TIME PERIOD: FIFTEEN YEARS PRIOR TO THE SHATTERING
The floor is cold.
Baby Sam knows this because his feet tell him.
One foot goes forward, then the other.
He wobbles.
The world tilts.
His hands reach out for something that isn't there yet.
He does not fall and that feels important.
The room smells like wood and something warm.
Light moves across the walls slowly, like it's tired.
Sam watches it instead of the ceiling because the ceiling never changes.
He takes another step, then another.
The floor creaks.
Maria turns, her face changes when she sees him standing on his own.
Not fast.
Not loud.
Like she's afraid the moment will break if she touches it too hard.
"Oh," she says softly.
Sam looks at her.
He thinks this is good.
He doesn't know why, but her voice means good and it causes him to smile.
His balance wobbles again.
He reaches for the table and grips the edge.
His fingers hurt a little.
He doesn't let go.
Maria crosses the room quickly now.
She kneels in front of him, hands hovering near his arms without grabbing him.
"You did it," she whispers.
She does not clap.
She does not shout.
She just looks at him like she's counting.
Sam lets go of the table.
The room feels bigger when nothing is holding him.
He takes one step, then another.
The floor feels farther away than it should.
Maria catches him before he falls.
She pulls him close—not tight, not scared.
Just enough that he knows where he is again.
Her heartbeat is fast.
Faster than it should be.
Sam presses his face against her shoulder.
The fabric smells like soap and something green…safe.
She laughs quietly, it shakes a little.
"You shouldn't be able to do that yet," she says.
Sam does not know what yet means.
He knows her voice is calm again, so the room is calm too.
She sets him down carefully and holds his hands while he stands.
Her fingers are warm.
Steady.
"You're growing too fast," she murmurs.
Sam doesn't know fast either.
He lets go of her hands on purpose.
This time, he falls.
It doesn't hurt much.
The surprise hurts more.
Maria gasps.
She scoops him up immediately, checking his head, his arms, his legs.
"I'm sorry," she says, even though Sam doesn't know why.
He pats her shoulder with his small hand.
It feels right to do that.
Her breath leaves her in a long, slow way.
"You're okay," she says now. Maybe to him. Maybe to herself.
She carries him toward the window.
Outside, the ocean moves in a way Sam hasn't learned yet.
Big.
Slow.
Endless.
Xavier stands near the edge of the clearing, sword resting against his shoulder.
He isn't training.
He's watching.
Sam and Xavier meet eyes.
Something heavy passes between them.
Sam doesn't understand it, but his chest feels tight anyway.
Maria doesn't notice.
She presses Sam's forehead gently and turns away from the window.
"You'll walk when you're ready," she says.
Sam looks back toward Xavier to see him nod once.
Sam looks away first.
That night, Sam lies in his crib and listens to the cottage settle.
The walls creak.
The wind moves.
Everything sounds like it's where it should be.
Sam stares into the dark.
He does not have words yet.
But he knows one thing.
Some things are better held than spoken.
Even before you know how to speak.
Morning sounds come before light.
Sam hears them with his eyes closed.
Water, metal, footsteps that stop when they think he's sleeping.
He opens his eyes anyway.
The ceiling is there.
Same as before.
That means everything is still where it should be.
He sits up slowly.
Standing is easier now.
He doesn't think about it.
His body remembers what to do before his head does.
He climbs out of his baby crib and walks to the doorway.
The floor is warmer today.
That's new.
Maria is in the kitchen, she's talking.
Not to him.
That makes Sam stop.
Her voice is low, careful.
It sounds like she's holding something breakable.
"…too soon," she says.
There's another voice.
Xavier's.
Quiet.
Steady.
"He didn't fall hard," Xavier replies.
"That's not what I meant."
Sam doesn't know what meant means, but he knows her voice is tight.
That means something is wrong.
He takes one step forward.
The floor creaks and the voices stop.
Maria turns first.
Her face changes again—not fear, not surprise.
Something softer.
Something practiced.
"Good morning," she says.
Sam takes another step, then another.
He stops just before the kitchen line on the floor.
He likes that line.
It doesn't move.
Maria kneels.
She opens her arms.
Sam walks into them.
She hugs him gently, like she's afraid squeezing too hard will undo something.
Her hands press against his back, then loosen.
