Mom's clinic is my second home. I'm not just watching anymore—I'm part of the action. Now that I'm five, my little hands are nimble enough to grind herbs in the mortar without scattering them all over (most of the time). I can even clean wounds with a gentleness that surprises the patients. Today, under Mom's watchful eye, I'm treating a clean cut on a lumberjack's arm.
"Just a bit of Light, Lexo, to seal the edges," Mom murmurs. I concentrate, recalling her lessons, and channel a small amount of MP. A pale, barely visible light emanates from my fingertips. Almost instantly, the bleeding stops, and the wound's edges lose their redness. The lumberjack—a burly man—stares at me with wide eyes.
"Incredible, Lady Elara… the little one has the gift," he murmurs.
Mom just smiles, wrapping me in her warm, motherly hug, sensing my nervousness from all the praise.
Just as the lumberjack leaves, dropping off a sack of particularly large potatoes as payment ("Best harvest in years, thanks to your blessing, Lady!"), a figure enters that immediately catches my attention. It's a woman, though it's impossible to pin down her age. Her face is deeply lined like the bark of an ancient tree, yet her eyes shine a bright, piercing blue—full of mischief and youth. She wears layers of muted fabrics (wool, leather, frayed silk) adorned with strange jewelry crafted from polished wood, carved bones, and raw stones. Her scent is a heady mix of distant spices, damp earth, and fresh soil. She doesn't fit in here at all.
She limps toward us, leaning on a gnarled dark-wood cane. Ignoring Mom for a moment, she fixes her gaze on me. I feel a slight, painless tug—as if something dark was reading my soul.
"A clean cut," she rasps, her voice sounding like withered leaves rustling in an autumn grove. "But that energy you used, child… interesting. Very… controlled for someone so young." She coughs dryly, then retrieves a cloth from her cloak to wipe her mouth.
Mom, ever perceptive, steps in gently. "Welcome, traveler. Do you need help?"
The old woman shifts her gaze to Mom. "Perhaps… an old pain in my leg. Nothing the famous Light of the Great Mage Elara can't soothe, they say."
While Mom examines her leg, I remember the monetary system Kael once explained to me—complete with practical examples of how much a rotten apple shouldn't cost. Here, Copper is the base (1 Copper buys a small loaf of bread), then Silver (1 Silver = 100 Copper) lets you live modestly for a couple of weeks in town, and Gold (1 Gold = 1000 Copper, or 10 Silver) is common in cities or for major purchases. Finally, there's Diamond (1 Diamond = 100,000 Copper, or 100 Gold), a near-mythical coin used for massive transactions between kingdoms or by large organizations like the Adventurers' Guild, which standardizes currency in the Seven Kingdoms. Dad, as Captain, earns about 4 Silver a month—a good salary here when you can rent a simple room for 20 or 30 Copper a night. Mom, however, rarely sees coins; she accepts what people can offer in food, tools, or sometimes even gear from grateful adventurers. It's a system built on trust and mutual need.
Mom finishes healing the old woman, whose limp visibly lessens. Satisfied, the woman nods. "Ah… much better. Fame doesn't lie." She rummages in one of her many bags. Mom shakes her head. "It isn't necessary, madam. Please, go help someone else if you can." Her gaze is humble but resolute.
The old woman smiles, revealing surprisingly white teeth. "Help is paid with help. I don't have many coins…" She produces a small leather pouch that jingles softly. "…but I have other things." Fixing her bright blue eyes on me once more, she says, "You, little healer with nimble hands—come here, you've earned a payment."
Before I can react, she takes my arm. Her fingers are surprisingly strong and cold. She closes her eyes for a moment. "I see… a buried gleam. Something forgotten near the 'Whispering Edge.' A small treasure waiting to be claimed." Opening her eyes, her gaze becomes intense yet distant. "But the wait won't be long. You must go soon, child—before others find it, or it's lost forever." Releasing me, she adds, "That is my payment. Use it wisely." Without another word, she turns and vanishes from the clinic as quickly as she appeared.
A treasure? The Whispering Edge? I know that place—a famous cliff on the edge of the nearby forest, named for the way the wind whispers through its rocks. And "soon"? The urgency in her words, her prophetic tone, sends a thrill of adventure through me.
I wait until Mom is distracted with another patient. I know the routine well—I've practiced this drill countless times. I slip out the back door and activate everything Kael and Lyra taught me: light, silent steps that barely disturb the dust, controlled breathing, fluid movements that blend with the shadows of the buildings. I mask my small mana aura as Dad showed me, creating an internal "fog" that blurs it. I reach the edge of town and follow the forest path, feeling like a true ninja.
"Lexo! Where are you off to?" a voice calls.
Blast! I spin around and see Lila running toward me, her pigtails flying and her face alight with curiosity. How did she know? I suppose friendship has its own way of detecting adventure.
"Lila, you can't come. It's… important," I try to sound firm.
"Important? Lexo, if you're going, I'm going!" she insists, crossing her arms stubbornly—almost as stubborn as Borin.
I sigh. Arguing will only attract unwanted attention, and the old woman said "soon." "Alright, alright. But you have to follow exactly as I say—no questions, no noise. Understand?"
She nods vigorously, a triumphant smile on her face.
"And… don't wander off," I add, feeling a surge of responsibility. I hold out my hand.
After a brief hesitation, she takes it. Her small fingers are warm, and I notice her cheeks flush as she squeezes my hand tightly. Together, we set off toward the Whispering Edge. I lead, and she follows in near silence—broken only by occasional, excited gasps at a pretty flower or a particularly bold squirrel.
The path grows rougher as we venture deeper. The forest becomes less traveled; sunlight filters through a denser canopy, creating dancing patterns on the mossy floor. We cross crystal-clear streams, hopping from stone to stone (I have to help Lila a few times as her balance isn't as sure-footed as mine). We pass through a clearing bursting with vibrant wildflowers—a peaceful, idyllic spot. The air is rich with the scents of damp earth, pine, and lingering floral notes. Our little legs ache from the long journey, and as the sun begins to dip, we finally hear the distinctive whistling of the wind that gives our destination its name.
We emerge into a grassy clearing that ends abruptly at the Whispering Edge: a rocky cliff plunging steeply into a wooded valley far below. The view is breathtaking, and the wind tugs at our clothes.
"Wow!" Lila exclaims, releasing my hand as she races toward the edge.
"Lila, be careful!" I shout—but it's too late.
Just as she reaches the brink, a massive, silent shadow sweeps over us. It's a gigantic bird—its wingspan rivaling a grown tree's canopy, with plumage as dark as night and bright red eyes. A Shadow Bird—fabled as a silent and dangerous predator.
Startled, Lila trips over a hidden root. She falls backward with a stifled yelp. In that vulnerable moment, the enormous bird descends like lightning. It swoops past me, its colossal talons closing around my friend.
Before I can react—and before I even consider using magic—the huge bird beats its mighty wings and soars upward, carrying Lila away. Her terrified cry is swallowed by the wind as they vanish over the cliff's edge into the deep valley.
I stand frozen, the wind howling around me, Lila's scream echoing in my ears. I have to act—fast.