Slouched in my chair by the hearth, I let my eyes drift over the flames. The common room was quiet—everyone else had gone to bed. Just me and the dying fire.

  The flames rose and fell like the tide of my thoughts, ebbing from chaos to clarity until everything else slipped away, leaving me mesmerized and at peace.

  One by one, familiar faces emerged from the fire, summoned by the rare, heavy weight of my emotions. Scenes long buried in memory flickered to life, and a bittersweet tide of childhood washed over me, dancing in the hearth’s glow.

  Then another face appeared—not from memory, but from days ago. Lune, walking toward the giant moss-hopper with that impossible calm.

  The way she'd already sheathed her blade before I even saw her draw it.

  I closed my eyes and replayed the moment she killed the beast.

  That breath she took—slow, deliberate. Her shoulders dropped. The tension in her grip on the hilt vanished.

  Then the draw. Too fast for my eyes, but I remembered the sound—a whisper of steel. No resistance. No wasted motion.

  The beast died before it understood it was dying.

  That was the difference. Not strength. Not courage. Control—of body, weapon, and moment.

  Could I learn that by myself? How long would it take?

  And that was just the sword.

  If I joined the Hunter Guild, I'd learn their techniques. Structured. Tested. Proven.

  But guilds had politics and hierarchies. I’d be at the bottom, following orders for years before they taught me anything real.

  What if there's another way?

  The medallion. Ol' Lucia's runestones.

  Could I learn to cast magic myself—without needing a runestone?

  I wondered—how did people make a real runestone? Not the fakes street sellers hawked, but genuine ones that hummed with power.

  How did they even learn to read those symbols?

  And why were markings so small strong enough to change the world?

  If the magic is just a drawing on a stone... maybe I can learn to draw it in the air, or in the dirt instead.

  Lune's sword art—was that magic too, or something else?

  The more I thought, the more questions sprouted—none of them had answers. I felt lost, trapped in a maze of knowledge I didn't have.

  Before the disaster, I had never thought this much. But now I understood: knowledge was leverage.

  It was key to everything—improving my skills, widening my choices, increasing my chance of survival.

  Hunter Guild wasn't the only way to become stronger.

  I realised I had been staring at the flames for longer than I’d thought, lost in questions without answers.

  “Still awake, Allen?”

  I turned. Julian stood at the second-floor railing, his voice echoed in the hall.

  “Too many things on my mind,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d only be tossing and turning in bed.”

  He tiptoed down the stone stairs and settled into the chair beside mine, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

  “Likewise,” he murmured with a sigh.

  Silence filled the hall.

  I glanced at him and whispered, “Are you ready?”

  At my words, his gaze sharpened on the flames. He gave a firm nod.

  I grinned and draped an arm over his shoulders.

  “Think you’ll walk away with some legendary titles? ‘Tidewalker,’ ‘Wavebearer’…” I trailed off, tilting my head as I tried to recall the rest of the prestigious names.

  “Blessing of the Stars.”

  He turned, locking eyes with me, a bold smirk playing on his lips.

  “That was my father’s title. I’ll bear it again—without fail.”

  He was trembling slightly—nerves and anticipation mixing together.

  Caught up in his fervour, I sprang to my feet and slapped his shoulder.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “We’re the brave souls who faced a deadly giant moss-hopper!” I shouted. “This ceremony will be a cinch!”

  Julian chuckled, his eyes brightening. “You’re right. After that beast, the rest will be a cakewalk.”

  “If it’s all so easy, then quiet down and go to sleep!”

  A sharp, ominous voice cut through our laughter.

  Xanthia and Millie stood at the railings, hands on their hips, glaring at us in sheer annoyance.

  Worse—behind them, filling the hallway like a storm cloud, loomed Ol' Lucia.

  Julian and I exchanged one horrified glance, then we moved in perfect unison—throwing ourselves flat against the cold floor before the Great Ogre could speak.

  “We’re so, so sorry!” we cried out together.

  ??????????

  Morning. Sunny.

  New home. Bedroom.

  Allen told us to take a break in our room when the Merchant Guild staff arrived.

  He knew I was afraid of strangers. I hurriedly climbed up the big stone stairs and entered the room; Millie and Xanthia followed close behind.

  The room was big, but Millie and Xanthia had moved their beds close to mine. It made me feel safe at night. The boys' beds were separated farther, on the opposite side of the room. They were braver than us.

  I climbed and sat on my bed. Millie wrapped her arms around me, making me feel protected.

  Xanthia threw herself onto the combined big bed and lay on her belly before me, kicking her heels in the air. Her left hand cupped her chin, while the other studied the sigil on the broken medallion.

  "Tia," I asked softly. "What is the big eye about? What is the Shrine of Truth?"

  She looked at me and smiled, her orange hair catching the light.

  "In the past, it was a religion worshipped mainly in the mountains, but it spread across the world. Their sigil is called Oculus of the Firmament—Eyes of the Heavens."

  "Tia, so awesome," I whispered, clapping silently.

  "Tia is the brightest," Millie said. "She remembers everything."

  Xanthia flushed. She grabbed her pillow and buried her face in it. I gently ruffled her hair.

  "Tell me more stories," I said as I leaned close to her left ear.

  She rubbed her head against the pillow for a while, then sprang up and sat crossed-leg with a grin.

