A Spoon
Within the Myriad Crescent Quarters, the room at the far end of the third floor served as the messenger's office. It bustled not with voices, but with quiet harmony of a chirping noise.
Cabinets fitted with countless small drawers lined the walls beneath rafters claimed by Homely swallows.
The birds perched shoulder to shoulder atop the cabinets, nestled within of some half-open compartments, and slumbered upon the wooden coat rack. Gentle chirps and the soft rustle of feathers drifted lazily through the air, each sound blending into a tranquil melody that had long become the room's natural silence.
Abruptly—
Krr-klick
The doorknob turned.
A fine figured of cleric casually stroll in, shattering the room's peaceful harmony.
Dozens of birds burst from their slumber, wings beating wildly as feathers filled the cramped room. Startled chirps echoed throughout as swallows circled overhead before fleeing through the open balcony and settling upon its railing.
The cleric paid the commotion no heed.
He strode his way to one of the many cabinets and began rummaging through its drawers, searching for something upon which to write. Before long, he unearthed a folded sheet of parchment and a small bottle of ink.
But something was missing.
A quill.
He searched another drawer, then another.
Empty.
His eyes wandered across the numerous drawers he had yet to search before settling upon the feathers scattered across the floor and drifting through the air. There were more than enough to serve his purpose, yet the thought of using them never once seemed to cross his mind.
Instead, his gaze fell upon a plump homely swallow perched atop the wooden coat rack. Larger than the rest, it tilted its head at him with innocent curiosity, blissfully unaware that it had just become the solution to his problem.
The cleric suddenly vanished.
In the blink of an eye, he reappeared beside the light stand. Before the curios swallow could react, he deftly plucked a single flight feather from its wing.
Twee— Twee-twee!
The curious swallow erupted into a frenzy of fluttering frantic cries before darting through the open balcony.
Still, a few of stubborn swallows remained upon their perches, seemingly unbothered by what had happened to their flock. They merely watched the offender with unmistakable displeasure.
The cleric unbothered, his attention fixed solely upon the feather in his hand.
With ease, he clips the tip into a fine writing nib and placed it beside the ink and parchment. Bereft a proper desk, he steadied the sheet against the bare plaster wall and began to compose a letter.
Before long, most of the homely swallows fluttered back through the open window. Instead of returning to its nest, few settled lightly upon the cleric's shoulder, tilting its head as though curiously reading every hurried stroke of the quill.
The unexpected weight made the cleric flinch.
With a slight shrug of his shoulder, he gently shooed the bird away. It chirped in mild protest before taking flight, while the movement loosened the edge of his hood.
The hood slipped back, revealing the cleric's face.
The cleric was none other than Vyset Flow.
Excitement and worried stirred within her heart as she hurried to report an extraordinary new discovery to her superior, Grand Elder Raimund Warmheart.
Vyset carefully folded and rolled the parchment until it was no larger than her finger. With a gentle kiss upon its base, the tiny scroll sealed itself shut. She then stepped onto the open balcony and raised her hand toward the cold night sky, waiting patiently for what would come.
A moment later, the rhythmic flutter of wings answered her call.
A Homely swallow descended from above and landed lightly upon her outstretched palm, as though it had been expecting something from her.
Vyset offered the tiny scroll.
The swallow tilted its head, studying the small scroll for a brief moment before gently pecking it in its beak.
With a single beat of its wings, the bird took to the flight, climbing high above the rooftops until it vanished into the distant towering wall toward the royal district.
Vyset let out a quiet sigh of relief as she watched the bird disappear into the distance. Satisfied that her report was on its way, she nodded to herself and left the room. With a faint smile, she briskly made her way down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A loud racket rang from the kitchen, followed by bursts of laughter and a mild disagreement.
Several novices had gathered along the counter, leaning through the serving window. Their laughter carried through the hall as they tossed playful jabs and complaints at the person inside, who fired back with increasingly exasperated sarcasm.
However, the moment the novices noticed Vyset approaching, their laughter abruptly died.
One by one, they straightened themselves, quietly snatched up two cups from the counter, and hurried away as though they had suddenly remembered somewhere else they desperately needed to be.
Only then did a momentary peace return to the hall.
Vyset notice the familiar figure leaning against the wall nearby, just right next to the kitchen door.
It was the city guard, Harward.
Catching sight of Vyset, he gave her a quiet nod.
Vyset returned the gesture and approached him, her curiosity already piqued by the past commotion.
"I thought you would have left by now," Vyset said knowingly. "You know... to be with your family."
"And why would I leave?" Harward replied. "They are already in better condition than most. Besides, there is someone here I would rather keep an eye on."
Vyset gave him a wary smile and scratched the back of her neck.
"Right... of course."
Her eyes drifted toward the kitchen, where the sounds of clattering metal and distant bickering still echoed through the hall.
She pointed toward the doorway.
"Then... what, exactly, is all that about just now?"
Harward merely shrugged.
Seeing that he had no intention of offering any word, Vyset left him to his silence and peered through the kitchen opening herself.
Before she could see anything—
Swish!Thwack!
The kitchen's swing door burst open and slammed against the wall.
Vyset instinctively recoiled.
Kimmi charged into the corridor with a cast-iron pan clutched in each hand.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
She gleefully smashed the pan together as she ran, sending a deafening racket through the corridor.
"K-Kimmi!" Vyset cried, covering both ears with her hands. "Stop that!" She winced at the deafening racket, fearing the poor patients throughout the building would be startled by the commotion.
A few novices still watched from a safe distance, peeking from behind walls and doorways, thoroughly entertained by Kimmi's antics.
Seeing no sign that the girl intended to stop, Vyset immediately gave chase.
Unfortunately, catching Kimmi proved considerably harder than it looked.
The girl was not particularly fast. Her little legs could only carry her so quickly. Yet Kimmi possessed an uncanny talent for shifting direction instinctively.
Whenever Vyset reached for her, Kimmi would dart aside at the last possible moment, slip past by a mere inch beneath her finger, then cycle around her like a particularly troublesome, agile hamster.
"Kimmi! Stop!" Vyset demanded.
The girl did not stop.
In fact, she seemed delighted. Believing that Vyset was playing with her.
The more Vyset tried to catch her, the more energetic and reckless Kimmi became. Her emerald eyes sparkled with maddening excitement as she darted from one thing to another, unable to remain still for even a heartbeat.
And whenever Vyset finally gave up the chase— Kimmi would immediately run circles around her again.
"You can't make her stop."
"What are you trying to say?" Vyset demanded. "Well, how about giving me a hand? She's making enough noise to disturb the already restless patient."