"You're up early," she says.
Sam doesn't answer.
He doesn't know how yet.
Xavier watches from the doorway.
Sam feels it again—that heavy thing.
The same one from the window before.
It sits in his chest and makes him look down at his hands.
Maria notices.
"What is it?" she asks softly.
Sam opens his mouth.
A sound comes out.
Not a word.
Just air and shape.
"Mm."
Maria freezes.
Xavier straightens.
They don't say anything.
Not yet.
Sam frowns.
He tries again.
"Ma."
The sound feels strange.
It comes from inside him.
He doesn't know where it goes after that.
Maria's breath catches.
She doesn't smile, she nods.
"That's good," she says. "That's very good."
She doesn't correct him.
She doesn't tell him what it means.
She waits.
Sam feels tired suddenly.
Talking is harder than walking.
He presses his forehead against her shoulder instead.
She holds him.
Xavier turns away first.
Later, Maria sits Sam at the small table.
She gives him bread cut too big and fruit cut too small.
He eats what he can.
She watches him between movements.
Always between.
"Are you Almos or Sam?" she asks gently.
Sam looks at her.
He knows this question.
He doesn't know why.
He shakes his head.
It is not a lie.
It is also not everything.
Maria nods like that's the answer she wanted.
Xavier leaves before Sam finishes eating.
His steps are heavier going out than they were coming in.
Sam watches the door after it closes.
That night, Maria helps him into bed.
She hums while she does it.
The song doesn't have words.
Sam likes it that way.
She pauses at the doorway like she did before.
"You're safe," she says.
Sam doesn't know what safe means.
But he knows her voice means stay.
He closes his eyes.
In the dark, Sam listens to the cottage breathe.
He does not try to make more sounds. He already knows which ones to keep.
The next morning, Sam walks around the cottage as Maria smiles and follows him.
The sun filters through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow on the tiles.
Toys are scattered around, and the scent of fresh cookies wafts from the kitchen.
The living room is filled with laughter and the soft hum of a lullaby playing in the background.
"It's week two and what seemed like a dream turned out to be so much more."
"I learned early what not to talk about. Not because anyone told me. Because some things changed the way people looked at you once they knew. I now live this life and this is how things must be."
"The white haired girl is named Maria. Although we look nothing alike, she claims to be my eldest sister, not my mother. Xavier, the swordsman, is my uncle, but we also do not resemble one another. Perhaps, genes here differ from how genes work on Earth."
Sam pauses for a moment, captivated by a colorful stuffed animal in the corner of the room.
He giggles with delight as he picks it up, shaking it vigorously.
Maria giggles and joins him on the floor, clapping her hands to encourage his playful exploration.
"In the middle of the ocean, we live together in this huge house called The Cottage. How and why? I don't know yet but to find out, something tells me-"
Sam crawls to the cottage's large library door entrance.
The door is an imposing, intricately carved oak structure, adorned with brass handles shaped like mythical creatures.
It stands as a gateway to knowledge and adventure, beckoning Sam with its mysterious allure.
He pushes against the closed door with all his might, but it won't budge.
"This form is a nuisance."
In a babyish gesture, Sam tries to get Maria to open the door.
Maria looks down at Sam with a warm smile, recognizing his excitement and determination.
She gently lifts him up, saying, "Alright, little explorer, I'll let you peek inside."
With a graceful turn of the brass handle, she opens the door to reveal the vast expanse of the library.
Sam's eyes widen in awe as he takes in the towering shelves filled with books of all sizes and colors.
His tiny fingers reach out, eager to touch the countless tomes that promise endless stories and secrets.
A sense of wonder fills him as he realizes this room holds the key to many adventures yet to come.
Maria abruptly closes the door.
"What-What, no no-" Sam babbles.
His face crumples in confusion and disappointment.
His eyes, which had been sparkling with curiosity, now brim with unshed tears.
Sam looks up at Maria with a pleading expression, his tiny hands still outstretched towards the mesmerizing library.
"Not yet, little one," Maria coos softly, ruffling his hair. "You need to grow a bit more before you can truly explore this place. For now, let's stick to the toys in the living room."
Maria turns gracefully, cradling Sam in her arms as she walks away from the library.
Her steps are light and rhythmic, almost like a gentle dance, as she hums a soothing lullaby.