  "There aren't many books about the Shrine of Truth," she said, "but I've read the lore. Those who are blessed can perceive things that normal people cannot."

  A chill crept down my spine.

  Eyes that can see things?

  The world felt darker.

  So scary.

  So scary.

  I saw her.

  She saw me.

  Long ears like a moss-hopper.

  Golden eyes.

  A grin.

  My thoughts blurred.

  Voices called my name. Millie. Xanthia.

  I gasped and opened my eyes.

  Xanthia was wiping my tears, worry across her face.

  Was I crying?

  The fear lingered—but whatever I had seen was already gone.

  ??????????

  Millie tucked Fiorella in bed. Her rag-doll’s arm was sewn back properly, clutched tight to her cheek.

  On another end of the room near the narrow window, Julian and I set about building our tent.

  He'd brought up the longest branches from the firewood pile, and we leaned them together to form a frame. Xanthia and Millie draped a heavy rug over the top.

  We all crawled inside and settled into a rough circle—Julian to my right, Millie across from me, Xanthia to my left. Knees touching, heads bent close—cramped, dim, but perfect.

  I cleared my throat and lowered my voice.

  “The First Secret Council of our new stronghold is now in session,” I declared solemnly. “Chancellor Millie, do you have a proposal?”

  She nodded in the darkness. “Indeed I do, Elder King Allen,” she replied, her voice solemn.

  This morning, Fiorella had frozen.

  It had happened while Xanthia spoke about the Shrine of Truth. About the eye carved into the medallion. One moment Fiorella was listening.

  The next, she was trembling, tears spilling as if something had reached out and grabbed her from the inside.

  She hadn’t explained. She couldn’t.

  By the time she calmed down, whatever had struck her was already gone—leaving only fear behind.

  That was all we knew.

  The rug overhead sagged as Julian adjusted a branch. Millie straightened, already wearing her council face.

  Whatever had happened, we couldn't ask Fiorella about it—not yet. So we did what we always did: we planned.

  “Great Scholar Xanthia, help us, with your sea of knowledge!” Julian pledged, shaking the stronghold as he clenched his fists.

  The Great Sage sat with her knees drawn tight to her chest, resting her chin upon them as she looked at us.

  “The Shrine of Truth was an old religion,” she whispered. “Probably as old as the Shrine of Levia.”

  “Levia relates to the sea, as it is a sea serpent,” I murmured. “Then the Oculus of the Firmament—could it be a god’s eye that sees the truth?” I rubbed my chin and made a wild guess.

  “You’re right, Elder King!” Julian said, immediately with an “Ouch!” as Millie pinched him—he was too loud.

  “This might explain why Fio’s always scared of people, or something else,” Julian continued, hands blocking Millie’s attack.

  “Maybe… Fio had a special kind of blessing,” Xanthia murmured. “And it tied to the Shrine of Truth.”

  We all paused, letting the thought sink in. Each of us pictured what that could mean.

  Slowly, our Great Sage came to a conclusion. We looked at each other. One by one, everyone nodded in silence.

  The atmosphere turned heavier. “Blessing” from some ancient spirits or the forgotten gods didn’t always end well in life.

  There were stories.

  A girl bound to Lord Levia, granted great power—only to lose her human form and become a mermaid.

  A greedy king who stole strength from an ancient tree spirit, then tried to destroy it—and his kingdom was wiped from the map.

  We knew nothing about history. But these bedtime stories didn’t sound old and distant now—after we had survived the moss-hoppers outbreak.

  “Whether Fio was blessed or not,” Millie said, leaning closer to us, “We mustn’t spill the beans to anyone.”

  “That’s for sure,” Julian agreed, exhaling slowly. “Bad people would come for her.”

  “I haven’t browsed through all the books in the library yet,” Xanthia whispered, her voice tightening with determination. “I’ll look for more clues, I promise.”

  “I’ll escort you to the shrine whenever I am free,” I added solemnly. “The safety of the streets—”

  “THRRRP!”

  Before I could finish my sentence, a thunderous rip of air echoed against the heavy rug.

  For a heartbeat, the Secret Council was deathly silent—then the air turned.

  Dignity forgotten, we scrambled to escape the stronghold, kicking out the frame and bringing the rug crashing down in our wake. We burst into the hallway, gasping for the fresh air outside our collapsed walls.

  “Julian!” Millie and Xanthia cried in unison, their faces crumpled in disgust as they rained playful punches on his arms.

  “I’m sorry!” Julian wheezed, shielding himself while doubling over with laughter. “I tried; I really did—but I just couldn’t hold it!”

  “And what is it you couldn't hold?”

  We froze.

  The voice came from behind us.

  We turned slowly. Ol' Lucia stood at her bedroom doorstep at the end of the hallway—arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

  How long had she been standing there?

  “So noisy...” A new voice drifted from the shadows. Fiorella rubbed her eyes, awakened by the commotion. “What’s happening?” she asked, her face a mask of sleepy confusion. “Why is Julian lying flat in the hallway?”

  “It's all right, Fio," I said with a strained smile. "Everything's fine. It was all Julian's fart—I mean, fault.”

  Fiorella dropped back onto her bed, deciding to ignore the chaos entirely, and drifted back to sleep.

  In the hallway, Julian’s apologies echoed into the night.