"I would," Harward replied. "But it isn't my responsibility." His eyes fixed upon Kimmi, who was now attempting to climb onto a nearby tabletop while still carrying both pans.
Vyset stared at him in disbelief.
"Fine, then."
She pointed a finger toward Kimmi.
"Aqua Flow—Rewet!"
Water suddenly spread across the floor beneath Kimmi's feet, drenching the paved floor and forming a shallow puddle.
Kimmi stopped.
Her gaze fell upon the water pooling beneath her feet, and her emerald eyes widened with fascination. Slowly, she crouched down, studying the shimmering surface as though she had discovered another plane of existence, a wondrous realm awaiting exploration.
Then, with remarkable practicality, she slipped her feet into the two cast-iron pans she had been carrying.
Scrape— Scrape—
The pans scraped noisily across the floor as she shuffled around the puddle, carefully keeping her makeshift shoes above the water. Kimmi slowly turned toward Vyset with a smug little smile, convinced that she had already overcome the obstacle.
Vyset finger extended and point toward the puddle of water.
"Aqua Flow—Bubble—Extent Reinforce!"
The puddle suddenly surged upward.
Water curled around Kimmi, swelling into a great transparent bubble that enclosed her from head to toe. The membrane thickened almost instantly, becoming firm and nearly solid.
Kimmi trapped inside.
She stared at the walls of membrane around her, completely mesmerized.
Harward raised an eyebrow.
"With control like that, you ought to be a Ward Mage rather than a healer. After seeing what you did back then, I believe you would have a brighter future among them."
Vyset proudly placed her hands upon her hips.
"Ward Mage? Please. If you knew anything about us healers, Sir Harward, you'd know that a healer can be every bit as lucrative and vital as any other magical profession in the city. We are, after all, the problem-solvers of the mundane troubles of everyday life."
Vyset said proudly.
"Besides, we are paid twice over, as both clerics and healers."
"I suppose healer are paid well enough," Harward said with a nod.
"Doubt... it."
Another voice interrupted.
"I would like to see how you fare when you're buried beneath an endless mountain of clerical and healing work, Vyset."
Vyset's smile vanished.
She slowly turned toward the voice.
Standing in the kitchen doorway was a familiar face.
Cleric Monaco, carrying a warm cauldron in both hands, its contents still giving off wisps of steam and filling the hall with a rich, minty Scent.
"Now, where was I...?" Monaco muttered, glancing around the hall as though searching for someone.
Then he found her.
His gaze settled upon the bubble.
Inside, Kimmi floated happily, giggling as she crawled in slow circles. Her laughter came out muffled through the thick membrane, sounding like a distant squeak.
Monaco stared for a moment.
Then, without taking his eyes off Vyset, he slowly lowered the cauldron to the floor.
His expression gradually became more suspicious.
"What did you do to my assistant?" He fixed at her with an accusing stare.
"Assistant?" Vyset asked, confused.
Monaco paid her no mind. He approached Kimmi and caught the floating bubble with one hand, holding it firmly in place as the girl continued to drift inside.
With his other hand, he drew his iron wand and gave the bubble a light tap.
Tap—
The membrane wobbled.
Tap—Pop!
The entire bubble trembled before suddenly its burst.
Kimmi was flung straight toward Monaco.
She caught herself against his arm, scrambled down him as quickly as she could, and immediately began running circles around his legs.
Monaco watched her go with a warm smile, but his face quickly turned weary as he looked back at Vyset.
"Yes! I need someone to help me in the kitchen. The others aren't being particularly helpful..." He glanced toward Harward, who merely smirked at him.
"And the novices..." Monaco sighed dramatically. "Ooooh, they certainly know their priorities! They never answer whenever I call for aid."
"But I saw several novices here only a moment ago," Vyset said.
"Well, they were women. Where else would they be but admiring my magnificent visage? Sadly, the ladies can't carry my burdens," Monaco said with a flourish.
Then he sighed dramatically.
"Enough of that. I need muscle! I need strength! I want someone to carry these pots and cauldrons outside. But all the male novices are slacking! Just like that man!" He pointed accusingly at Harward.
"Where would they be?" Vyset asked curiously.
"Where else would they be?" Monaco scoffed. "Outside, running around like headless chickens."
"They're helping people, right?" Vyset asked. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Of course it is. But what about me?" Monaco protested. "I'm the one actually making the medicine here. I need help too, you know. And mind you, they are novices assigned to this place. Surely helping me should be a priority."
"You found a cure?" Vyset asked, genuinely shocked.
"Of course not!" Monaco said, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. "I told you, I'm not a potionier specializing in poisons."
He sighed and waved a hand toward the pots and cauldron sorted neatly across the kitchen.
"I've made potions for Lesser pain and a Potion of calmness. They're not cures, but they're good enough to ease the suffering."
Vyset's expression grew solemn as she regarded him.
Then something occurred to her.
"But what does any of this have to do with Kimberly?" she asked curiously.
"Oh! Well, just look at this..." Monaco said, picking up the cauldron again. "Kimberly, come here!"
Kimmi turned skip toward him.
"Take this to the sisters outside, and I'll reward you with a spoon!"
Kimmi stared at Monaco in awe.
"Poon…" she gasped.
She quickly took the cauldron from Monaco's hands, lifted it high, and dashed toward the doorway.
Vyset's eyes widened in alarm. She instinctively reached out, expecting the cauldron to slip from Kimmi's grasp or for the girl to spill its contents all over herself.
But to her surprise, Kimmi carried it with ease.
The cauldron was nearly half her size and seemed heavy enough to challenge even an adult, yet Kimmi carried it as though it weighed little more than an empty pot.
"That, Vyset, is a child with a Swordlord bloodline," Monaco said impressively.
"This is..." Vyset was at a loss for words.
Harward finally stirred from his idleness and followed Kimmi outside. He stopped near the doorway, leaning casually against the wall as he watched her intently.
Vyset and Monaco followed shortly after.
Outside, the street was a depressing sight.
Wooden crates and stacked boxes littered the road, some hastily pushed aside to make room for the wounded. Clerics hurried between the shelters, calling orders, examining patients, and deciding who was sick enough to receive immediate attention and who could be left aside.
Arguments erupted along the street as desperate people pleaded to be allowed inside nearby building, seeking shelter from the bitter cold and chaos outside.
Some doors remained firmly locked, while others had been left standing open.
Above them, faces appeared behind countless windows. Dozens of eyes watched from the upper floors, peering nervously down at the chaos below.