Sam, still captivated by the brief glimpse of the library, clings to her, his tiny head resting against her shoulder.
"Perhaps I'm moving too fast after all."
Sam's growth from a baby to a toddler progressed as time passed.
In quiet times, Maria would play peekaboo with Sam and while he was playing, he would look at her with lewd eyes.
Sam learned to walk with Xavier, Maria gave him baths, and occasionally he was forced to join Xavier.
At night, Maria would prepare the delicious dishes while Xavier and Sam set the table.
One of the special dishes Maria often made was her famous spaghetti carbonara.
This dish, rich with creamy sauce and crispy pancetta, was a family favorite and always brought smiles to everyone's faces.
Sam, in particular, would eagerly anticipate the nights when carbonara was on the menu.
In front of a mirror, Sam captivated by his reflection.
He gently tugged at a strand of his growing yellow hair, watching the way it shimmered in the light.
With wide-eyed fascination, he pulled down on his eyelid, leaning closer to examine his yellow-colored pupils, marveling at the vibrant hue that was uniquely his.
Sam's yellow-colored eyes glowed with an ethereal brilliance, reminiscent of molten gold or the soft gleam of a polished gemstone.
They seemed to capture and reflect the light around him, creating an almost divine aura that mesmerized anyone who looked into them.
The unique hue, both striking and enchanting, gave him an angelic presence that set him apart.
Sam, staring at his reflection, murmurs, "It's so strange to see myself like this."
Sam's yellow hair cascaded in soft, wavy locks, each strand catching the light and shimmering like threads of pure sunshine.
The texture was as smooth as silk, slipping effortlessly through his fingers whenever he reached up to touch it.
This divine quality of his hair, with its ethereal glow and heavenly softness, added to his angelic appearance, making him look almost like a celestial being descended to earth.
Sam runs his finger gently along a thin scar that traced a delicate line over his right eye.
The scar, pale against his sun-kissed skin, had been with him for as long as he could remember.
He often found himself pondering its origin.
"Time flew by before I knew it. It did not take me long to get used to this new lifestyle and body. With time, the relationship between Xavier and Maria has become clearer to me, and I have accepted their roles in my new life."
"For reasons they won't reveal, we spent most of our time at the cottage together. The absence of my parents remains a mystery, but Xavier and Maria have taken on the responsibility of caring for me and creating a loving environment."
"They have chosen to keep the reasons for my parents' absence undisclosed, ensuring that I grow up in a happy and stable home without unnecessary burdens and questions."
"As I grew older, I couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude, curiosity, and... sadness. I was touched by Xavier and Maria's love and care, even though they weren't my original family."
"Although, there are times when I felt that I was betraying them by living and being with Xavier and Maria. It is still hard for me to accept this second chance at life because it is so...beautiful."
"Regarding past family, I've also been curious about the mysteriousness behind my parents' absence. I want to understand why our lives revolve around the cottage."
"Yet, I couldn't deny the sense of security and belonging that enveloped me in their presence."
"Even though I wanted to deny it, I've grown scared of disrupting the delicate life we developed away from the outside world and my old life."
It's nighttime and inside Sam's room, he and Maria sit on his bed.
Although it is nighttime, a light source illuminates the room.
An elegant glass container holds a sparkling white lotus at the foot of the bed.
A sparkling light emanates from it, softening the darkness and brightening the two and the bed.
The room glistens as if it has been dusted with beautiful space dust.
"Every night, Maria read me a bedtime story of my choice before I went to bed. I am still figuring out this new world and its laws, but one book has been a constant source of information for me."
"It is called, The Book Of Von, and it contains historical texts and stories behind the creation of this world."
"During a time of nothingness, two sisters clashed. With the collision, a massive shockwave released bright cosmic energy that symbolizes the dark and light energies in the universe. Malevolent was the goddess of darkness. Roena, her sister, was the goddess of light. The two fought for seven days for a machine that housed both of their powers and so much more, The Dream Box,
The Dream Box was designed by God, the creator of everything, and it served as the instrument of creation. The purpose of this divine machine was to eventually replace God and maintain control over everything created by the all-knowing. As the sister gods were exhausted but determined to capture this power for themselves, they created champions to carry on the fight." Maria reads.
