The void was a place outside of time, a silent, starless expanse where the very concept of up and down had been forgotten. It was a realm of pure, unadulterated nothingness, save for the six thrones that stood in a perfect, eternal circle. They were not carved from any mortal substance, but were instead living manifestations of the very elements that governed the world of Calvenoor.

  One throne burned with the low, steady fire of a crimson heart. Another flowed with the deep, silent sapphire of an endless ocean. A third stood with the quiet, unyielding strength of earthen brown, its surface a testament to ages of stillness. Beside it, a fourth shimmered with the emerald green of a ceaseless, whispering wind, its form a constant, flowing dance of unseen currents.

  But two remained empty. A throne of brilliant, crackling yellow, alive with the scent of ozone and contained electricity, and another of pure, crystalline white that radiated a palpable, biting cold, stood as silent, unnerving gaps in the council, their vacant seats a testament to a long and heavy absence.

  Then, the void shifted.

  From nothingness, four figures materialized upon their respective seats. They were not born of light or shadow, but simply… were. Each was clad in a simple, hooded robe that matched the color of their throne, their faces and forms completely obscured by the deep, all-consuming darkness within their hoods.

  The silence, once a simple absence of sound, was now a heavy, waiting thing.

  It was the figure in brown who disturbed the stillness first. Their voice, a low, rumbling bass like shifting stone, was a tremor in the absolute quiet. “Have any of you… felt that?” they asked, the words heavy with a dawning, incredulous awe. “That power. Something… unexplainable.”

  The shadowed hoods of the figures on the red and blue thrones gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod in unison.

  “I felt it,” the one in red stated, their voice a low, controlled alto that held a note of sharp, analytical concern. “Even in my own domain.”

  “Aye,” the figure in blue replied, their own voice a dramatic, melodic tenor that seemed to fill the emptiness with a theatrical flourish. “A surge so potent, one wouldst have to be a stone, blind and deaf, to not perceive its passing. And as I reckon, its genesis doth lie in the dominion of our verdant compatriot.”

  Three shadowed hoods, in a slow, synchronized motion, turned. Their unseen gazes, a palpable weight in the void, settled upon the emerald throne, a silent, unified demand for an explanation.

  From the green-robed figure, a low chuckle rumbled, soft at first, then growing into a full, hearty laugh that seemed to fill the emptiness with a strange, warm light.

  “What is so amusing?” the brown one grumbled.

  The figure in green simply raised their hands, the emerald fabric of their sleeves rustling like a thousand leaves in a summer breeze. They slowly, deliberately, pulled back their hood. The face that was revealed was not that of a stern, unyielding god, but of a weary, kind-faced old man. It was Sun Yoon.

  His laughter finally subsided, leaving a quiet, almost fond echo in the void. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice as soft and as gentle as the wind itself. “But even I cannot fully explain what happened. It is merely the potential… the one you warned me of.” He directed the last part to the figure in red, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them.

  “It seems they have bloomed far beyond even my wildest expectations.” A slow, genuine smile spread across his ancient face. “My final gambit… it has paid off.”

  He looked from one shadowed face to the next, a flicker of genuine wonder in his old eyes. “Even a being such as myself cannot fathom it.” He paused, the final words a quiet, profound declaration in the heart of the void.

  “It was worthy of being called a miracle.”

  “Miracles, huh…” The figure in brown countered, their voice a low grumble of pure, earth-deep skepticism. “Do they even exist?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Sun Yoon answered, his smile unwavering. “However, I can say with certainty that I have witnessed three of them happen within my domain.” He looked from one shadowed hood to the next, his gaze lingering for a moment on each. “All of them… born from a single, simple word: ‘connection.’”

  “The green one might be correct,” the figure in red commented, their voice a quiet, contemplative murmur that was a stark contrast to their usual sharp, analytical tone.

  The figure in blue let out a theatrical gasp, their form leaning forward in their sapphire throne. “Hark, what strange melody is this?” they declared, their voice a booming, dramatic note of surprise. “’Tis not like thee, my crimson friend, to find thy faith in tales of wonder and caprice.”

  A heavy silence fell from the red throne. For a moment, it seemed they would not answer. Then, their voice came, “I have mingled amongst the mortals for a long, long time,” they admitted, their unseen gaze distant, as if looking through the void and into a world only they could see. “Yet this… this is the first time I have seen such a drastic, fundamental change from the one I am entrusted with. One that made me go speechless, powerless.”