They were not merely afraid of becoming afflicted.
They were afraid of what had become of their city.
The female novices gathered around Kimmi, praising her for carrying the cauldron with ease while subtly keeping her from running straight into the street. As a reward, they gave her the spoon and cup.
Kimmi accepted both with delight.
The novices then immediately set to work. They ladled the warm contents of the cauldron into cups and began distributing the potion among the patients, moving from one afflicted person to the next.
Kimmi soon returned to the doorway, where Monaco, Vyset, and Harward had stood watching.
She held her spoon high, wearing an impossibly wide smile as she proudly displayed her reward.
Vyset could not help but smile at the sight.
Monaco merely folded his arms, looking rather pleased with himself.
Harward simply watched the little girl, his gaze lingering upon her with reminiscing thoughts.
Even amid the tide of chaos, nothing could outshine the girl. She stood proudly with her spoon and cup held high up, bright as a star amid the surrounding misery, as though pain and despair were powerless to dim her brilliance.
The cauldron was stirred, its secret still brewing, unaware of the ruin that fate pursuing.
A Fork
Alongside Warehouse W-23D, a company of knights and paladins led by Princess Lucia, the Moon Maiden, had arrived at the epicentre of the attack.
From the rooftop, they surveyed the scene below. A translucent protective dome enveloped the entire warehouse and several of its neighbouring buildings, shimmering faintly beneath the light of day.
The warehouse itself was under close guard, watched over by soldiers and knights stationed beyond the perimeter of the dome.
Their arrival had not gone unnoticed.
One by one, the soldiers and knights turned their attention toward the newcomers, their gazes fixed upon the princess and her retinue.
"At ease!"
The command rang across the street.
A man clad in full plate armour stepped forward, the emblem of a renowned noble house of the Limelight Cities emblazoned upon his breastplate. He was a House Knight, sworn directly to the King himself.
He approached Princess Lucia and bowed respectfully.
"Greetings, Your Highness, Lady Lucia."
The knight rose and positioned himself before the princess, effectively barring her path into the translucent dome.
"Your Highness, I must respectfully advise against proceeding any farther. This place remains exceedingly dangerous, and the nature of the threat is yet uncertain."
His tone remained courteous, yet firm.
"I humbly beseech Your Highness to place your safety above all else. Whatever purpose may have brought you here, I beg you to reconsider and leave this place."
"You dare stand in Her Highness's path, House Knight?" Garin said plainly.
"Enough."
Princess Lucia raised a hand, silencing them both.
"Tell me, Knight. Who is in command here, and who possesses knowledge of what has transpired? I wish to speak with them."
The House Knight bowed his head.
"I am charged with the safety and security of this area, Your Highness. However, if it is knowledge of the incident you seek, there are others better suited to answer your questions."
He turned and gestured toward a building some distance away, standing just beyond the edge of the protective dome.
"The Crescent Clerics are stationed there. They have been attempting to brew a remedy for this troubling ailment, though thus far, their efforts have met with little success. If Your Highness wishes to learn more, I am certain they will oblige. For the moment, they are the only ones who seem to have made any meaningful progress against it."
His expression grew solemn.
"Very well," Lucia replied.
The knight bowed once more before leading the princess and her retinue toward the building.
Inside the building the knight had pointed out, a group of Crescent Clerics and representatives of several other clerical orders stood gathered around a man wearing a red armband bearing the emblem of the Crescent Cleric Clinic.
Despite the different allegiances among those present, they all listened intently as he briefed them on the dangers lurking within Warehouse W-23D.
Each person was outfitted for hazardous work. A strange protective mask with a long, bird-like beak concealed each face, leaving only their bright eyes visible. Thick black leather gloves covered their hands, while sturdy boots protected their feet.
Beside the cleric with the red armband, several glowing glyphs and words floated in the air. He held a wand in one hand, using its tip to trace symbols through the air as he spoke. Each stroke left behind a faintly glowing mark, forming diagrams and words that hovered before the assembled audience.
"The threat radiates," he explained. "It cannot pierce solid objects, but it can bounce. When the radiation mixes with the air molecules, it mutates them, turning them into a noxious gas."
He drew another symbol in the air.
"However, without continued mutation, the poison within the air eventually dies away. Unfortunately, that offers little comfort to those already affected…"
A few clerics gave understanding nods behind their masks.
"Though the threat is now contained and dormant, remain vigilant. Do not touch it. Do not approach it unnecessarily. Our task is to identify the materials involved in its alchemical creation and, above all, to find and create a remedy."
He paused to take a sip from a small vial.
"Some poor idiot attempted to replace the existing ward with one of his own, believing he could strengthen the seal. Instead, that poor idiot failed to consider the nature of the threat and nearly unleashed a second wave of the dreadful poison back into the streets."
His tired eyes swept across the room.
"So listen carefully. We do not want a third wave."
A weary cough escaped him.
He immediately pulled his mask aside and drank deeply from his potion. After a moment, he slowly made his way toward an empty chair and lowered himself into it.
He was High Infirmier Coire, head of the Royal Infirmary.
He looked nothing like the composed and unwavering leader he had once been. His face was pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and even his breathing had grown laboured.
Coire had been among the first to be deployed to investigate the warehouse after reports of the threat had begun to falter. At the time, the situation had appeared almost deceptively calm.
One of his colleagues from the clinic had managed to trace the source of the attack and nullify the threat through an astonishingly simple yet remarkably ingenious sealing spell. The spell had been enough to contain the threat before it could spread any farther.
With the immediate danger secured, the clerics had departed in pursuit of the perpetrator, leaving the site and its final status uncertain.
For that reason, Coire and several senior clerics were sent in to verify the report themselves and ensure that the information they had received was indeed accurate.
Only after their assessment did the knights and soldiers finally move in to secure the warehouse and its surrounding buildings.
Coire established a field research team within the warehouse itself, where the danger remained. There, they began investigating the nature of the threat, seeking to prevent its further spread and, ultimately, put an end to it permanently.
Then the Ward Mages arrived.
Their presence complicated everything.
The Crescent Clerics and the Ward Mages held conflicting views on how the area ought to be secured, each following different procedures for handling hazardous environments and magical threats. Arguments over authority soon followed.
Before long, the Crescent Clerics were pushed beyond the perimeter of the investigation.
Left with little choice, they turned to the witnesses for whatever information they could gather.
Fortunately, one of their own had been involved in sealing the threat and had returned to his station with vital information. Through his account, they were able to piece together the nature of the poison and gain a better understanding of the danger they faced.
But there was a setback.