"This story, 'the song of night and day', reminds me of the big bang theory. The story revolves around two goddesses, who are nearly identical, and their battle for absolute power. Light and dark are forever at war because of this very battle, which changed the entire universe."
"The manifestation of Gaia, our planet, created a massive tree we call the world tree, and its creation caused reality to split into three coexisting planes that breed similar and completely different species. The plane we live on is known as God's paradise, sacred to life itself. Life began here before moving out into space. Gaia and God's paradise is our home, our source of sustenance, and our refuge. We must take care of it and respect its boundaries, or risk destroying it. We must protect it for future generations from the darkness,
In the Fray, beneath God's paradise, the living and the supernatural coexist. As a result of the fray, the living were able to interact with supernatural beings, gain access to ancient wisdom, and feel a greater connection to spirituality,
Under it all lies a plane called the Void. This is the place where abandoned creatures of God and those who turn against the light are banished. It is a place where everything and nothing exist at the same time. There is a veil so fragile and rigid that it creates a personal hell. The void represents all the evil that has ever existed, and belongs to the most evil of all beings…
Baleful witches, devotees of the Black Queen, Malevolent. These witches harness the chaotic energies of the Void to amplify their dark powers. They serve as enforcers of Malevolent's will, ensuring that the balance of darkness is maintained. Through their sinister rituals, they draw upon the void's essence, weaving spells that can corrupt and destroy.
In order to keep these planes secure, the demigods, Roena's children, created special keys. These keys allowed the living to traverse between planes, unlocking immense potential and knowledge. They were also essential in maintaining balance and order, preventing malevolent entities from crossing into the mortal realm. Possessing a key became a symbol of great responsibility and power among the living." Maria reads on.
Sam's eyes widen slightly, and he leans forward, eager to learn more.
Hearing about the baleful witches stirs something deep within him, a mix of intrigue and apprehension.
Sam murmurs, "The baleful witches…"
The book is suddenly closed by Maria.
Sam looks around, as if he has just awoken from a trance.
"W-Why did you do that?" Sam asks, his voice tinged with confusion. "I was just starting to understand the story."
In response, Maria replies, "Because bedtime is approaching."
Sam hurriedly crawls across his bed to a nearby window.
The outside is loud, not noise—movement.
The grass bends.
The air shifts.
Something far away keeps breathing over and over again.
"I want to see the outside world and explore its wonders… that would be awesome to do together as a family, don't you think?"
His eyes light up with excitement, and he can't help but imagine all the adventures they'd have.
"We could climb mountains, swim in lakes, and see places we've only read about in books!" He exclaims, his voice filled with boundless enthusiasm.
Maria closes her eyes.
Just for a second.
When she opens them again, she's smiling—but the smile is holding something back.
"It's not time yet," she says.
He frowns.
"Why?"
Maria exhales softly.
She reaches out and rests her hand on his shoulder.
Not pulling him back.
Just there.
"Because," she says, choosing each word, "the outside doesn't know how small you are."
Sam looks down at himself.
He looks back out again.
"Hmm," he says.
He considers this.
Then, quietly, "I walk."
Her hand tightens.
"I know," she says. "You walk very well."
He lifts his foot like he's proving it.
Maria laughs—just a breath of sound—but it breaks before it finishes.
She moves behind him, wrapping her arms around him as if preventing him from leaping out into the world from the window without closing it.
"Someday," she says. "You'll see everything you want to see."
Sam attempts to look back at her face but he can't see it.
He doesn't know what someday is either.
"But not today," she adds.
He stares at the light on the bed.
It keeps moving even though no one touches it.
After a long moment, he steps back.
The light stays where it is.
Maria holds him a little tighter than before.
"Thank you," she whispers, though Sam doesn't know what he did.
He rests his head back against her shoulder.
Outside keeps breathing.
Inside stays still.
After a moment of silence, Maria gives Sam a quick kiss on the cheek before getting up from the bed.
She holds the book between her arms with a practiced smile.
However, a moment of gloom flickers on her face before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.
"There are things about our past, about your past, that you don't know yet. Secrets your uncle and I have been keeping to protect you."
Sam's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions.
He feels a mix of fear and curiosity, the weight of Maria's words pressing down on him.
"What kind of secrets?" He asks, his voice trembling, as he steps closer to her, desperate for answers.