  The air around their crimson throne seemed to shimmer, the steady, inner fire pulsing with a new, unfamiliar emotion. “That alone,” they continued, their voice a quiet, resolute whisper, “makes me want to believe. That a possibility exists.”

  “We have been searching for that possibility for more than ten thousand years!” the brown one’s voice was a sudden, furious roar that seemed to shake the very fabric of the void. “What makes you think that now is the time to be hopeful?! Too many have come and gone! All with potential! All of them, failures! Why this one in particular?!”

  “Calm down,” Sun Yoon’s voice was a gentle, soothing breeze that washed over the brown one’s fury. He turned his full attention to the agitated figure, and though his smile was kind, his eyes held an unshakable, almost challenging conviction. “You, too, will see it. Why they perhaps hold the key.”

  He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur that held the weight of a sacred promise. “Like I have, they, too, will touch your soul. They will show you that they are the key.” A slow, familiar, and utterly confident smirk spread across his ancient face. “I’m willing to bet on it.”

  The tension in the void shattered.

  The figure in blue clapped their hands, a single, sharp, and delighted sound that echoed in the sudden quiet. “Oh, a wager!” they boomed, their voice full of a renewed, theatrical glee. “I have not seen that gambler in thee for a long, long time, my friend! That alone is enough to make me most intrigued!” They leaned back in their sapphire throne, a picture of pure, dramatic anticipation. “I hope they pay a visit to my humble stage next.”

  “Patience, my friend,” Sun Yoon said, his warm smile unwavering as he looked from the exuberant blue figure to the still-grumbling brown one. “You will have your turn.”

  “Bah,” the brown figure snorted, the sound a low rumble of shifting stone. “You only call us ‘friends’ when you’ve already won something.” Their unseen gaze seemed to sweep the void, a silent, begrudging assessment. “Whether it’s my domain or that blue one’s, next, we’ll gladly accept. I just hope they are truly as believable as you make them out to be, you old coot.”

  With that final, grumbling pronouncement, the figure on the brown throne dissolved, not into light or shadow, but simply ceasing to be, leaving only the quiet, unyielding presence of their seat behind. A moment later, a figure in blue, with a final, theatrical sigh that seemed to carry all the drama of a thousand plays, vanished in a shimmering cascade of sapphire light.

  The void was silent once more, leaving only Sun Yoon and the figure in red.

  The red figure shifted, the crimson fabric of their robe rustling softly. “Is she alright?” they asked, their voice now stripped of its earlier authority, a quiet, raw note of concern cutting through the stillness.

  “She is,” Sun Yoon replied, his own voice gentle, reassuring. “Do not worry. I have made sure of it.” A small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. “Though they might have picked up more notoriety than expected.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A quiet, almost inaudible sigh of relief escaped from within the crimson hood. “I’m glad,” the figure whispered. “Really glad.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “What about the boy?” Sun Yoon asked, his tone casual, but his gaze sharp.

  The temperature in the void seemed to rise a few degrees. The steady, inner fire of the crimson throne pulsed with a sudden, sharp intensity. “That kidnapper’s health is no concern of mine,” the red one spat, the words a low, venomous thing. “I would strangle him if we ever met again.”

  Sun Yoon’s smile widened. “So you want to meet them?”

  The red figure froze, the fury of a moment ago replaced by a sudden, flustered stillness. “Maybe,” they finally said, their voice a quiet, noncommittal murmur. “But now is not the time.”

  “You have to be quick,” Sun Yoon cautioned, his voice a gentle, teasing prod. “They are maturing much faster than we thought they’d be.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” the figure in red said, the words a little too quick. And with that, they vanished, a final flicker of crimson light that was swallowed by the void.

  Sun Yoon watched the empty throne for a moment longer, a fond, knowing smile on his face. Then he, too, disappeared, leaving the six thrones to their silent, eternal watch, the secrets of their council once more hidden in the endless dark.

  A gentle, persistent warmth against his eyelids was the first thing to pierce the darkness.

