Thursday blurred into a whirlwind of activities for the siblings, Sparrow Night and Canary. The day was a meticulously crafted symphony of obligations and passions, each note played with unwavering precision.
Sparrow, shoulders squared against the academic grind of university, tackled lectures and assignments with a focused intensity. Canary, balancing the youthful exuberance of high school with the demands of her burgeoning musical talent, navigated classrooms with a similar, if more lighthearted, determination.
Their physical training afterward was a cornerstone of their routine, deeply ingrained since childhood. For Sparrow, the martial arts dojo he was attending, the "Martial Dawn" was a sanctuary. The rhythmic clash of limbs, the focused breathing, the mental discipline required to master each strike and block, provided a grounding counterpoint to the intellectual pursuits of the day.
His enhanced strength from mystery power turned him way stronger than anyone in the dojo. Yet, he still sparred against them with unwavering focus. Each movement was honed not just from years of dedication, but also from life and death experience he recently faced.
He wasn't simply fighting to defeat the sparring opponents. He was controlling his power, sculpting his body into a fully controllable weapon, a vessel for his conscious mind. He staunchly believed that power he could not control was even worse than power he did not have.
Canary, on the other hand, found her physical expression in the graceful arcs and dynamic poses of gymnastics in her school's gym. The training was rigorous, demanding strength, flexibility, and unwavering control. With her recent upgrade, this was much easier for her though.
She could move with unbelievable fluid grace, with significantly improved speed and flexibility. Yet, she restrained showing off her full capability. Similar to her brother, she preferred to train her movement control.
With her current capability, school gymnastic training seemed to be unable to tap her full physical potential. However, without important enough reasons, she would never skip her gymnastic practice.
For her, the feeling of weightlessness as she executed a perfectly timed flip, the controlled landing, brought a sense of pure joy that balanced the intellectual demands of her schoolwork.
As daylight surrendered to twilight, the siblings focus shifted to their artistic endeavors. Sparrow had long trained himself to pour his thoughts, observations, and emotions into writing, weaving intricate tapestries of words... for at least three hours every evening. That was one of the core reasons he could be one of the most productive novel writers despite his young age.
Canary, unwilling to be left behind by her brother, also decisively assigned at least three hours of her evening for her artistic craft. She, blessed with an innate musicality, found her creative outlet in composing. Music was her language, a way to express emotions that words, especially in her case - written ones, could not capture.
By the time the city lights began to twinkle, Sparrow and Canary submerged themselves in their respective side jobs, squeezing every last drop of productivity from the day. For Sparrow, it was writing lyrics for Canary's new song. For Canary, it was turning the audio sample of her new song into written music score.
The culmination of their demanding day was, paradoxically, a dive into the fantastic realm of mystical existence. As the world around them slept, Sparrow and Canary entered their respective soulworlds, realms of outlandish existence and boundless potential.
This was where the real magic happened, where they honed their abilities and prepared for the challenges that awaited them in the hidden surreal danger of the real world.
Their time for physical rest was meager, a mere one or two hours snatched from the jaws of exhaustion. Yet, the time spent in their soulworlds seemed to replenish them more efficiently than any amount of normal sleep.
The mental clarity and enhanced abilities gained in these ethereal realms more than compensated for the lack of conventional rest.
That Thursday night, within the bizarre junkyard landscape of his Eldritch Mechworld, Sparrow achieved a significant breakthrough.
Surrounded by towering, broken pile of mechanical constructs and unidentified objects, he focused his concentration, channeling his inner energy into welding the last connection of tiny wires within his constructed device.
He envisioned a device capable of isolating the magnetic wave of surreal entities from those of the natural world, a tool to detect the presence of the surreal and the unnatural. And now, after days of painstaking work, he finally succeeded in creating a soultool card: the Surreal Phenomenon Radar.
The card hummed with latent energy, a miniature marvel of metaphysical engineering. He envisioned its function: a subtle pulse, a ripple in the energy field, capable of detecting any surreal creature within a thirty-meter radius.
Sparrow used his {Eye of Wisdom} to appraise it. Immediately, he gave a slight smile of relief... it worked as intended. The device would help them a lot in many possible situations
Meanwhile, in the vibrant tapestry of Canary's Arcane Spriteworld, a different kind of breakthrough was unfolding. The realm was a kaleidoscope of colors, a shimmering landscape populated by playful sprites and fantastical yet peaceful creatures.
