Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: ??? Date: ???

  A strange, sweet scent hung in the air, light enough to make his thoughts drift. Orin couldn’t tell where it came from. There was only darkness around him—no floor, no sky. He tried to move, only to realize he couldn’t. His body felt suspended, weightless, as if he were floating in an endless void.

  "Where am I? Another dream?" he thought, though no sound left his lips. "This is usually when Wind appears..."

  Part of him waited for it—the faint presence, the red-haired boy stepping out of the dark with that calm, knowing gaze. But Orin already knew it wouldn’t happen. Wind had said they wouldn’t meet again in dreams. More than that, this place felt different. Empty in a way his other dreams never were.

  He searched his memory, grasping for anything that might explain this sensation, until realization struck him.

  "The fall… I fell from the cliff. Did I die?"

  If that were true, it would explain why he couldn’t feel his body at all.

  "Is this where Wind was trapped after he died?"

  But no—this didn’t match Wind’s description. There were no branching timelines, no distant voices, no sense of awareness beyond himself. And the scent… it was growing stronger. Too strong. Sweet to the point of nausea.

  An intense urge welled up inside him—

  Orin’s eyes snapped open.

  He twisted his head to the side and retched, barely managing to vomit onto the floor before his vision steadied. His breathing came out ragged as he lifted his head and realized he was lying on a bed.

  A bed in an unfamiliar room.

  Rough wooden walls surrounded him, their surfaces aged and cracked. Dozens of crude dolls made from straw and sticks hung from the beams and corners, their hollow faces watching silently.

  Beside the bed sat a glass jar filled with a faintly glowing violet substance. The sweet scent flooded the room from it—thick, almost suffocating. Orin had never seen anything like it.

  Light filtered weakly through a single window, its glass clouded with layers of dust.

  "Where am I…?" he murmured.

  He tried to sit up, but pain tore through his body. Every muscle screamed in protest, as if he’d pushed himself far beyond his limits. It wasn’t sharp pain—no broken bones—but a deep, lingering ache, like exhaustion carved into his flesh.

  He tried again.

  "If I were you, I wouldn’t force it."

  Orin froze.

  "You were in terrible shape when I found you. You should rest a little longer."

  The voice came from near the doorway.

  Orin turned his head and saw a girl standing there—no older than ten. Her dress was worn and dirt-stained, clearly patched more than once. Her skin was ghostly pale, almost unnatural, standing in stark contrast to her long black hair.

  But it was her eyes that made Orin tense.

  Bright violet. Too bright.

  His mind immediately jumped to Professor Velorum’s lectures.

  "Who… are you?" Orin asked carefully. "And how did I get here?"

  She blinked, looking genuinely puzzled.

  "That’s what I want to know," she said. "I found you collapsed near the courtyard. You looked like you were about to disappear."

  Orin glanced around again. The dolls. The decay. The room felt less like a home and more like a forgotten shack.

  "Thank you… for helping me," he said, forcing a polite smile as he carefully pushed himself upright. "My name is Orin. I was traveling when I fell off a cliff."

  Her eyes widened.

  "Really? That sounds horrible…" She paused, then added, "I’m Nina."

  "Nice to meet you, Nina," Orin replied. "I think... probably the river might have broken my fall and carried me here."

  "What river?" she asked, tilting her head. "There isn’t one anywhere near this place."

  Orin’s chest tightened.

  "Are you sure?" he pressed.

  She nodded without hesitation.

  Orin frowned. When he’d fallen, he could hear the river roaring below the cliff. But now… there was nothing. No distant water. No rushing sound at all.

  Another strange detail dawned on him.

  Despite the pain, he felt no wounds. No fractures. Not even a scar.

  "Nina… how badly was I hurt when you found me?" he asked.

  She hesitated for a moment.

  "You weren’t injured," she said slowly. "Just unconscious. And very pale." She leaned closer. "You’re probably still affected by the dawn flower. Its scent can wake anyone from even the deepest sleep—but it’s very strong."

  Orin’s gaze shifted to the glowing jar beside the bed. So that’s what it is…

  "How long was I out?"

  "Two days," Nina replied. "I had to climb into the mountains to get the flowers. It wasn’t easy."