The Ward Mages attempted to reinforce the existing seal.
Instead, their intervention triggered the second wave.
The radiation spread once more, and the poison erupted back into the air.
Though the threat was eventually contained again by raising a massive dome around the affected area, the cost was severe.
Many of the senior clerics who had taken part in the field research were exposed. They were among the most experienced practitioners the Crescent Order possessed, many of them seasoned in the treatment of poisons and magical contamination.
The Ward Mages, meanwhile, remained trapped within the sealed area, their condition unknown.
Only Coire and a handful of others remained standing, and even they were barely holding on.
Then came reinforcements.
Healers from various orders throughout the Limelight Cities arrived, offering their expertise and whatever knowledge they possessed.
Among them was one figure whose presence commanded far greater attention than the others.
His own mentor.
Grand Elder Raimund Warmheart.
That was how they had come to stand there now, with Coire barely able to remain on his feet while Raimund sat quietly by the fire, seemingly at ease as he enjoyed a bowl of ice syrup he had prepared himself from freshly gathered snow outside.
Sweetened with glucose, and infused with fragrant herbs, all drawn from the contents of his brewing case.
"Look on the bright side, Coire." Raimund waved his fork toward him without looking up. "You can now provide us with invaluable insight into the poison, now that you have been poisoned by it yourself."
Raimund had paid little attention to the briefing until then. His gaze remained fixed upon the dancing flames, his mood utterly serene, as though the conversation concerned nothing more serious than the weather.
Even without his usual spoon, he continued to enjoy his delicacy with nothing but a fork.
"So?" he continued with a quiet chuckle. "What have you learned from it?"
Coire's eyes narrowed. He could not shake the feeling that Raimund was making a game of his suffering.
Yet he could not simply dismiss his words.
The man before him was his superior.
"Very well, Grand Elder Raimund."
With a weary sigh, Coire answered.
"The poison feels like a thousand needles striking deep into the flesh. It burns from the nostrils to the mouth, then down through the throat and into the lungs..."
He grimaced at the thought.
Then his eyes fell upon Raimund, who was just about to take a bite of sweet potato with a fork.
A faint smile crept across Coire's face.
"Like eating cassava."
Raimund paused.
The sweet potato stopped just short of his mouth, balanced neatly on the edge of his fork. Raimund stared at it for a moment before slowly lowering the fork, his expression turning thoughtful.
He glanced suspiciously toward Coire, then a faint smile spread across his face.
"Cassava, you say?"
He gave a thoughtful little hum.
"Hmm... Cyanide, then."
"In a manner of similarity, yes," Coire replied. "But it seems the poison was made with a limitation. I do not believe it was intended to kill."
He paused to take another sip from his vial, gathering what remained of his strength.
"Considering how many people survived despite being so close to the source, I believe its purpose was to make the victims suffer rather than simply kill them. Though that is merely conjecture. Who can say what the creator intended? It may have been nothing more than a failed concoction."
Coire suddenly spat onto the floor.
His words had begun to slur, his mouth growing numb as the poison continued to take hold.
"Our colleague, Cleric Vyset, was there," he continued. "She was the one who sealed the threat... the alchemical byproduct. She may know more..."
He swallowed with difficulty.
"…But in the chaos, we lost word of her whereabouts."
A cleric dressed in white-gold robes, bearing the emblem of the Dawnbreakers, devoted followers of Lirion, the Bright Sun, spoke from nearby.
"Vyset? Ah. The last I saw of her, she was battling combatant atop the wall near 18th Street."
He glanced toward the windows.
"That was some time ago. They cannot have gone far, especially if they were afflicted by the poison as well."
His expression grew thoughtful.
"They may still be somewhere within the shelter zone trying to get help."
Knock— Knock—
The sudden sound of something knocking the door silenced the room.
Raimund slowly turned his head toward the door, still holding his bowl in one hand.
"Rest, Coire. I shall take the lead from here."
He rose from his chair and approached the weary High Infirmier. Without a word, he reached out and switch the protective mask in Coire's hand for the empty bowl he was holding.
But before Raimund could leave, Coire caught him by the arm.
His voice fell to a faint whisper.
"I felt a great deal of Divine magic lingering in the air at the site..."
For a moment, Raimund looked down at him.
Then he gave a solemn nod and a smile.
Coire released his arm.
Raimund turned and walked toward the door.
Behind him, the other clerics immediately began gathering their equipment. One by one, they fell into step behind their new leader, ready and preparing to enter the very heart of the threat.
Left alone behind, Coire stared down at the empty bowl in his hands, a quiet thought stirring within him that something was missing.
Meanwhile, Raimund reached the door and opened it.
The cleric stationed outside immediately straightened, though his worried face suggested that something was amiss.
"Grand Elder. The preparations are complete. Everything is ready for us to proceed."
Raimund gave a quiet nod. "Excellent."
Yet the cleric hesitated, his voice shows a slight discomfort.
"But—there is... one inconvenience, Grand Elder."
Raimund raised an eyebrow.
The cleric stepped aside, revealing Princess Lucia, the Moon Maiden, standing in the street with Seward and Garin at her side, accompanied by the remainder of her knightly retinue.
They had apparently been waiting for them to end their meeting, and judging by the expressions of the knights, they had been made to wait for quite some time.
Raimund was happy to see it.
"You did… very well."
The cleric bowed his head, accepting the praise.
Raimund regarded the princess for a moment, his face unreadable.
Slowly, a faint smile touched his lips.
"How curious. What a coincidence... No, perhaps it is fate. Or perhaps our goddess has no need of Her Chosen, willingly sending her into a slaughterhouse. No..."
He smirk as his gaze settled upon the knights.
"Perhaps it is something far worse... a God-Chosen willingly follow and heed the counsel of a fools."
Lucia stepped forward and offered a respectful bow, paying no heed to the disrespectful tone in Raimund's words.
"Grand Elder Raimund of the Crescent Clerics."
Raimund returned the gesture with equal courtesy.
"Your Highness... Lucia, the Moon Maiden."
His gaze then drifted beyond her toward the enormous translucent dome looming over the warehouse, its surface shimmering faintly beneath the daylight. He absently raised a fork to his lips, as he studied the seal in thoughtful silence.
"Your arrival may prove more timely than you realize."
A bright, almost serene smile appeared upon his face.
Garin immediately stepped forward.
"Grand Elder, Her Highness has come seeking an understanding of what has transpired here."
Raimund turned his attention toward him.
"Garin... if you are here, then..."
His eyes wandered across Lucia's retinue until they settled upon another familiar face.
