Sunri lifted the ancient book again.
The sun?and?crescent emblem on its cover glimmered faintly under the starlight.
He opened it—
and this time, words appeared.
They did not seem written.
They surfaced from within the parchment itself,
glowing with a soft gold.
“Star?Track Era, Year 140 — Mistwood.”
Below it, neat handwriting emerged,
elegant yet carrying a trace of youthful softness:
“First day of Mistwood training.
Met a strange father and son today.
The father is Sunri, the child is Pardy.
They are not from this world.
The child is adorable, but a little frightening—
he can calm a Riftbeast,
and make a Mist?horned beast offer its milk willingly.
I saved them… or perhaps they saved me.
The father is searching for his wife, Lunelle.
After we met, they left in a beam of light.
I hope they find who they’re looking for.”
It was Qingyin’s diary.
Sunri turned the page.
The handwriting on the second page was steadier,
more mature:
“Five years later.
Returned home after completing my training.
The kingdom is in turmoil.
Rebels have surrounded the capital.
Father leads the defense;
I fight as a court mage.
We repelled the third assault today,
but the situation is worse than expected.
Some soldiers emit black fumes in battle,
their eyes red,
like beasts.
If that father and son were here…
perhaps there would be a way.
Pardy seems to possess a special power.”
The third page was messy—
written in exhaustion, or grief:
“Rain?Moon, Day 17.
The city has fallen.
Father covered my escape,
leading fifty royal guards to hold the rear.
I saw them—
fifty men standing against thousands.
Then the rebels’ victory roar shook the kingdom.
Father’s fate is unknown,
but I saw the guards fall one by one.
I know what that means.
If the time?traveling father and son were here…
could they have saved him?
There is no answer.
I must live.
I must protect the last royal bloodline.
Tonight… allow me to be weak.”
Water stains blurred parts of the page—
whether from the chamber’s rain
or Qingyin’s tears,
Sunri could not tell.
His throat tightened.
The girl who once saved him and Pardy
had lived through this.
Her father missing.
Her kingdom fallen.
He turned the page.
This one was divided into two sections.
The upper half was a portrait—
hand?drawn, not printed.
A woman in her mid?twenties,
wearing an ornate mage’s robe,
silver hairpin,
serpent?staff in hand.
The staff was more refined now,
its serpent eyes replaced with real emerald.
Her face was beautiful,
the scar from the Riftbeast gone.
The softness of youth had faded,
replaced by authority—
and a sorrow buried deep in her gaze.
Below it:
“Zhang Qingyin, age 24
Royal Archmage.”
And at the bottom, in small letters:
“Summon: Impossible.”
The word summon struck Sunri like a blow.
He looked at the lower half.
No portrait—only text:
“Zhang Lie, age 48
Commander of the Ironwall Legion.
On Rain?Moon, Day 17, Star?Track Era 145,
held the rear with fifty royal guards
to cover his daughter’s escape.
Declared dead by rebel forces.”
And again:
“Summon: Impossible.”
Sunri’s hands trembled.
This book recorded not only Qingyin’s life—
but the fates of those connected to her.
What did impossible to summon mean?
He turned more pages—
but the rest were blank.
No matter how long he waited,
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
no new words appeared.
He closed the book
and drew a long breath.
Starlight poured through the roofless chamber,
casting a long shadow at his feet.
Pardy had finished his mist?milk
and was asleep on the bed,
still clutching the leaf.
The child slept deeply,
unaware of his father’s turmoil.
Sunri tucked the blanket around him
and sat beside the bed.
His thoughts churned.
What was this chamber?
Why did it respond to his thoughts?
Why did it hold a book that recorded others’ destinies?
What did “summon” mean?
And most importantly—
how was he supposed to leave?
He looked up at the spiral stars.
They glimmered quietly,
as if whispering ancient secrets.
He remembered Lunelle’s words:
“Follow the light.”
Light…
He looked at the sun?mark on his palm.
It had remained warm since he entered—
neither burning nor guiding.
Perhaps it needed a trigger.
Sunri closed his eyes
and tried to reach out to the mark—
though he had no idea how.
He simply thought of Lunelle.
Of leaving this place.
Of continuing the search.
The mark warmed.
Slowly.
Gently.
Like a hearth waking at dawn.
The chamber shifted.
Not the way it created beds or food—
but the entire space expanded.
The walls receded.
The twenty?pace chamber became thirty.
Still roofless,
but larger.
The geometric patterns on the floor lit up,
glowing gold like awakened circuitry.
The light flowed along the lines,
gathering at the central pedestal—
at the book.
The book opened by itself.
Not to the pages Sunri had read,
but to a blank one further in.
New text surfaced—
not handwriting,
but elegant printed script:
“Between stars,
within the seams of time.”
“This is the place of transit.
Causality has been sealed.”
The words flickered three times.
Then more appeared:
“You have passed the first trial.”
“At dawn, the light will open again.”
Sunri stared upward.
Dawn?
Did this place even have dawn?
The sky above remained unchanged,
yet his body told him half a day had passed.
So this chamber was a transfer point.
The book recorded the fates of those
whose lives had brushed against his.
“Summon impossible…
because their causality is already sealed?”
The thought pierced him like ice.
Did it mean Qingyin’s tragedy
could never be undone?
Then what about Lunelle?
If her name ever appeared in this book…
Sunri shook his head sharply,
banishing the thought.
No.
Lunelle was alive.
Scattered, yes—
but alive.
He would gather her pieces.
One by one.
He looked at the sleeping Pardy,
and resolve surged through him.
Whatever lay ahead,
he would walk it.
For Lunelle.
And for Pardy—
so the child could have a whole family again.
The stars turned slowly overhead,
their light soft and cold.
The chamber was silent
save for Pardy’s steady breathing.
Sunri lay beside him,
pulling the child into his arms.
Warm.
Soft.
Smelling faintly of milk.
“Papa will protect you,” he whispered.
“And Papa will find Mama.”
Pardy stirred,
fingers curling into his father’s robe.
Sunri closed his eyes,
letting exhaustion take him.
The bed was comfortable—
identical to the one at home.
He knew it was an illusion,
a construct of memory,
but right now,
he needed that illusion.
Above them,
the stars turned without sound,
marking the time of countless worlds.
And somewhere beyond perception,
Lunelle opened her eyes.
She felt them—
father and son—
in the same slice of time.
“Good,” she whispered.
“Keep going, my light.”
Then she closed her eyes again,
continuing her struggle
against the endless dark.
The next “day,”
the sky was still night—
but Sunri’s body told him
it was already midday.
The sun?mark blazed.
A new world awaited.
Small Theatre · Midnight Mystery Snack
In the middle of the night,
Sunri woke to a faint rustling.
He opened his eyes
and saw Pardy toddling toward the pedestal—
quiet, as if afraid to wake someone.
Before Sunri could rise,
the ancient book flipped open on its own.
A dim gold seeped from between the pages,
gathering on the stone platform
and condensing into a strange object.
A cup—
rolled from thin bark.
Inside it, a white, jelly?like substance
gleamed with a frosty sheen,
like some kind of chilled dessert.
Sunri frowned.
He had no idea what it was.
Pardy, however,
was already scooping it up
and eating in tiny, delighted bites—
as if savoring an upgraded version of mist?milk.
Sunri watched him,
Adam’s apple bobbing,
a traitorous bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth.
He coughed softly,
trying to maintain paternal dignity.
Pardy looked up,
blinked,
and pushed the cup toward him—
as if saying:
Papa want some?
Sunri was silent for three seconds.
Then, very calmly,
he accepted the cup.
(The chamber’s golden light flickered faintly—
as if laughing.)