  Two days.

  Orin leaned back against the bed, his thoughts racing. He didn’t understand what had happened—how he’d survived, how he’d ended up here—but he was alive.

  And this time, he wouldn’t waste the chance he’d been given.

  "By the way… Nina," Orin said after a brief pause, "do you live here alone? And… how did you manage to carry me to the bed?"

  Nina shook her head. Then, without a word, she tapped her shoulder.

  To Orin’s surprise, something stirred—and a small figure climbed up, perching there comfortably.

  It was no larger than a rabbit, but its body was unmistakably draconic. Scaled, lean, with a long tail and a pair of small, membranous wings folded neatly at its sides.

  "This is Spark," Nina said, smiling faintly. "He’s a mini-dragon."

  "A dragon…?" Orin echoed.

  "They’re extremely rare," she continued. "Most people only know about the enormous ones. But there’s a smaller breed that lives in the mountains near Riddens."

  Seeing Orin’s astonishment, she added softly,

  "They’re stronger than they look. Even at this size, Spark was able to carry you to the bed."

  The mini-dragon let out a sharp, high-pitched roar, puffing out its chest as if to prove her point.

  Orin couldn’t help it—he let out a quiet laugh.

  "I see… thank you, Spark."

  The creature tilted its head, clearly pleased.

  "He’s very smart too," Nina said. Then her voice faltered. "My parents gave him to me… in case—"

  She stopped, her gaze dropping.

  "In case I was left alone."

  Orin hesitated. "What happened to your parents?"

  Nina looked at him for a long moment. Then, instead of answering, she said quietly,

  "You don’t feel like those bad soldiers… the ones with the sun on their chests." She tilted her head slightly. "And your aura doesn’t feel dangerous."

  "Aura?" Orin blinked. "How can you tell?"

  Even as he spoke, realization struck him. Her eyes—those unnatural violet irises. So that’s it…

  She ignored the question.

  "I’ll tell you," Nina said. "Those soldiers attacked my village. My parents told me to run and wait for them here." Her fingers clenched lightly at her dress. "But I know they won’t come."

  Orin frowned. "How do you know?"

  "They were magicians," she replied softly. "Those men were looking for them." She pressed a hand to her chest. "And I can feel it… they’re not coming back."

  A heavy silence settled between them.

  "I was attacked by those soldiers too," Orin said at last, staring past the walls as if replaying the memory. "They attacked my friends… and threw me off a cliff."

  Nina’s eyes widened. "…And then you came here?"

  "I don’t know," Orin admitted. "That’s what I want to understand." He drew a breath. "Nina, could you take me to where you found me? I think I can stand now."

  She hesitated. "Are you sure? You still look very weak."

  "I’ve been in worse shape," Orin said, forcing a small smile as he pushed himself up.

  Nina quickly moved to support him. With effort—and a deep, aching protest from his muscles—Orin managed to stand on his own.

  "Please," he said. "Take me there."

  She nodded.

  They left the room and passed through what seemed to be a kitchen. It was even more unsettling than the bedroom—decorated with dried insects, preserved animal parts, and bundles of feathers hanging from the walls. The sweet floral scent was gone, replaced by a stale, ancient smell.

  Nina opened the door, and cold air rushed in.

  The sky outside burned orange, dusk creeping in. Orin noticed several pots arranged carefully around the cabin, growing fruits, vegetables, and medicinal herbs. As they rounded the corner, his eyes caught on something odd.

  A patch of herbs lay crushed, their stems snapped as if someone had fallen—or been thrown—onto them.

  "This is where I found you," Nina said.

  Orin approached slowly. The spot was close to the cabin. Too close.

  He scanned the surroundings. No cliffs. No rushing river. Only trees, dense and silent.

  Something was wrong.

  "Did you hear anything?" Orin asked. "Or see anyone bring me here?"

  "No," Nina replied. "I was gathering herbs when I found you lying there."

  Orin searched for any sign—tracks, broken branches—but there was nothing. He lifted his gaze. Trees stretched endlessly in every direction.

  "When I fell… I was near the West Gate," Orin murmured. "Close to the forest of magical beasts."

  Nina hesitated.