"Of course. Seward."
A long sigh escaped him, "I was right…" he muttered.
"Lucia, I must confess… that I am puzzled by your continued investment to these two imbeciles. They possess a remarkable talent for placing yourself between danger, and I fear they may one day drag your face to the mud."
Garin felt wronged, but before he could respond, Raimund turned toward one of his clerics.
"Bring me another and prepare a set of plague gear suitable for Her Highness."
The cleric blinked.
"For Her Highness, Grand Elder?"
"For Her Highness," Raimund repeated, as though the matter required no further explanation.
Seward immediately stepped forward, concern of Raimund intentions.
"We require a set as well," he said to the cleric.
Raimund slowly turned his head toward him.
"Hmm... no."
Seward stared.
Raimund's tone remained remarkably calm.
"Belay that order."
Both Seward and Garin looked at him in disbelief.
"You cannot seriously expect us to allow Her Highness to enter that place without us," Seward said. "Would you have her walk into the heart of terror with no guard?"
Raimund regarded him with an almost amused expression and scratched his temple with the fork, as though contemplating a particularly difficult teleological question.
"Your concern is pitiful, Paladin Seward—and your argument contradicts itself. You led Her Highness to come here in the first place. You crossed half the city and brought her directly to the very doorstep of the maw. Worry not. She will be under my care."
His scarlet eyes narrowed slightly.
"Besides..." Raimund's smile widened into something faintly eerie. "I, too, would like to take our Moon Maiden sightseeing. Lioris has granted us such a beautiful day. Surely, it would be sinful to let Her blessing go to waste."
His tone made it painfully clear that he was being sarcastic.
"What of your thoughts, Your Highness Lucia?"
Raimund turned his attention back toward her, his expression carrying that same unsettling calm.
"You speak of Lioris with such a playful tone. There is neither faith nor love for your goddess in your words."
Lucia's expression remained composed, though her voice softened.
"She listens, Grand Elder. She always listens. But there may come a day when She strikes you at the height of your power and leaves you when you are most in need of Her mercy."
For a moment, Raimund said nothing.
Then he chuckled softly.
"Then tell me, God-Chosen of Lioris."
His eyes narrowed, and his lips parted into a faint smile, revealing the strange scarlet hue of his eyes.
"If you truly hear Her words, then surely you must have heard this..."
His smile faded.
"Hide her... the weeping girl." He whispered.
Lucia froze.
Only for the briefest moment.
She quickly composed herself, but beneath her calm face, her thoughts had already begun to race.
All the faithful of Lioris knew that she possessed the rare gift of glimpsing possible futures, though her visions were often fleeting and unclear.
She was not the only God-Chosen of Lioris. Others served the goddess among the faithful, and some could sense Her presence or feel Her will guiding them.
But only Lucia could truly hear Her voice.
No one knew of this secret, nor could she tell anyone about it. Strangely, the only person she had ever confided in was her brother.
Hide the weeping girl.
Lucia had heard those words long before Raimund ever uttered them. The same whisper had returned again and again throughout her life, always faint, always mournful, and never accompanied by an explanation.
Her heart tightened.
Raimund had never been born a God-Chosen. She knew that much.
So how could he have known.
There was only one possibility that came to her mind.
Her brother must have told him about the voice.
Lucia could not understand why a man like Raimund, who seemed almost an affront to their goddess Lioris, was permitted to serve as one of Her highest-ranking clerics. A title such as his, she believed, should belong to the most devout among Lioris's servants, preferably to one who had received the goddess's blessing directly.
Yet her brother was the Lord and King of the Land of Sheen, and his word carried considerable weight. Through his influence, Raimund Warmheart's claim to the title remained undisputed, regardless of how little Lucia and all Lioris faithfuls believed he deserved it.
Tap—
Lucia stirred from her thoughts.
"What troubles you, Your Highness?" Raimund asked with a faint, knowing smirk.
"Your Highness..." A cleric stood before her, holding out a set of plague-protective gear. Yet his eyes kept drifting toward her face, his expression growing increasingly uneasy as he tried, and failed, to keep his gaze lowered.
Lucia frowned.
Then she felt something cold against her forehead.
Her hand slowly rose.
Her fingers touched metal.
A fork was stuck to her forehead.
"You dare..." Lucia muttered, utterly bewildered by such childish behaviour.
Raimund stood perfectly serene, regarding her with an expression of innocent contemplation.
"I was wrong about you, Lucia, the Moon Maiden. You have shown me a new light." His smile widened ever so slightly. "I see you are troubled by many things. I have misjudged you. Accept my humble apologies."
Lucia scoffed.
Without a word, she hurled the fork at him.
Raimund casually raised one finger and flicked it aside.
Ping!
The fork shot sideways and buried itself deep within the stone wall.
Seward and Garin stared in stunned silence. Never had they seen anyone treat their royal princess, a God-Chosen of Lioris, with such outrageous disrespect.
Lucia snatched the protective gear from the cleric and handed it to Seward, who immediately began preparing it for her.
"I am going to have words with my brother about this," she muttered through gritted teeth, her anger barely contained.
A whisper crossed the veil of night, A weeping child concealed from sight.
A Setup
Back in the Myriad Crescent Quarters kitchen, Vyset and Harward sat at a table while Vyset carefully sliced a medicinal herb on a cutting board.
Nearby, Monaco was busy brewing a medicinal concoction in a large cooking pot, sweating profusely as he stirred.
The kitchen was nothing short of a mess, with piles of clutter seemingly everywhere.
Every stove was occupied, with rows of cauldrons bubbling gently with liquids of various colours, each releasing its own peculiar aroma. Above the hearth hung jars, pots, and kettles, while bundles of dried herbs swayed gently in the warm air.
Yet despite the clutter, the kitchen possessed a strange serenity.
The fire burned brightly beneath them, filling the kitchen with a soft golden glow. Its warmth seemed determined to chase winter from the room entirely. Despite the clutter, the amber light gave the kitchen an almost serene atmosphere, turning the chaos into something strangely homely.
The heat was fierce enough to make it seem as though winter still far away.
The strangest sight lay at the centre of the kitchen floor.
A great assortment of pots, pans, bowls, cups, spoons, and forks had been arranged neatly across the floor.
It resembled a miniature city.
And, apparently, Kimmi was its ruler.
She hurried back into the heart of her little domain and stood protectively before it, as though defending her kingdom from some invading giant.
Unfortunately, the giant had already arrived.
Monaco casually stepped into Kimmi's domain and began confiscating several pots and pans for his brewing.