Canary, surrounded by the swirling energy of her creation, celebrated the end of the cooldown on her soulsprite card. The forced fusion during the realmgate incident against the draconic vampire had left her unable to summon her loyal companions, Holy and Echo for a long time. But now, they were finally back.
She summoned Holy, the light cleaner sprite, a tiny being of pure light that fluttered around her, dispelling shadows and illuminating the surroundings with a warm, comforting glow. Then came Echo, the sound changer sprite, who danced and twirled, altering the ambient sounds into a soothing symphony of nature sounds.
But the true highlight of the night was her newfound friendship with Ink, the shadow stalker sprite. Ink, a creature of stealth and deception, had initially been wary of Canary. He was an elusive figure, flitting through the shadows, observing from a distance.
However, Canary's persistent attempt to communicate with him and her genuine curiosity had slowly eroded his defenses. She spent hours conversing with him, earning his trust and proving her good intentions. And now, finally, he agreed to become her card-sprite.
Ink, in his sprite form, resembled a wisp of shadow, darting through the air with unmatched agility. He possessed the unique ability to create a shadow smoke bomb, a cloud of darkness capable of obscuring vision and providing a quick escape.
Canary knew Ink would be an invaluable asset in the challenges to come, a silent scout watching from the shadows.
---ooo---ooo---ooo---
The piercing shriek of the alarm clock sliced through the pre-dawn stillness. 6:00 AM. Sparrow Night flinched, his hand blindly swatting at the offending device until it finally succumbed to his groggy attack.
"Ugh," he mumbled. The digital numbers glared at him, a stark reminder of the day stretching ahead. He wasn't due at the university until 9, but today was the weekly morning training with his martial art club. He groaned, burying his head deeper into his pillow.
Just as he was about to drift back towards sleep, his mist-link buzzed insistently on his nightstand. He fumbled for it, his eyes still half-closed, and answered without checking the caller ID.
"Hello?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Row! It's Autumn." Her voice, usually a warm, comforting melody, was tinged with an unusual urgency. Sparrow instantly snapped awake. Autumn Elheart only called this early when something important was happening.
"Li'l Aunt? What is it? Is everything alright?" He sat upright in bed, his heart rate quickening.
"Calm down, Row. Everything's fine. More than fine, actually. You told me to contact you right away when there is an update about that Evil Hermit case. Well, the Wild Hunters… they succeeded. They eliminated the Evil Hermit."
Sparrow felt a wave of relief wash over him. The Evil Hermit, the twisted, surreal creature that had been preying on those who ventured into the Lushwood Forest. Its presence had cast a long shadow over Canary as her supernatural premonition warned her that Zeen, her close friend were in mortal danger because of it.
"Seriously? They really did it?" he asked, almost afraid to believe it.
"Yes. It's confirmed. You and Ree don't need to worry about Zeen anymore, at least not about that… thing. The Wild Hunters are incredibly capable, you know. Professionals through and through." Autumn sounded genuinely relieved herself.
"They do seem like real pro," Sparrow agreed.
"Alright, I just wanted to let you know before you went off to your practice. You have a team practice for your martial art club, don't you? Tell Canary the good news before you leave."
"Okay, Li'l Aunt. Thanks." A genuine smile spread across the one-eyed youth's face. After hanging up, he jumped out of bed, the sleepiness completely banished. He couldn't wait to tell Canary.
Canary, however, didn't share his immediate elation. When he told her the news over breakfast, her brow furrowed, and she pushed her half-eaten toast around her plate.
"I don't know, Birdbro," she said, her voice hesitant. "The premonition seems to still be there. I still feel Zeen will be in danger."
Sparrow frowned. The premonition did not disappear.
Canary looked at her brother with some apprehension. "I still think we should keep an eye on Zeen, just in case. What do you think, Birdbro?"
"Okay," Sparrow conceded. "We can still track her when she goes camping tomorrow. Just to be sure. We'll stay in shadow and only act when there is real danger."
Canary nodded, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Thank you, Birdbro. I'd feel much better if we did that."
...
That night, as the small town outside their cozy house window drifted into sleepy silence, Sparrow and Canary were again in their Secret Library, along with their aunts, Raven Hood and Autumn Elheart.
