In a dimly lit room of her house, Mira was busy concocting a potion. Strange herbs and glowing liquids bubbled inside various flasks and cauldrons, filling the space with an earthy, arcane scent. The flickering light from a single enchanted lamp cast long shadows on the stone walls.
Suddenly, a low, raspy voice cut through the silence.
"Are you Jasmine?" a voice called out from behind her.
Mira slowly turned her head, heart skipping a beat. Standing at the entrance to her workshop was a tall figure clad entirely in black. A glaring white skeleton mask covered his face, emotionless and stark against the darkness of his outfit.
"Who are you?" Mira asked, slightly wary. Her voice was steady, but her fingers subtly moved toward the satchel at her waist.
"Who I am doesn't matter. Tell me, are you Jasmine?" the stranger asked again, his voice even lower this time, nearly a whisper.
Mira hesitated. Her mind raced. Who was this man, and why was he asking for her mother? Something about him was deeply unsettling—the way he stood perfectly still, the void behind that mask, the chilling aura that seemed to darken the very room.
After a moment, she decided to respond.
"My mother's name is Jasmine. Are you looking for her?" Mira said, trying to sound calm while secretly holding a vial of explosive potion inside her small bag at her waist, her thumb gently pressing against the cork.
"I see," said the stranger bluntly, and then—without a sound—he vanished into his shadow.
Mira was shocked! She had never seen such an ability in her entire life. It wasn't teleportation. It was something else—something darker. Her heart pounded as the silence returned to the room, only heavier now.
(Who is that skull-masked figure?) (Why is he searching for Mom?) Mira questioned in her mind, the worry settling like a stone in her stomach.
She walked out of her room and grabbed a potion with green liquid from her bag. This was a messenger potion, crafted by Mira's genius mind—one of her most prized inventions. The potion acted as a magical transmission, designed to deliver a message to the person holding its paired counterpart.
Mira uncorked the vial and threw the potion on the ground, the liquid splashing in a perfect circle around her boots. She spoke clearly and quickly:
"Mom, this is Mira. A stranger with a skull mask just appeared and asked for you. Be careful; he is not an ordinary person. I saw him disappear into his shadow."
The green liquid on the ground pulsed with a bright glow before evaporating into a swirling mist, rising like smoke and vanishing into the air.
Mira glanced at the broken shard of the bottle on the ground, then bent down and carefully cleaned it up, her thoughts still spinning. She returned to her room, lit a protective rune at the door, and went back to brewing—though her hands were not as steady as before.
---
Meanwhile…
On a mountain surrounded by tall yellow trees, their autumn leaves glowing like embers in the fading light, a lone figure with long blonde hair sat on a flat rock. A small fire crackled in front of her, the scent of grilled fish wafting into the cool mountain air.
This was Jasmine, Mira's mother.
As she turned the fish on a spit, humming a quiet tune, a presence darkened the air behind her. From the shadow of a nearby tree, a figure in a skull mask materialized amidst black smoke, his form solidifying out of the darkness like a specter called forth by night.
Without waiting for Jasmine to respond, he asked in the same cold tone:
"Are you Jasmine?"
Jasmine looked over her shoulder slowly. She didn't flinch. Her eyes met the empty sockets of the mask.
"I'm Jasmine. So, what's a stranger like you hoping to find with me?" she replied with intrigue, her voice calm but ready.
"I see," the skull-masked figure said bluntly again.
Then he raised his hand.
From the shadows of every tree, every rock around her, black tendrils lashed out like serpents, coiling and snapping toward Jasmine. In a split second, they wrapped tightly around her limbs and torso, binding her in place. Her grilled fish slipped from the spit and landed on the dirt, sizzling in the flames.
"Shadow magic?" Jasmine muttered, her body struggling against the writhing bands of darkness.
The masked figure didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the shadows beneath his feet and pulled out a photograph, aged and slightly torn at the edges.
"Tell me, do you know this person?" he continued, holding up the picture in front of her face.
Jasmine's eyes widened ever so slightly. She recognized the man in the image. Her breath caught in her throat.
Her heart raced.
But her lips curved slightly, masking her panic with feigned ignorance.
"Oh, I have never met him yet," Jasmine replied, though her voice carried the faintest tremor—enough for a perceptive enemy to catch.
The skull-masked man observed her silently for a moment, the white mask tilted ever so slightly. He noticed. He always noticed.
Then, without a word, he reached for his shadow again.
From it, he pulled a long, narrow dagger. It shimmered with unnatural darkness.
He didn't hesitate.