"Ahhh!"
Kimmi cried out in distress as her kingdom began to fall into ruin.
Monaco picked up a pan and placed it neatly atop one of the taller pots.
"Here. Take this."
Kimmi stared at the pan.
"Uuuuu..."
"See?" Monaco said with a playful smirk. "A different look."
He added another pan to the top.
"A different tower!"
"Uaaaah!"
Kimmi's eyes widened as the revelation struck her.
Monaco had just invented new architecture beyond her comprehension.
Satisfied with his contribution to the kingdom, Monaco left Kimmi to her domain and returned to the counter.
A cleric stood there waiting for him.
"I need a potion for lesser pain and a potion of calmness..." The cleric glanced around the kitchen. "Wait... this is a kitchen. They said this place was a dispenser."
His expression soured.
"This is indeed the place you are looking for, brother," Monaco assured him with an understanding smile.
"Huh? Truly?"
The cleric looked genuinely surprised.
Monaco took one pot and poured a cup for him. Then he took another pot and poured a second cup.
"Thank you."
The cleric reached for one of the cups.
Monaco immediately slapped his hand away.
"You fool! That's not for you. It's for the patient!"
He shook his head.
"The one on the left is a Lesser pain potion. The one on the right is a Potion of Calmness."
The cleric stared at the cups.
"Why are they in cups?"
"Good question," Monaco replied sarcastically. "Find me a glasssmith, and I'll answer it."
"Er... I'm sorry. I don't know where to find one."
"Precisely!"
Monaco pointed toward the door.
"Then go! Spread the word. The potion will be served in cups! Be WARY!"
The cleric left the kitchen looking thoroughly offended.
Monaco turned back toward the room.
"There is no end to this, Vyset! It's getting completely out of hand!"
Vyset smiled wearily.
"I would like to help, but... I never learned how to brew medicine."
She lowered her gaze in embarrassment.
"Oh, how the great Vyset has fallen..." Monaco lamented dramatically. "Shame... Shame!"
He shook his head.
"Still, you've done well enough helping me prepare the herbs. You might learn from this…"
Kimmi stared at Monaco expectantly.
"You? Well... words cannot describe how absolutely crucial your vastest help! Why, even Lirion's light could not outshine you! Lioris, believe me, my word! You are the greatest porter—I've seen!"
With exaggerated enthusiasm and flair, he gave Kimmi an approving thumb-up, that she immediately beamed with pride.
"Except for that guy..." He pointed.
Monaco cast a sharp, accusing stare toward Harward, who had not lifted a finger to help him.
"I still haven't properly thanked you for tending to Kimmi," Vyset said quietly. "I couldn't have done it without you."
There was a hint of guilt in her voice, as though she felt she had burdened her friend too much.
"No. You didn't."
Monaco remained deep in thought for a moment. Then he tilted his head toward the cauldron he was brewing.
"You owe me for this. No amount of praise will settle the debt. Though helping me here certainly helps."
He turned back toward her and gave her a stern look before releasing a long, weary sigh.
"I dislike saying this, Vyset, but caring for the wounded is a sacred duty of a healer. It is among our most important tenets. We are entrusted with the lives placed before us, and it is our duty to ease their suffering and preserve their lives."
He shook his head.
"Yet the way you left that girl... in such a miserable state, wearing that awful, bloodied coat with her bandages hanging loose... it was regrettably careless. Almost as though you had not a shred of empathy."
His expression hardened.
"What was wrong with you? You slipped away and left the child to wander. What were you thinking?"
His words carried the unmistakable weight of judgment.
"Don't give me that look, Monaco!" Vyset protested. "You saw what Kimberly was like. She wouldn't listen to a word I said. I did my very best! You weren't there... not in the chaos…. all the trouble..." She struggled to explain herself.
Suddenly, Vyset pause then fell silent.
Her eyes closed as she reflected on what had happened.
After a moment, she opened them again and looked toward Monaco before turning her gaze back to Kimmi.
Her voice softened.
"I don't know..." Vyset murmured. "She's different somehow. She's become more stubborn and quiet. I don't know what to make of it. Was it me? Or perhaps I never knew Kimberly as well as I thought I did..."
She hesitated, her brow furrowing.
"I don't understand her."
Her expression fell as she watched the girl immersed in her little city.
Only then did Vyset notice the clean clinic gown Kimmi was wearing and the neatly replaced bandage around her shoulder. The girl looked almost fresh and bright now, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked pink coat she had been wearing before.
Monaco had indeed looked after Kimmi with a care Vyset could hardly have managed herself.
"What did you expect?" Monaco said. "She's a feebleminded child. You cannot control such folk. You learn to flow with them."
Vyset froze.
"Huh?"
The words struck her with unexpected force.
Kimmi had been described as feebleminded before, but never openly. Certainly not by Monaco. As far as Vyset knew, Kimmi's condition had been deliberately kept secret from everyone involved in the girl's care.
Even Monaco, who had once been assigned to watch over the girl at her home, had never been informed of it.
Yet he spoke of it as though he had known from the very beginning.
"You look rather pale, Vyset," Monaco remarked curiously.
Vyset slowly turned toward him.
Harward, however, watched the two clerics with growing suspicion.
"Why are you surprised?" he asked. "Did you not know Kimmi was feebleminded?"
Vyset's expression tightened.
Harward continued.
"I thought everyone in the district knew of the girl. Strange... I would have thought she would be infamous by now."
He gave Vyset a puzzled look.
"After all, the things she has done should have been enough to frighten half the district."
He paused before continuing.
"You've truly never heard of the dreadful little girl? A thief, with a cleric standing at her side and indulging her every whim. Imagine that. With such protection, the girl could do almost anything she pleased, and no one could stop her."
"Not even us, the City Guard."
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Not that we couldn't, mind you. It is simply that the Divine's punishment would descend upon us before we could lay a hand upon her. Besides, it would be a sin. Or so they say."
His smile faded.
"I started to believe it after a while..."
He lowered his gaze.
"…I still do."
There was something strangely wistful in his voice, carrying both sadness and gratitude.
Then his eyes returned to Vyset.
"But you clerics..." His expression hardened slightly. "You seem to have rather foul thoughts about using the girl's gift."
Vyset stiffened.
Harward had seen straight through them.
"Sir Harward, Our order actually—"
"Cheeriest Cleric," Monaco suddenly interrupted.
He spoke as though he had heard nothing of the subtle shift in tension between them.
"Yes... that must have been one of them."
Vyset blinked.
Monaco continued, seemingly oblivious.
