, noticed the subtle shift—a twitch in Kimmi eye, the tightening of her shoulders. Without a word, she leaned forward and gently gathered the child into her arms, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. Her hand quietly moved to cover Kimmi eyes, shielding her from watching Leyla.
"Pssst… It's alright," she whispered. "Leyla will be just fine."
"Amazing," Herman murmured, beaming. "Truly… such emotion. Such empathy. Little Kimmi, you're becoming quite the remarkable young lady." He was very proud of his work, watching Kimmi display a variety of emotions. It showed that his efforts were finally paying off—she was nearly cured from her Mania disease, if not already.
Kimmi raised one hand, her finger pointing in Leyla direction—even with her eyes covered by her mother, she somehow still knew exactly where Leyla sat.
"Look at that…" Emeline smiled fondly. "Dear Kimmi loves you so much, she nearly cried seeing you hurt."
"Of course she does!" Leyla beamed. "Kimmi is my best friend!"
Catherine leaned in even closer, embracing her daughter tighter. But then—she heard it. A soft, strange murmur. Kimmi was whispering something under her breath.
"Kimmi?" Catherine asked gently. "What is it, darling?"
Kimmi lips quivered, as if she tried to hold something.
"It's alright," Catherine whispered. "You can say it."
Kimmi lips parted.
"Flair of Mender—Far Aid!" she cried out.
A sudden burst of silver light flared from Kimmi fingertip—brilliant, pure, and blinding. It arced across the room like a shooting star, striking Leyla square in the chest.
The burst of light sent both girls stumbling. Leyla let out a sharp yelp as she toppled backward—only to be caught just in time by Herman before she hit the floor. Kimmi, meanwhile, fell back with her mother, the two landing in a heap of tangled limbs and startled breath.
Catherine gently pulled her hands from Kimmi face—and froze. Her breath caught as if she were staring into something impossible.
"By the Divines—! What was that? Wild magic?" Emeline clutched her chest, her eyes wide with panic after seeing her daughter struck by light.
She rushed forward to check on Leyla, but Herman quickly raised a hand, calming her with a silent gesture. "She's fine," his eyes seemed to say, and the weight of that assurance sank in.
But relief quickly turned to fury.
"Catherine! How dare you!" Emeline snapped, her voice sharp with accusation. She grabbed a wooden cup from the table, rage flashing in her eyes, and lifted it as if to hurl it.
Leighton stepped forward and seized her wrist before the cup could fly. "Calm yourself, Emeline," he said firmly, his gaze turning to Kimmi. "Something's happened to the girl."
"And what about our daughter?" she retorted, voice breaking. "You saw it—she was struck!"
"Mrs. Emeline… you might want to take a closer look," Herman said calmly, drawing their attention. He gently wiped the faint flakes of ash clinging to Leyla skin.
Leyla slowly stood up. Emeline eyes widened as she saw the bruise that had marred her daughters waist, was vanished.
Everyone turned to Kimmi, stunned into stillness. All except Catherine, who was still kneeling beside her daughter, staring deep into her eyes.
Kimmi eyes—once a bright emerald green—now shimmered with a luminous silver-white. Tears welled at the corners, and she looked around in growing fear, shrinking under their stares.
A collective gasp echoed through the kitchen, then silence fell like a curtain.
Catherine held Kimmi trembling shoulders, gently wiping the sweat from her brow. Her daughter looked dazed—eyes wide, breath unsteady—as if she were still reeling from what had just happened.
"I didn't hurt her! I didn't!" Kimmi cried, her voice high and desperate. She flailed her arms, trying to strike herself in confusion and panic.
She tried to resist the urge, but it surged through her—too strong, too directives. It gripped her thoughts, twisted her limbs, and drowned out reason. She pleaded silently with herself not to draw attention, not to let it show… but the urge wanted to be seen. It demanded to be acknowledged.
It craved a stage. It needed recognition.
"I know, sweetheart. I know…" Catherine whispered, her voice both soothing and steady. She gently caught Kimmi wrists before they could strike her own head, pulling the trembling girl into her arms. "It's alright. You've done nothing wrong."
Kimmi looked up, eyes wide and wet. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Praise me…"
Catherine blinked, then smiled faintly. She cupped Kimmi cheek, meeting her gaze.