  Raito stirred, a low, protesting groan escaping his lips as a dull, full-body ache announced itself, a symphony of sore muscles and bruised bones that seemed to sing in every fiber of his being. The world swam back into focus slowly, a hazy, dream-like fog that smelled of clean linen and fresh, sun-warmed air. He blinked, the bright, golden light of morning a sharp, almost painful intrusion.

  Ow… ow… ow… Everything hurts, he thought, his mind a sluggish, groggy mess. How long was I out?

  His last memory was a chaotic, fragmented collage—a colossal serpent, a blinding blue light, the feeling of Yukari’s hand in his, collapsing into a welcoming darkness… and then, nothing. The space after was a complete, unnerving blank.

  The thought, sharp and cold, cut through the groggy haze.

  Yukari!

  His eyes shot open. The world snapped into a sudden, sharp clarity. He tried to sit up, but something was holding him down. A persistent, gentle tugging on his left arm, accompanied by a sensation that was unmistakably… wet.

  Raito slowly, cautiously, turned his head.

  And there she was.

  Yukari was curled up beside him, her head resting on his bicep as if it were the most comfortable pillow in the world. Her breathing was a soft, even rhythm, her face a mask of pure, untroubled peace. And from the corner of her slightly parted lips, a small, glistening trail of drool was making its slow, determined way down his arm.

  He stared for a long, silent moment, his earlier panic melting away into a profound, almost weary fondness. Then, with a quiet, careful precision, he yanked his arm back.

  The sudden loss of her pillow was a rude awakening.

  “Huh?” Yukari’s eyes fluttered open, her silver gaze hazy and unfocused. She pushed herself up, a soft, sleepy sound escaping her lips. “Morning,” she mumbled, her voice a groggy, half-formed thing. She stretched, her arms reaching for the sky, a picture of serene, drowsy contentment.

  And then, the ache hit her.

  “Ow… ow… ow!” Her eyes snapped wide open, the sleepy haze evaporating in a flash of pure, unadulterated pain. The full, brutal memory of the battle, of the impossible wall of ice and fire, of the crushing exhaustion, came rushing back in a single, agonizing wave. She sat bolt upright, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar but peaceful room. “What? Where are we? Where’s the threat?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Raito replied, his voice a dry, deadpan thing as he pointedly wiped his arm on the bedsheets. “And if I consider you drooling all over me a threat, then that’s the only one I see so far.”

  Yukari froze. She slowly, tentatively, touched the corner of her mouth. Her face, which had been pale with a warrior’s alert tension, turned a deep, beautiful shade of crimson that spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

  And then she pinched his cheek. Hard.

  The bedroom door burst open with a frantic energy that was completely at odds with the quiet, sun-drenched peace of the morning. A silver-haired blur, a chaotic mess of tears and frantic relief, shot across the room and collided with the bed.

  “You two are finally awake!” Rara’s voice was a choked, watery thing as she dove towards them, her small frame landing between the two runaways with a soft thump. She threw her arms around both their necks, burying her face in the space between their shoulders, her body wracked with great, gulping sobs.

  Raito, who had been in the middle of a silent, pained standoff with Yukari, was left completely speechless. “Uhh, morning?” he managed, his voice a bewildered, almost comical thing.

  Yukari, her own face still flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, could only stare at the sobbing girl who was now clinging to them. “Yeah, we’re up,” she said, her voice a little stiff. “But… what happened? And why does it feel like it’s been a while?”

  Rara pulled back, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand, her expression a mixture of profound relief and utter disbelief. “You two don’t remember?” she asked, her voice cracking. “You two were laying motionless at the shore when we found you, and the two of you wouldn’t wake up. It’s been a week since then. We brought you back here.” She gestured around the room, her voice a rush of relieved, frantic explanation. “This is your farmhouse.”

  The words sank in slowly, a quiet, impossible truth in the face of their own fractured memories. The two runaways scanned the room. The simple, wooden ceiling. The familiar bedside table with its single, flickering oil lamp. The worn, comfortable quilt that covered them. The memories, the small, quiet moments that had turned this simple house into a home, came rushing back. This place was unmistakably theirs.

  But then, the other words, the ones that had been lost in the initial shock, finally registered.

  “A week?”

  The question came from both of them at the same time, a single, shared note of pure, unadulterated shock that hung in the quiet, sun-drenched room.