Upon noticing Sam analyzing her sudden gloomy mood, Maria shifts back to her practiced happy state.
She forces a smile, but her eyes betray the turmoil within.
"Some things are better left unsaid," she replies, gently placing a hand on Sam's head, "Sam, when the time is right, you will understand everything, so please forget all that I have said and do not mention it again."
Sam's face contorts with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides.
"There it is again, that look. Every time I bring up leaving the cottage or mention our parents, that gloomy look always shows on her face… I hate it because I can't help but feel like someone did her incredibly wrong. Why? Why would anyone hurt such a gentle soul."
Taking a deep breath, she clears her throat.
A whimsical expression appears on her face as she glances at Sam.
"Furthermore, we haven't yet tapped into your incredible powers, so we can't go out there just yet."
Suddenly, she pats on the bed, but Sam shakes his head.
"Time for rest, come now." She says playfully.
"I'm not tired, Sis, can we read some more?"
Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and she giggles with delight.
She tilts her head, her white curls bouncing as she leans closer to Sam with an inspective stare.
"I don't know, you look pretty tired to me."
As Sam stares at Maria, his face is etched with a comical conflicted expression.
Sam's eyebrows furrow as he squints his eyes, trying to decipher whether Maria is joking or serious.
His mouth twists into a half-smile, half-grimace, as he scratches the back of his head in confusion.
"Am I tired?"
"Wait, no I'm not…"
"She's doing that reverse psychology thing on me again, right?"
"Though, listening to the book again did kind of make me tired…"
"...she got me again."
"Is it magic?" Sam asks as he exits his thoughts.
Sam tiredly climbs into his sheets and Maria tucks in the covers.
She strokes his hair and he begins to drift in and out of sleep.
"It's not magic, it's love." She answers with a soft smile.
With a sleepy expression, Sam calls out to Maria right before he falls asleep.
A warm smile spreads across her face as she watches him drift off.
"Yes?" She says as she gently tucks the blanket around him, ensuring he's comfortable.
Half asleep, Sam says, "I love you."
In a state of stunned silence, Maria looks at Sam struggling for words.
She realizes the only thing she can say is, "I love you too, Sam, and sweet dreams, my little adventurer."
As Maria leaves, she closes the door behind her.
"I learned quickly that the cottage didn't like noise at night."
"During the day, it breathed freely—floorboards creaking, windows humming softly with the wind from the sea, the distant sound of Xavier training outside. At night, everything settled. As if the house itself was listening."
Sam laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint glow of dust caught in the lantern light.
"Maria had already checked on me twice. She always did. Careful footsteps. A pause in the doorway. The quiet reassurance that I was still here."
"Sleep," she'd said softly. "Tomorrow will come fast."
"Tomorrow always did but tonight felt heavier."
"I didn't know why. I just knew something was different."
Sam rolled onto his side and listened.
The cottage was quiet—too quiet.
Even the ocean felt far away, like it had taken a step back from the shore.
"I thought about asking Maria if I could explain why the library door was always closed. Why I've never seen her or Xavier ever enter it."
"I didn't."
"Some questions didn't want to be asked. You could feel it, like touching something hot before it burned you."
"Still, my eyes kept drifting toward the hallway."
The hallway lights were dim, glowing faintly against pale walls.
Sam moves slowly, barefoot, careful not to make the floor creak.
Every step felt like it echoed louder than it should have.
"I told myself I was just walking."
"Just looking."
"Just curious."
The library door stood at the end of the hall, tall and carved with patterns he never fully understood.
Leaves.
Circles.
Shapes that seemed to change when you stared at them too long.
Sam stops a few steps away.
The door wasn't locked.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
Maria always locked it.
Sam reaches out, then hesitates.
His hand hovers in the air, fingers tingling—not with fear, but with something worse.
Recognition, like the door already knew him.
He pulls his hand back.
His heart was beating faster now, loud enough that he worried the cottage might hear it.
Sam tells himself to turn around, to go back to bed.
To forget he ever came this far.
Instead, the door opened.
Not suddenly.
Not violently.
It opened the way something opens when it's been waiting.
The library didn't smell like dust, it smelled like rain.
Books lined the walls—thousands of them, stretching upward until the ceiling disappeared into shadow.
Soft lights floated between the shelves, not candles, not lamps.