The Secret Library was again unfolded as a permanent dreamscape woven from the very fabric of imagination. Shelves, seemingly stretching to infinity, lined the walls, packed so tightly they created labyrinthine corridors and hidden alcoves. Yet, paradoxically, these shelves were almost entirely empty, yearning to be filled with the narratives yet to be dreamt, the knowledge yet to be discovered.
In the heart of this silent, echoing space, a stark contrast presented itself. A massive, polished conference table, long enough to seat thirty dreamers, dominated the central area. Around it, plush, extravagantly comfortable chairs invited weary minds to rest and collaborate, offering a haven of warmth and potential amidst the austere emptiness.
On four of those comfy chairs, hazy figures of four humans were sitting and conversing... Sparrow, Canary, Autumn, and Raven.
"You've told Canary of the news, haven't you Row?" Autumn asked.
"Yes, Li'l Aunt. But Canary still has some… concerns," Sparrow admitted.
"Concerns? About the Evil Hermit's demise?" Autumn's brow furrowed slightly.
"Well yes," Canary replied. "My premonition didn't go away. Did the Wild Hunters really finish Evil Hermit?"
"Well, the Wild Hunters were quite thorough. They brought back evidence," Autumn said, a hint of defensive pride in her voice. "But I understand your apprehension. Let me tell you a bit more about what we know."
She launched into a detailed account of the Wild Hunters' encounter with the Evil Hermit, embellished with the flair of a seasoned storyteller. She described how the team of professional mystery agents had tracked the creature through the dense undergrowth of the Lushwood Forest.
They had finally ambushed it near a secluded ravine, just as it was about to attack a pair of unsuspecting forest rangers.
"It was a fierce battle, I'm told," Autumn continued, her voice hushed with dramatic emphasis. "The Evil Hermit was a formidable opponent, its strength augmented by some unnatural power. But the Wild Hunters are the best, as I said. They used a combination of a mystery-artifact weapon and potent combination of their mystery skills to finally slay it."
She then transitioned to the origin story of the Evil Hermit, a tale she had recently acquired. "I heard from the sage types in MIST Union," she began, leaning forward conspiratorially, "that the Evil Hermit was once just an ordinary man. A simple soul, searching for his lost family."
"Sage types?" Sparrow asked. "The ones whose mystery class is the... eighth of clubs."
"Wow! You seem to really study mystery classes, Row. After that mission in Little Canvas?" Autumn exclaimed.
Sparrow grinned. "Can't be a rookie forever, can I?"
"Well, you are right about that," Raven chimed in. "The card symbol of the sage types was the eight of clubs. Their skills are mostly related to knowledge gathering. Finding the backstory of surreal creatures is definitely not that hard for them."
"I must study these mystery classes more later," Canary grumbled, unwilling to lose to her brother.
Autumn went back and recounted the story of the old man, driven into the wilderness by the disappearance of his wife and son. The son, she explained, had been born with a disfigurement – an ugly face and a pronounced hunchback – that had made him the target of relentless bullying.
He had chosen to exile himself to the forest, away from the cruel stares of the village. His mother would secretly bring him supplies but then one day she disappeared along with him.
Distraught and desperate, the father had ventured into the Lushwood Forest, hoping to find them.
"He was injured, lost, and on the verge of death," Autumn said, her voice laced with sorrow.
"That's when a malevolent surreal entity found him and saw an opportunity." She continued. "It possessed his dying body, twisting his grief and despair into a monstrous hunger for revenge. It transformed him into the Evil Hermit, a creature consumed by hatred and driven to harm any human who dared to trespass in its domain."
As Autumn concluded her tale, a heavy silence settled over the group. Raven, who had been listening intently, shifted in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her hazy face.
"Something about that story seems… off," she said slowly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but something doesn't sit right."
Sparrow and Canary exchanged glances. They had both felt a similar unease during Autumn's narration. The story was compelling, even tragic, but something felt… contrived, like a carefully constructed façade masking a deeper, darker truth.
"I feel it too, Li'l Aunt," Sparrow said. "But I can't pinpoint what it is."
"Perhaps it's the embellishments," Autumn suggested, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. "I may have exaggerated a bit to make the story more… engaging."
"No. It's not that, Autumn," Raven insisted. "I don't think the story is wrong. But, there is… a dissonance. A subtle discord that jars against the established lore. But, what is it?"
The discussion continued late into the night, but they couldn't quite articulate their suspicions. The details of the Evil Hermit's demise and origins felt too neat, too packaged. Were they really missing something crucial?