There were many things Milo expected when he woke up that morning.
A peaceful breakfast with minimal potion-related fires? Perhaps.
A cat snoring in his sock drawer? Probable.
But he most certainly did not expect to open his front door and find a duck wearing a monocle, standing on a stack of books, giving a lecture to a cluster of pigeons in tiny graduation caps.
"...and that, my dear students," the duck quacked with aristocratic flair, "is why existentialism and breadcrumbs are deeply intertwined!"
Milo slowly closed the door again.
"Luca," he called from the kitchen. "The ducks are getting philosophical."
"I told you it wasn't just me," Luca mumbled through a mouthful of almond croissant. "One tried to unionize the bread basket yesterday."
---
Inside the workshop, Alma was already dressed in her "quest gear"—a big floppy hat, way-too-many satchels, and goggles that kept fogging from excitement.
"I've got maps! Snacks! Emergency tickle scrolls in case of grump-monster encounters!"
"What about potions?" Milo asked warily.
"Oh, I brought the usual batch… plus a new one I call 'Mossy Mood Mixer.' It makes plants giggle when they're watered."
Whiskers, lounging in a sunny patch near the window, yawned. "So. Where are we headed, oh mighty potion packers?"
Milo unwrapped the feather, now glowing with a gentle hum. "The Archivist said the Veritas Plume would guide us… but how?"
The feather rose slightly in the air, rotated… then zipped toward the pantry door, smacked into it, and fell with a heroic flop.
Luca peered at it. "Maybe it's hungry?"
"Wait—look!" Alma knelt down. The plume began sketching glowing lines across the floor. The lines formed a… map.
Sort of.
Actually, it was a rather squiggly map, with trees that looked like spoons, mountains labeled "Possibly Cheese?" and a suspiciously large region simply called "Here Be Sassy Goats."
"Oh no," Milo groaned. "It's drawn in jam."
---
An Hour Later…
After deciphering the jam-map (and resisting the urge to eat it), the trio found themselves heading toward the Tangled Thistle Path, a rarely-traveled forest trail known for echoing one's thoughts back at them in song.
Alma hummed nervously. "This path feels weirdly… self-aware."
Luca nodded. "It just rhymed my sneeze with 'cheese.'"
As they walked, the trees started whispering commentary in overly dramatic tones.
> "Ah, the brave souls trudge onward!" "Behold, the lad with fear in his socks and crumbs in his beard!" "Beware! The potion master whose results may or may not explode upon sunrise!"
"Okay, they definitely know us," Milo muttered.
Suddenly, the feather in Milo's hand glowed bright—and darted forward like an arrow, weaving through the trees until it stopped…
…at a clearing filled with massive flowers shaped like open books.
Each flower slowly opened and spoke in voices of various ages and accents.
> "Truth…" "Memory…" "Socks left in drawers too long…"
"WE'VE FOUND THE TRUTH BLOSSOMS!" Alma cried, practically bouncing.
Whiskers narrowed his eyes. "There's a faint residue of dream-magic here. This is where the Dreamer Birds must've gathered."
The feather drifted down and settled into one of the blossoms, which bloomed wide and cast an ethereal light upward.
Then came the voice.
> "Hearken, potioners of chaotic inclination. The world hums louder. Old magics stir beneath your feet. And the Feathered Chorus... begins anew."
Milo blinked. "Okay. I'm either about to pass out or be knighted by a bouquet."
Suddenly, one of the trees sprouted eyes and a mouth. "Pardon me, but would anyone care for tea?"
---
Later That Afternoon…
They sat in a clearing sipping floral tea brewed by sentient barkeep trees. It was oddly pleasant.
"So," Luca asked, "what do we actually do next?"
Milo sighed, looking at the glowing feather. "Honestly? No idea. But I think we're caught in something bigger than silly side effects now."
"But silly is our specialty," Alma said proudly.
"And chaos," Luca added.
"And sarcasm," Whiskers chimed in.
Milo smiled. "Then I guess it's time we stop just reacting… and start exploring the truth behind this change."
Suddenly, the sky pulsed with color—dreamy purples and greens. Far above, a flock of shimmering birds soared across the horizon, feathers trailing stardust.
The Dreamer Birds.
They were returning.
But why?