"You said there was a cleric standing at her side. That must have been a Cheeriest Cleric."
Vyset turned toward him in surprise.
"How would you know that?"
Monaco gave a small shrug.
"Well, mind you, I was once feebleminded myself. I graduated from Orphan Snarls in West Rivera, in the Kingdom of Lance."
Vyset and Harward stared at him in stunned silence.
"Are you telling me that you, Cleric Monaco, are not merely a softie, but soft in the head as well?" Harward asked.
Vyset burst into laughter.
Monaco's face darkened.
"Never mind."
He turned away, thoroughly offended.
"I assure you... Sir Harward, I didn't mean to be mean," Vyset said, trying to suppress her laughter. "But... is it really true? You were once feebleminded too?"
"I already said it," Monaco replied flatly. "And that will be the end of it."
He folded his arms and refused to elaborate.
Sccritch— Scratch— Muk!
Suddenly, a loud shuffle and squint came from the far corner of the kitchen.
Monaco and Vyset both turned toward the sound.
Something dark and strangely quick darted between a barrel, a crate, and a stack of wooden boxes. A shadow slipped around the cramped corner, moving with such speed that neither cleric could make out what it was.
Clack!
Then came a sharp wreck.
The creature collided with a long wooden pole, sending it wobbling against the wall.
The movement shifted the clutter just enough to reveal its culprit.
A pair of bright eyes peered out from the shadows.
Monaco narrowed his eyes.
Vyset blinked.
The creature cautiously emerged.
It was a Roof Squirrel.
Its fur was pitch black, with a striking white stripe running from the top of its head all the way down to the tip of its tail. Its tiny paws gripped the edge of the crate as it stared back at the two clerics, perfectly still.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then the squirrel twitched its nose.
"Ahh! Ahhh! AHHH!"
Monaco and Vyset turned toward the frantic cries behind them.
For a moment, they simply stared at Kimmi, bewildered. The girl was pointing frantically at the creature, clearly terrified.
She snatched up her small bowl and hurled it at the squirrel.
Clack! Clack—clack!
The wooden bowl bounced harmlessly across the floor and missed its target.
The squirrel leapt onto the kitchen counter and scampered toward the cabinets high above.
"Oh, no. Don't do that, Kimberly," Monaco said calmly.
He glanced toward Vyset.
She immediately understood.
Vyset bent down to retrieve the bowl from the floor, but Kimmi shoved her away.
"Nuuy!"
She guarded her precious stuff as though Vyset were a bandit attempting to plunder her city in the midst of a crisis.
Monaco chuckled at Vyset's failed attempt. Then he scooped a few grains of wheat from an urn on the table into his palm and held them out toward the squirrel.
The Roof Squirrel leapt down onto his shoulder, then hopped onto his hand and immediately began munching on the grains in his palm.
"Hah! Look at this little fellow!" Monaco said, trying to show Kimmi the creature.
"Shuuuuuu!"
Kimmi hissed at the squirrel and hurled another bowl.
This time, it was aimed directly at Monaco.
Clonk!
Monaco ducked just in time.
Vyset returned his look with a smug little smile.
The squirrel, completely unconcerned by the chaos, climbed onto Monaco's head and continued munching on the remaining grains.
"Oh, girl, and here I thought you liked cute creatures..." Monaco muttered.
He glanced at Vyset.
"Perhaps you are no different from her after all. She eats squirrels for breakfast every day. Such beast. Lioris preserve me."
Kimmi narrowed her eyes at the squirrel.
The squirrel stared innocently back at her.
Then it bared its little buck teeth.
Kimmi froze.
Slowly, she bared her own buck teeth larger than it.
The squirrel seemed to take this as a declaration of war.
It scampered down from Monaco and charged.
Kimmi saw it coming.
She immediately began hurling more of bowls.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Monaco desperately tried to shield himself from the barrage while the squirrel clung happily to his robe.
Then, suddenly, Kimmi stopped.
Not because she wanted to.
She had simply run out of bowls.
She looked around her little city.
The spoons and forks were her people. The pots and pans were her walls and towers. She could not throw any of them away.
Kimmi stared at her empty hands for a moment.
Then she slowly raised one finger and pointed at the squirrel.
Whisssh!
A sharp sound suddenly sliced through the air, surging toward Monaco.
Ting!
In the blink of an eye, Harward raised his sword and swept it through the air before Monaco.
A sharp metallic ring echoed through the kitchen, as though his blade had struck something invisible and deflected it.
Bong! Bong—SPLASH!
Something struck a boiling cauldron, sent it wobbling, then knocked it from the stove and onto the floor.
Yet nobody paid the slightest attention to the mess.
They had already fallen into a tense standoff.
Harward's sword remained raised, its edge hovering dangerously close to Monaco's neck. Only Vyset's swift hand, braced against his elbow, prevented the blade from advancing any farther.
With a subtle movement of his other hand, Monaco summoned a iron wand from beneath his sleeve. It slipped neatly into his waiting palm as though guided by magic.
The moment his fingers closed around it, the wand began to heat.
Its tip glowed crimson.
Waves of heat shimmered through the air.
Vyset quickly seized Monaco's wrist, preventing him from pointing the wand directly at Harward.
For several tense seconds, nobody moved.
Monaco glared at Harward, his face burning with fury.
"Did you just attempt to cut my head off, good sir?"
"I do not believe Sir Harward intended to harm you, Monaco..." Vyset said carefully. "He is friendly. I vouch for him."
The cold sweat gathering at her brow suggested that she was not entirely certain of this herself.
"I care not what is going on in his head!" Monaco snarled. "He is no friend of mine, Vyset!"
"Then at least let him explain himself!" Vyset turned sharply toward Harward. "Hurry. Say something!"
Then his eyes narrowed.
"Your neck is bleeding...."
Monaco blinked.
Only then did he feel the warmth against his skin. A bead of blood had formed upon the graze and slowly trickled down his neck.
"You... Mongrel! You actually did it!" He struggled against Vyset's grip, the crimson wand in his hand crackling ominously as its tip brightened.
"Monaco!"
"Enough!" Harward's voice thundered through the kitchen. "Defend yourself!"
Monaco's expression hardened. He tore his wrist free from Vyset's grasp, pulling his arm back as crimson magic gathered around his hand.
He was ready to unleash a destructive spell.
"I'm sorry, Harward..." Vyset said quietly.
Her expression hardened with resolve.
"But I stand with my friend."
She took a prying pan as weapon and raised her hand. A shimmering protective bubble formed around herself and Monaco.