  Rara just nodded, a fresh wave of tears welling in her eyes, a testament to the long, anxious days they had all endured.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Raito’s voice was a frantic, incredulous thing that cut through the heavy silence. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, his mind struggling to process the impossible number. “We’ve been asleep for a whole week?”

  Rara just nodded again, her expression a mixture of tearful relief and a profound, lingering awe.

  “So what happened?” Yukari’s voice was sharp, her commander’s instincts cutting through her own groggy confusion. Her gaze was fixed on Rara, her silver eyes narrowed with a sudden, urgent intensity. “The war? That serpent thing? The rebels? Did you guys beat it?”

  Rara’s tear-filled eyes widened, a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief washing over her face. “You two… you really don’t remember?” she asked, her voice a hushed, incredulous whisper. She looked from one blank, confused face to the other. “The golden light? The giant sword? Vanquishing the serpent?”

  The words tumbled out of her in a rush, a frantic, disjointed collage of impossible images. She spoke of a brilliant, divine light that had wrapped them in a golden cocoon. She described their hair, Raito’s turning a fierce, burning crimson, Yukari’s own eyes glowing with a pure, stellar white. She told them how they had floated into the sky, their hands intertwined, a single, unified will against the encroaching darkness. And then she spoke of the sword. A colossal blade of pure, golden light, a weapon that had dwarfed the serpent itself, a single, definitive judgment that had cut the mechanical god in two.

  Yukari and Raito just stared, their minds a complete and utter blank. The story Rara was telling… it wasn’t just a forgotten memory. It was an alien concept. It sounded like something ripped from the pages of the ‘Tale of Calvenoor,’ a myth, a bedtime story told to frighten children and inspire heroes. It was not something that happened to two runaway souls in a quiet farmhouse.

  They looked at each other, a shared, silent look of pure, baffled confusion passing between them. Then, in perfect, unrehearsed unison, they both shook their heads. The grand, epic tale Rara had just woven was, to them, nothing more than a complete, and utterly impossible, fantasy.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Raito said, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. “What you just said… it sounds so unbelievable.”

  “What he said,” Yukari supported, her own voice laced with a gentle, weary amusement. She shook her head, a small, incredulous smile on her face. “That is definitely not us. If it were, we really don’t have any recollection of it.” She looked from Rara’s earnest, tear-streaked face to Raito’s own baffled one. “Plus, that serpent was like a calamity itself. To destroy something like that, you’d have to be a god.” She let out a soft giggle, the sound a light, almost carefree note in the heavy, confused air.

  Rara’s hopeful, excited expression faltered, crumbling into a small, defeated pout. Her friends, the heroes of the day, the saviors of Hanyuun, didn’t believe a single word she had said. She let out a long, slow sigh, the fight leaving her in a wave of weary resignation. There was no use arguing with them, not now, not while they were still weak, the lingering aches of their impossible battle still a fresh, raw memory in their muscles. They would just have to see for themselves. Soon.

  “Alright then,” Rara said, her voice a little smaller, a little quieter. “Since you two won’t believe me, I’ll just tell you what happened next.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Yukari said, her smile warm and encouraging, her earlier disbelief already forgotten in the simple, happy relief of having her friend back.

  But before Rara could begin her tale, a new sound, a deep, booming, and wonderfully familiar one, filled the small farmhouse, shaking the very dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

  “Hohoho!”

  The laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated cheer, echoed from the front doorway. It was a sound they hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime. A massive shadow fell across the room, and then he was there, his giant frame filling the doorway, his kind, sun-kissed face split by a wide, relieved grin.

  It was Bob.

  “Sounds like you two made some memorable stories here,” he said, his voice a warm, rumbling thing that seemed to chase away the last of the room’s lingering shadows. From behind his massive form, a second, more slender figure peeked out, Mila’s usual stoic expression softened by a rare, almost imperceptible hint of a smile.

  “Bob!”

  The name was a single, unified, and utterly joyous cry from all three of them.

  Raito’s face, which had been a mask of confused disbelief just a moment before, broke into a wide, relieved grin. “Wait,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked from the giant merchant to the beaming songstress beside him. “You know Bob?”

  Rara just laughed, a sound so full of a simple, easy confidence that it seemed to light up the entire room.

  “Everyone knows Bob,” she said.