Just light, suspended.
Sam stepped inside and the door closed behind me.
That was when he realized he wasn't alone.
Light floats in the air, not from lamps, but from the shelves themselves.
Thousands of spines stretch upward, disappearing into darkness.
Glass cases line the walls, each holding objects that feel wrong to look at for too long.
"You're late." The voice is calm. Dry. Female.
Sam freezes and turns slowly.
A black cat sits atop a long table, tail wrapped neatly around her paws.
Her fur absorbs the light instead of reflecting it.
Her eyes — amber, sharp — are fixed on him with unsettling focus.
"You weren't supposed to come here yet," she continues.
Sam swallows. "I didn't touch anything."
"I know."
That somehow makes it worse.
He takes a cautious step forward.
"You can talk."
"Yes."
He takes another step.
"You live here?"
"Yes."
He waits for more.
None comes.
"…What are you?"
The cat's tail flicks once.
"That," she says, "is an excellent question asked far too early."
She hops down from the table, landing without a sound. As she walks, books shift slightly — not to help her, but to avoid her.
"You should leave," she says. "Before you ruin something."
Sam clenches his fists.
"I just wanted to understand."
She stops. Slowly, she turns to face him again.
"Understand what?"
Sam hesitates. Then blurts it out.
"Why everyone looks at me like I'm going to break something."
The cat studies him, really studies him.
For the first time, her expression changes — not surprise, not anger.
Recognition.
"…You already feel it," she murmurs.
"Feel what?" Sam asks.
She walks closer now.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
"The weight," she says. "Of being awake when you shouldn't be."
Sam's chest tightens.
"I didn't mean to—"
"None of you ever do."
She sits in front of him, close enough that he can see faint scars beneath her fur — not from claws, but from time.
"Listen carefully," she says. "You are standing in a room that exists to remember what the world tries to forget."
Sam whispers, "Like what?"
Her eyes soften — just barely.
"Mistakes."
He opens his mouth to ask another question.
She raises a paw.
"If you ask me who you are," she says, "I won't answer."
Sam closes his mouth.
"If you ask me what you'll become," she continues, "I won't answer."
His hands tremble.
"But," she says quietly, "if you ask me why the gods are afraid of you…"
She lowers her paw.
"…then I will tell you only this."
She leans closer.
"They aren't afraid of your power."
Sam's breath catches.
"They're afraid," she finishes, "that you'll learn to live with it."
Silence floods the library.
Somewhere far above them, a book falls from a shelf and closes itself.
She turns away, as if preparing to leave.
"Wait."
The cat faces Sam.
He looks up at the shelves.
"There are names here."
"Yes."
"Bad ones."
Her tail flicks once.
"Most names are bad," she replies. "It's what people do with them that makes them dangerous."
Sam is quiet for a long moment.
Then, carefully, "The baleful witches."
She doesn't ask him to clarify.
The name settles into the room like dust.
The cat exhales slowly.
"So," she says. "You've found that shelf."
"No, my sister… she would read me the book of von and their name is always mentioned," Sam says quickly.
"That's worse," she mutters.
The cat hops down from the table and walks toward him.
The books lean away from her path as if remembering something they'd rather not.
"The Baleful Witches," She says, "Are what happens when devotion rots."
Sam tilts his head.
"Devotion to what?"
She stops in front of him.
"To a mother who stopped listening," she answers.
Sam's fingers curl into the floor.
"…Mizeria?" he asks.
The name is quiet, too quiet.
The cat closes her eyes.
"That name," she says slowly, "does not belong in your mouth yet."
Sam swallows.
"She's important."
"Yes."
"Alive?"
The cat opens her eyes.
"Sometimes," she says. "That's the problem."
Sam thinks.
"She makes them?"
"No," she replies. "She breaks them."
Sam's brow furrows.
"On purpose?"
She looks away.
"Intent doesn't matter once the damage is done."
He shifts closer without realizing it.
"Are they bad?"
The cat kneels so they're level.
"They believe they are right," she says. "Which is far more dangerous."
Sam nods slowly.
"They hurt people?"
"Yes."
"Do they know?"
She hesitates.
"…Yes."
Sam looks down.
After a moment, "Do they hurt her?"
She doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is quieter.