  "We are in that forest," she said slowly. "But… the West Gate you mentioned is far from here." She pointed toward the distant mountains. "This place is near the range that separates Solaris from Dhamarr."

  Orin froze.

  "What?" He stared at her. "That’s a two-day walk from where I was."

  His thoughts raced.

  "Then how… did I end up here?"

  Nina shrugged, then lifted her gaze toward the sky.

  "It’ll get dark soon," she said quietly. "We should go back inside and eat something. You still look weak… it’d be better if you stayed the night."

  Orin hesitated only a moment. His stomach answered for him with a dull ache.

  "…Alright," he said.

  They returned to the cabin, leaving the garden behind—and with it, the countless questions swirling in Orin’s mind.

  "I’ll make some vegetable soup," Nina said as she moved toward the stove. "It’s simple, but it should help you recover."

  "Let me help," Orin offered, uneasy watching the girl do everything herself.

  "It’s fine," she replied. "Sparkle will help me."

  The mini-dragon perched on her shoulder let out a weak, chirping howl in agreement.

  With nothing else to do, Orin sat on an old, sagging sofa and watched her cook. As he waited, his eyes wandered across the room. Animal hides, claws, and teeth hung from the walls like trophies. The place felt wrong—too harsh, too grim.

  This isn’t somewhere a girl like her should be living…

  "Nina," he said carefully, "is this really your home… or—" He hesitated. "—did you just find this place?"

  She paused mid-chop, knife hovering above the cutting board.

  "It was my uncle’s," she said at last, resuming her work. "He disappeared in the woods a few years ago." Her voice remained calm, almost distant. "My parents and I used to come here sometimes, hoping he’d return. He never did. After that, we kept the garden tended. They told me… if anything ever happened, we should meet here."

  "I see…" Orin murmured, glancing again at the strange decorations. "Do you think your uncle left behind any weapons? A bow… arrows… maybe a dagger?"

  "Probably," Nina said. "There’s a red trunk near the sofa. You can check."

  Orin turned and noticed an old, battered chest tucked against the wall, its lid barely closed. He opened it and began rummaging through the contents—tools of all kinds: an axe, a rake, a broom.

  Then he saw it.

  At the bottom of the trunk lay a short sword, its blade dulled with age but intact.

  He lifted it carefully.

  "Nina… do you mind if I use this?"

  "Go ahead," she replied, standing over the pot where the soup simmered. "I don’t know how to use weapons anyway."

  Orin placed the sword beside the trunk and carefully returned the tools, tidying the chest as best he could. By the time he finished, Nina was ladling soup into bowls.

  "Sit," she said, placing one on the table.

  Orin obeyed, staring down at the thick stew of vegetables. It didn’t look particularly appetizing—but he was starving. Before he realized it, he was eating eagerly.

  "You must’ve been hungry after two days unconscious," Nina said, watching him with quiet amusement. "There’s more if you want."

  She ate slowly, calmly. Orin noticed how composed she seemed—too composed, given everything she’d lost. No complaints. No bitterness.

  "What will you do now, Nina?" Orin asked after finishing his bowl. "Will you stay here and wait for your parents?"

  "I know they won’t come," she said softly, a faint smile touching her lips. "But I think I’ll look for them anyway. If I can avoid the soldiers… I’ll try going back to my village."

  Orin felt a weight settle in his chest. He knew what the Church of Luminia did to villages. Chances were, there was nothing left to return to.

  He said nothing.

  "And you?" Nina asked. "What will you do?"

  "I’m heading to Dhamarr," Orin replied. "There are things I need to do there."

  "Dhamarr…" Nina repeated thoughtfully. "I’ve never been. My parents said it was a vast desert beyond the mountains. If you cross the forest, you should reach it—but it sounds dangerous."

  "It is," Orin said quietly.

  Once Nina finished eating, she set her bowl aside and stood.

  "I’m feeling much better now," Orin added.

  But Nina didn’t respond.

  She was staring at something—something that wasn’t there.

  "Nina?" Orin followed her gaze. There was nothing. "Are you okay?"

  She was completely still.

  Then, without blinking, her voice emerged flat and empty.

  "Who are Rick and Loki?"

  Orin’s blood ran cold.