He stabbed it toward Jasmine's heart, ruthlessly and with deadly precision.
"Y-you! I-I… Mi-Mira…" Jasmine uttered incoherently, blood flowing from her chest and lips. Her legs gave way, and her body collapsed to the forest floor.
For a moment, the mountain was still. The wind rustled the yellow leaves above.
The skull-masked figure gave her lifeless body a brief glance before silently vanishing into his shadow once more, leaving only blood, smoke, and silence behind.
And from Jasmine's bag, the messenger potion Mira had given to her mother broke.
Its green liquid leaked onto the forest floor, glowing faintly for a few seconds—then dimming.
Unseen. Unheard.
---
A month had passed since Jasmine's death.
In a quiet stone house nestled within a small village, the soft morning light streamed through the wooden shutters. Inside, a teenager with blonde hair tied neatly behind her head sat at the kitchen table. She silently ate her breakfast—bread and milk, simple and warm, but it tasted dull in her mouth.
Ten minutes later, she pushed her plate aside and stood up. Without a word, she made her way to her alchemy room, the soft clinking of glass bottles greeting her as she entered.
She is Mira.
As she began mixing various herbs into a mortar, she muttered under her breath:
"Mom didn't come back home; something must have happened to her."
Her hand paused mid-grind, a shadow flickering across her face.
(Is it related to that skull-masked individual?) Mira pondered, her brows furrowing.
She stood motionless for a moment, staring into the swirling mixture before her. The memory of the stranger's chilling presence, his voice, and how he vanished into his shadow returned to her like a cold gust of wind.
(This can't be... I have to find my mother.)
Determination sparked in her chest. She couldn't sit idly by any longer.
Without hesitation, Mira began packing up supplies—vials, potions, herbs, tools, food, and protective charms—everything a young but talented alchemist might need on a journey.
She was ready to leave.
Jasmine, Mira's mother, was a solo adventurer. Though she wasn't famous or high-ranking, she was known for taking on quests others often overlooked. Her latest mission had been simple: to find a lost child in the mountains.
The place was called Autumn Yellow Mountain, named after the golden trees that painted its slopes each fall.
After speaking to the adventurer's guild in a nearby city and inquiring about her mother's last known location, Mira made her way to the mountain's base. A cold breeze rustled the bright yellow leaves as she stood beneath towering trees, her boots crunching on the dry foliage.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a silver compass—a device issued by the adventurer guild. It was linked to every guild member's badge and could be used to track their location.
As she walked, the needle quivered and pointed steadily in one direction.
Mira slowly trekked through the golden forest, the silence broken only by rustling leaves and distant bird calls. After what felt like hours of climbing and navigating rugged paths, she reached a clearing.
There, she saw a flat rock, and beside it—her mother's corpse.
Her breath caught in her throat. She dropped her bag and ran forward.
"Mother!"
The word tore from her chest as she dropped to her knees beside the rotting body. Tears welled in her eyes, one escaping and trailing down her cheek.
sniff
"This is why you should stop being an adventurer... I told you," Mira whispered, trying to hold back more tears.
She crouched beside the lifeless body, hands trembling as she inspected the wound in her mother's chest.
Her fingers traced lightly around the injury.
"This isn't from a beast attack," she said quietly. "It seems to be from a long knife..."
Her voice was colder now—analytical. Beneath her grief burned the mind of an alchemist.
She reached for Jasmine's bag. Most of the food inside had been half-eaten by wild animals. But among the mess, she saw something that stopped her heart.
The potion Mira had given her mother—a messenger vial—was shattered, its green contents dried and staining the fabric around it.
"So she didn't hear my message..." Mira uttered, her voice faint and bitter. A quiet disheartened sigh followed.
That night, on the mountain, Mira buried her mother beneath the yellow trees. She worked with care and reverence, her hands covered in earth and sweat.
When it was done, she knelt before the mound of soil.
"Farewell, Mother..." she softly whispered.
She placed a single yellow orchid flower atop the grave. It was delicate, its petals trembling in the wind.
With one last glance, she turned and made her way back down the mountain.
---
Upon returning to the village, Mira returned the silver compass to the adventurer guild and reported her mother's death with a steady voice and tired eyes.
She then went home to the stone house, her footsteps slower than before.
Back inside the quiet alchemy room, where the herbs and tools remained exactly as she had left them, Mira resumed her usual potion-making.
But though her hands mixed ingredients as they always had, and the scents of herbs filled the room once more…
something had changed.
A weight hung in the air.
A new obsession was beginning to blossom in her heart just like a yellow orchid.
—-