Thus prepared, they stood ready to meet the coming blade.
Harward did not attack them.
Instead, he suddenly turned his back and swung his sword through empty air.
"What?" Monaco snarled. "Are you making a fool of me?"
Vyset stared in confusion.
Then she felt it.
Something sharp.
Something deadly.
Then something terribly heavy struck the air.
Swish! Swish! Woob—Woob
An unseen force slammed into her barrier. The bubble buckled violently.
Vyset's eyes widened.
Burst!
Her protective bubble has failed and shattered.
The force tore through it, leaving Monaco and Vyset staggering backward in shock.
"You two fools!" Harward shouted. "Help me with her!"
His sword remained raised as he struggled against something they could not see.
"Monaco!"
He understood.
They rushed toward Harward.
"Sir! Who is it? Is this an ambush? Are we under attack?" Vyset asked hurriedly.
She immediately cast another protective bubble, this time expanding it around all three of them.
Monaco swept his gaze across the kitchen.
"Who dares attack us here?" Monaco demanded. "This place is swarming with guards!"
They searched the kitchen, but there was no attacker.
Their eyes shifted toward the kitchen windows, where they saw Wildly staring at them strangely.
"No way..." Monaco muttered as he peered his eyes toward the horse.
The streets outside remained strangely quiet.
"Invisibility?" Vyset muttered, her mind raced. "No... that can't be it…" Her eyes narrowed. "…Sniper?"
She carefully studied the surroundings, trying to determine where the attack had originated.
"I don't understand..." Monaco said still staring at the horse.
Vyset elbowed Monaco. "Use your magic presence, Monaco!"
Monaco quickly extended his hand and released a wave of magic into the surrounding air, searching for even the faintest trace of an enemy.
Nothing.
"The entire area is calm," he muttered. "It's chaotic because of the crisis, but there is no sign of a sudden movement."
His expression changed.
"This could be an assassination attempt..." Monaco muttered.
He looked genuinely perplexed.
"But against me?" His expression faltered. "What did I do?"
Another invisible force struck Vyset bubble immediately burst.
Clang!
"Grrr...!" Harward gritted his teeth. "Focus on Kimmi!"
Ting! Clang!
He continued blocking the invisible attacks, each impact sending a sharp recoil through his arms, forcing him back a step.
Monaco and Vyset finally turned toward Kimmi.
The girl stood perfectly still, pouting angrily at them. Her tiny finger remained pointed directly at them.
Vyset's breath caught.
"Her eyes..." Kimmi's emerald eyes had turned gold.
Monaco's pupils contracted.
"This is..." His voice faded.
Kimmi glared angrily at them. She hated the squirrel, and she knew they were hiding it. She could see it. A faint glyph shimmered through her eyes, revealing the Roof Squirrel hidden in fear inside Monaco's pocket.
She pointed directly at the glyph. An invisible force began to gather at her fingertip, growing denser and sharper instantly.
Then she released it.
The force shot toward her target like an unseen blade.
Harward reacted instantly, sweeping his sword through the air and cutting the attack apart before it could reach Monaco. He could not see the invisible force, but his instincts were sharp enough to guide his blade with perfect precision.
Kimmi continued her assault, sending one invisible strike after another toward Monaco.
But Harward met each blow with his sword.
Whissh! Whissh! Whissh! Tiiinnng!
Multiple invisible strike met Harward's blade.
None of them noticed the toppled cauldron on the floor.
Slowly, almost unnoticed, its rose-coloured contents began dripping from its bent rim.
A new threat emerged, spreading dangerously across the floor.
The syrup moved in a sluggish, bubbling tide, inch by inch, its heat enough to inflict a terrible burn upon anything caught in its path.
Yet its creeping advance did not escape Kimmi's perception.
She immediately abandoned her battle with the cowardly squirrel and turned her attention toward her kingdom.
Her eyes widened.
Her people were in danger.
She had no idea how to stop this new threat. It was not an enemy she could fight. It was a natural disaster.
A flood.
Kimmi ran frantically around and round her little domain, panic written across her face. She called for help among the cutlery, preach them of the impending doom, but non of it heard her word nor do they understand.
The cutlery remained silent—
Unmoving,
Unaware.
She seemed utterly at a loss, unsure how to save her people.
Then, struck by a sudden notion, she seized a nearby pot and began gathering her scattered cutleries. One by one, she scooped up the spoons and forks and placed them safely inside, determined to save them from the inevitable disaster.
Once she had accounted for them all, Kimmi hurried to move the pot to safety. But in her haste, she stumbled and crashed into one of her majestic buildings.
CLANG! TANG—Tang! Tang! Ting! Ting!
The towering pot and pan toppled. Spoons and forks spilled across the floor, scattering dangerously close to the advancing flood.
Kimmi stared in horror.
Her people were in even greater peril than before.
"AHHH!" Kimmi yelped even louder.
She scrambled after her scattered people, her little hands desperately reaching for them before the boiling tide could end them.
And it was—Destined.
"Kimberly!"
Monaco immediately rushed toward Kimmi. He feared the boiling syrup would scald the girl before he could reach her. But just as the syrup reached the edge of Kimmi's littered cutlery, something unexpected happened.
A small wall of sand suddenly erupted from the floor.
It surged upward in a sweeping wall around the miniature kingdom, intercepting the syrub before it could reach Kimmi. The sand drank in the scalding liquid, steam hissing through the grains as the flood was brought to an abrupt halt.
Yet the sand did not stop there.
It seemed almost alive. It continued to surge across the floor, flowing toward the source of the disaster. As it spread, the grains curled gently around the scattered spoons and forks, lifting them from the floor and carrying them back toward Kimmi as though returning them to their rightful ruler.
Slowly, the sand crept over the fallen cauldron, filling it until the vessel disappeared completely beneath the grains. Within moments, a small dune had formed upon the kitchen floor, burying the cauldron beneath it.
Monaco's eyes wandered across the kitchen floor.
The sand had spread far beyond the fallen cauldron. It crept across the tiles in slow, deliberate waves, swallowing whatever lay in its path.
Yet there was something strange about it.
Not merely power.
Serenity.
Monaco's expression slowly changed.
"A wild magic? Like her mother..." Harward muttered.
"No... this is..." Vyset whispered.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Monaco's eyes widened.
"...By Lioris!" His loud voice shattered the silence.
"This is Divine magic!"
The squirrel peeked out from Monaco's pocket, staring at Kimmi with wide eyes as though it had just witnessed something equally terrifying and agreed wholeheartedly.
She knows not the power she wields, nor what it fulfills.