"They believe they are protecting her," she says. "That is often the cruelest harm."
Sam presses his palms flat to the floor.
"Can she stop them?"
She watches him carefully.
"Can you stop a song once it's been sung?" she asks.
He doesn't answer.
"I thought not," she says gently.
Sam is silent for a long time.
Then, "If I learn more… Will it help?"
Her ears flatten slightly.
"No," she says honestly.
"…Will it hurt?" he asks.
"Yes."
Sam nods.
"I still want to know."
The cat stares at him.
At the way he asks without pleading, without excitement, and without hunger.
Only responsibility.
"You are far too young," she says.
"I know," Sam replies.
"That doesn't stop you," she mutters.
She stands and turns away.
"The Baleful Witches are bound to Mizeria," the cat says over her shoulder. "Not by blood. Not by magic."
"Then how?"
"By belief."
Sam frowns.
"Belief can break people?"
She pauses.
"…It can end worlds."
The library shifts.
Somewhere deep within it, something settles back into sleep.
She turns to face him one last time.
"You do not go looking for them," she says. "You do not speak their name outside this room. And you do not ask Maria about them."
Sam nods immediately.
"Good," she adds. "Because she would lie to you."
Sam blinks.
"Would she?"
"Yes," the cat says. "Because she loves you."
Sam accepts this without question.
"You may come back," she says. "If you accept one condition."
Sam's voice is barely there.
"What condition?"
She pauses at the edge of a light.
"Every answer you earn," she says, "will cost you something you can't get back."
The door opens behind him.
Sam doesn't remember walking out.
But long after the library seals itself again, the cat remains where she is — staring at the place he stood.
She speaks again—so quietly he almost misses it.
"Mizeria is not waiting to be saved…" She says.
"She is waiting to be understood," She finishes. "And that is far more dangerous."
The door closes behind Sam, yet, the cat remains inside.
"…Poor girl," she whispers to no one.
And then, after a pause—
"…Poor boy."
In the kitchen, Maria is rinsing a porcelain cup—one of the good ones she rarely uses—when the water slips from warm to cold without warning.
She frowns, turns the handle back, waits.
Nothing changes.
A faint chill settles across her shoulders.
Not danger.
Not pain.
Displacement.
Maria stills.
The cup trembles in her hands.
She closes her eyes and breathes in.
The cottage is quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the ocean outside has gone distant, muffled, like it's being held at arm's length.
Her heart starts to race.
"No," she whispers. "No, no, no…"
She sets the cup down carefully, as if sudden movement might make things worse.
The white lotus at the windowsill droops slightly, its petals curling inward.
That's wrong.
Maria wipes her hands on her apron and steps into the hallway.
Each step feels heavier than the last, like she's walking against a current only she can feel.
She stops halfway down the corridor.
The library door is still closed.
Intact.
Silent.
Relief flickers through her—brief and fragile.
Then she feels it again.
Not the door, the lock.
Something has shifted, not broken, not forced…acknowledged.
Maria presses her palm flat against the wall.
Her breath comes shallow now.
"It's too early," she murmurs, more plea than statement. "He's not ready."
The cottage doesn't answer, it never does.
A memory stirs—unwanted.
The sound of pages turning without hands.
The smell of old ink and rain.
A voice she hasn't heard in years, dry and distant:
Once a door learns your name, it never forgets it.
Maria swallows.
She straightens, schooling her expression before Sam can see her panic.
Before anyone can.
By the time she reaches his room, he's already lying in bed.
Too still, too awake.
She leans against the doorframe, studying him in the dim light.
His eyes flick toward her, then away—quick, practiced.
A lie.
Not a dangerous one.
Not yet.
"You should be asleep," she says gently.
"I know," Sam replies. "I was trying."
She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blankets the way she's done a thousand times before.
Her fingers hover for half a second before brushing his hair back.
Still warm.
Still here.
"Did you leave your room?" she asks, casual. Careful.
Sam hesitates, just long enough.
"No," he says.
Maria smiles.
She hates how easy it is to pretend she believes him.
"Good," she says softly. "Some places in this house aren't meant to be visited alone."
Sam nods.
She leans down and kisses his forehead.
The contact sends a sharp pang through her chest—not fear, not grief.
Grief's shadow.
As she pulls away, she notices something new.