"You are a good thing," she said softly.
That was all it took.
The restless force within Kimmi quieted. Her breath steadied.
Her mothers words were enough. They always had been.
The kitchen hung in a hush of wonder, as they remained unsettled by the sudden and extraordinary revelation.
"Kimmi… she used healing magic?" Emeline asked, her tone a mix of wonder and disbelief.
"I don't think that was ordinary healing," Leighton said, eyes narrowed, still watching Kimmi carefully.
"No… that was something more," Herman murmured. "Advanced magic, maybe. Possibly a tiered spell."
"A tiered healing spell?" Leighton echoed.
"It could be… or—" Herman hesitated.
"Or?" both Leighton and Emeline pressed.
"Divine healing magic," he said quietly.
Leighton frowned. "If that were true… shouldn't you be able to sense it?"
"I may be a healer, Mr. Leighton," Herman replied with a shake of his head, "but I'm not from any clerical order. I've never seen divine magic up close—not even a common healing magics."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sharp series of knocks rang from the front door of the store.
"…But they might have," Herman said grimly, already guessing who had come.
"Catherine," Leighton said, his tone low.
She turned to him, meeting his gaze, then looked to Emeline.
Emeline gave a reluctant but firm nod.
Catherine exhaled and turned to Kimmi. "Alright, sweetheart… look at me." Her voice softened to a whisper as she pulled a small, folded cloth from her sleeve. Black linen.
Kimmi eyes widened. She recognized it instantly. The medicine. The one she feared most. But her mothers face was pale with worry of her.
So Kimmi did not protest.
She opened her mouth and bit down on the cloth. The moment it touched her lips, the world around her began to fade. Her thoughts dulled, her fear vanished. Her mind settled into an eerie calm.
The change was immediate.
Kimmi fell quiet, her breathing slowed. Her eyes, once glimmering with confusion, became still—hollow almost.
Catherine stood and guided her toward the bedroom with slow, careful steps. Leyla, following her mothers instruction, trailed after them.
Leighton, Emeline, and Herman made their way to the front of the house.
When they opened the door, they were not surprised.
There, standing on the snowy step beneath the pale glow of a winter skies, was Grand Elder Raimund Warmheart, his expression warm as ever—smiling in that way that never reached his eyes.
Behind him stood five clerics, silent and unmoving. Their gazes swept the house with uncanny stillness.
"Can I help you, Lord Raimund?" Leighton asked frankly.
"Nothing too urgent," Raimund replied, hands clasped neatly in front of him. "I sensed… something unusual. A flicker of anomaly within these walls. Is everything alright inside?"
Leighton didn't flinch. "Perfectly fine, my lord."
"I see." Raimund's eyes lingered on the doorway, as if peering through it. "That is all I wished to know."
He gave a slow, courteous nod. "A peaceful winter to you and your family, Lord Leighton. And to you as well, Mr. Hartmann. Do extend my regards to Mrs. Gustmill… and her daughter."
With that, Raimund turned. As if on cue, a carriage appeared around the snowy bend, pulled by horses whose breath steamed in the cold.
The clerics followed silently, climbing aboard without a word.
Leighton watched from the doorway, not closing it until the carriage vanished into the snow-laced streets—its wheels leaving shallow, vanishing tracks.
Only then did he close the door, locking it with a heavy click.
Farther down the street, a carriage slowly rolled away from the Weaving Twig and Sculpt Store. Inside, Grand Elder Raimund sat in patient silence, flanked by his clerics. They were waiting—for someone to return.
Then suddenly—
BAAAM!
A heavy thud echoed as something—or someone—landed squarely on the roof of the carriage.
Raimund, unfazed, calmly slid open the carriage window.
A slender figure dropped in through the narrow opening with practiced ease, slipping into the seat beside him in a single graceful motion. She wore the robes of the cleric order.
"What's did you see," Raimund said casually, not even glancing at her.
The woman pulled back her hood, revealing herself as Vyset—one of Kimmi former caretakers at the Royal Infirmary.
"Everything, Grand Elder," Vyset replied with a bright, almost too-wide smile. "I saw everything."
The essence of her will ran wild, and wept the yearning of a forgotten child.