Stories often begin with "a long time ago," but this one begins after my homeland has already fallen.
Muji walked toward a mysterious tree, its towering silhouette casting long shadows beneath the dazzling sunlight. The light seemed to fall in deliberate, shimmering droplets, leaving golden marks on the ground beneath the tree.
Behind him, ancient stone pillars lay in ruin, their crumbled remains heavy with untold significance. What had they once stood for? What secrets did their destruction now symbolize?
As Muji stepped closer, the air grew still. The massive tree loomed overhead, its gnarled roots sprawling like veins of the earth. He pressed forward, entering through an arched hollow at the tree's base.
Inside, the world transformed. Towering mushrooms sprouted in clusters, their caps glowing faintly with iridescent light. Above, luminous rings of light circled in the air, casting an otherworldly glow. Beside them stood colossal structures—buildings that defied logic, their architecture ancient yet impossibly advanced.
Muji gazed at the surreal beauty, his heart heavy with a bittersweet ache. Quietly, he whispered to himself,
"Telmus, I will fulfill my promise to you. But… how I wish you were here to witness all of this with me."
"At the same time''
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sickly clouds, casting uneven patches of light on the weathered stone walls of the pharmacy. Ninir pushed open the creaking wooden door, the familiar scent of bitter herbs wrapping around him as he stepped inside.
Behind the counter, Dr. Paitrelo was meticulously organizing an assortment of bottles and jars. He looked up at the sound of the door and smiled. "Ninir, here for your mother's medicine again?"
"Yes, Dr. Paitrelo," Ninir replied softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. There was a pause before he added, "But this time… could I ask for credit? The money my father left behind is nearly gone. I promise I'll repay you when I can. It's just—my mother's condition is getting worse. She can't go without the medicine."
Paitrelo's hands stilled, and a frown settled on his face. His eyes lingered on the boy—a figure too small for his years, yet brimming with quiet determination. Finally, he sighed, a heavy sound in the otherwise silent room.
"This epidemic is breaking the entire town," he murmured, reaching for a small package of herbs and vials. "The medicine I make is losing its potency against the virus… but here, take it, child."
Ninir took the package, his fingers tightening around it as if it were a lifeline. His voice trembled with gratitude. "Thank you, Dr. Paitrelo. Truly."
For a moment, the doctor said nothing. Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, he spoke. "Ninir, have you ever heard of the gods' prophecy?"
Ninir blinked, startled by the unexpected question. "The prophecy?"
Paitrelo turned, reaching for a yellowed notebook on a high shelf. He flipped through its brittle pages as he continued. "It's said that long ago, the king uncovered a stone tablet, inscribed with the language of the gods. It foretells:
'When the pure of heart reaches the tower's summit,
The tower shall cast down its silver-woven light,
Revealing the world's imperfections and healing its wounds.'"
Ninir frowned, the words stirring something faintly familiar yet distant. "But that's just a legend, isn't it? No one knows where the tower is… or if it even exists."
"True," Paitrelo admitted, closing the notebook with a soft thud. "But the king himself has fallen ill. There are whispers that he's assembling an expedition to search for the tower. Perhaps… you should consider joining them."
Ninir stiffened, his mind immediately turning to the frail figure waiting for him at home. "I can't," he said quickly. "My mother—"
"I know," Paitrelo interrupted gently, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know what you're afraid of. But the virus is growing stronger, and I can feel it—the medicine won't hold out much longer. I'll organize a quarantine for the infected and personally look after your mother. You have time to think about it. Go home—she needs you."
Ninir's grip on the package tightened. His gaze flickered with uncertainty, but finally, he nodded. "…I'll think about it."
As he turned to leave, Paitrelo's voice stopped him. "Wait."
Ninir turned back just as the doctor pressed the notebook into his hands. The old leather cover felt warm against his fingers, as though it had been waiting for him.
"If you decide to go," Paitrelo said, his voice quiet but steady, "this might guide your way."
Niniel held the medicine bag and the yellowed book as he stepped out of the pharmacy. The afternoon sunlight seemed even dimmer, shrouded by the diseased clouds swirling in the sky, their oppressive weight making it hard to breathe. He lowered his head and hurried toward home, but the prophecy echoed repeatedly in his mind: "When the pure-hearted reaches the tower's peak, the tower will descend a silver-threaded light, illuminating the world's imperfections and afflictions."
"Pure-hearted… What does that have to do with me?" he murmured, his footsteps unconsciously slowing.
When he reached home, the atmosphere inside felt even heavier than outside. His mother's coughs came from the bedroom, weak and intermittent, like an invisible blade cutting into his heart. Niniel gently pushed open the door and saw his mother curled up in bed, her face pale, her lips faintly tinged with purple.
"Mom, I got the medicine," he said, trying to suppress the lump in his throat as he walked to her bedside and gently placed the medicine bag on the table.
His mother barely opened her eyes, offering him a faint smile. "Thank you, my child."
Niniel silently helped her sit up and carefully brought the prepared medicine to her lips. As she sipped, she spoke softly, "I heard from people in town that the king is looking for news of the tower?"
He froze for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, but it's just a legend. No one knows if the tower even exists."
His mother's eyes seemed to brighten slightly. "Maybe it doesn't, but with the town in its current state, even a legend is worth trying. Niniel… if you have the chance, I hope you'll consider going."
"But… Mom, what about your illness?" he asked, his voice trembling, his eyes betraying his inner conflict.
His mother raised a weak hand to gently caress his cheek, her voice soft yet resolute. "You shouldn't stay trapped here, looking after someone whose time is running out. I've already walked my path, but your journey is just beginning. Go and chase that silver light. Bring change to more lives."
Niniel fell silent, tears slipping down his face without him realizing it. He buried his face in her hand, his voice barely audible. "I… I'll think about it."
Outside, the diseased clouds churned, and the last rays of the sunset pierced through the cracks, like a faint glimmer of hope. It soothed the boy's spirit and illuminated the dusty corners of the room, weighed down by fate and sorrow.