Sam isn't trembling, he isn't curious, he's… quiet.
Heavy in a way she recognizes too well.
Maria stands.
At the door, she pauses, her back to him.
"If you ever feel like something in this house is watching you," she says, keeping her voice light, "you come to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Sam answers immediately.
Too immediately.
Maria closes the door behind her.
Only when she's alone does she let her hand press against her ribs, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.
"Errya," she whispers into the empty hallway.
The name tastes like regret.
Somewhere deep in the cottage, something ancient shifts—and settles.
And Maria knows, with a certainty that makes her knees weak: Whatever Sam touched tonight… touched him back.
In another room, filled with dull and rusted blades, Xavier is found by Maria sharpening his blade.
The sound is steady.
Repetitive.
Grounding.
She stands in the doorway for a moment too long before he notices.
"You're awake late," he says without looking up.
Maria folds her arms around herself.
"So are you."
A pause.
Then Xavier sets the sword down carefully, like he's giving it permission to rest.
"What's wrong?"
She almost laughs, almost.
Instead, she steps inside and closes the door behind her.
The cottage feels different at night—smaller.
As if the walls are listening more closely.
"I think…" Maria starts.
Her voice catches.
She clears her throat.
"I think something's changed."
Xavier looks up now.
Not alarmed.
Not tense.
Just attentive.
"Sam?" he asks.
Maria nods.
"I felt it," she says. "Earlier. Like a pressure shift. Like something recognized him."
Xavier's jaw tightens.
He doesn't interrupt.
"I checked the doors," she continues quickly. "Everything was sealed. Nothing broken. The library is still closed—"
She stops herself.
Xavier's eyes narrow slightly.
"…The library," he repeats.
Maria exhales sharply.
Her hands tremble now, and she doesn't bother hiding it.
"I didn't see him go in," she says. "I don't even know how he could have. But I know when something in this house moves without permission."
Silence stretches.
Xavier finally speaks.
"What did you feel?"
Maria opens her mouth, closes it, then—quietly—
"Guilt."
That gets his attention.
"Maria," he says carefully, "that doesn't answer my question."
She looks at him now, really looks.
At the scars.
At the restraint.
At the man who chose to protect something even if it killed him.
"The longer we keep him here," she says, voice barely above a whisper, "I think we're delaying something terrible."
Xavier doesn't respond.
"If we let him go," she adds, "We'll think we're causing it."
Her breath shudders.
"I don't know which choice is worse anymore."
Xavier stands.
He crosses the room, stopping a careful distance away—not touching her, not crowding her.
"You're saying this like it's already decided," he says.
Maria laughs this time, it breaks.
"I'm saying," she replies, "that I don't think this was ever about choice."
She presses her palm to her chest, as if holding something in.
"There's something inside him," she says. "Something old. Not awake, but—watching."
Xavier's hand tightens at his side.
"And," Maria continues, words spilling now, "I think it knows I'm lying to him."
A beat.
"And I think," she adds, "it's patient."
Xavier takes a slow breath.
"Maria," he says, "tell me exactly what you're afraid of."
She opens her mouth and then closes it.
She sees something only she can—endless possibilities- where it leads, what Xavier would do with the truth, what it would cost him to know.
She closes her eyes.
"I'm afraid," she says instead, "that I love him more than I'm allowed to."
That's the line she can say.
Xavier watches her for a long moment, then he nods once.
"That," he says quietly, "is not a sin."
Maria exhales—shaky, relieved, devastated all at once.
"But," Xavier adds, "it is dangerous."
She looks away.
"I know."
They stand there in the low light, two guardians circling a future they refuse to name.
Finally, Xavier breaks the silence.
"If he crossed a threshold tonight," he says, "we don't punish him for it."
Maria nods immediately.
"Never."
"We prepare," he continues. "Quietly. Slowly."
She swallows.
"And if I'm wrong?"
Xavier meets her eyes.
"Then we trained a boy who didn't need it," he says.
A pause.
"And if you're right?"
Xavier turns back toward his blade, then stops.
"…Then we make sure he never believes this was his fault."
Maria's eyes burn.
She nods once.
That is all she can promise.
She leaves the room without another word.
Xavier waits until he's alone.
Only then does he rest his hand on the hilt of his sword—not in readiness—but in mourning.
To Be Continued.