White light streaks travel rapidly across the clear blue sky. Below, a group of birds flew freely as if there was only peace in their world. Continue flying until they pass a grassy hill with wildflowers, with several trees growing on its surface. Passing by two children who are busy—or not busy on the clear green.

  "It's always boring when everyone's going to school," compined a boy as he y down on the grass. His gaze was bnk, lost in the bright spring sky.

  Behind him, a girl sat under a shady tree, knitting something she had apparently just started. Her green eyes blinked a few times before a small smile formed on her face. An empty smile that's less than genuine, but didn't seem to have any hidden meaning.

  "Hmm... Should we go to the town, Ayn?"

  The bck-haired boy, Ayn, scowls at the offer, "Ugh, and watch the Silverises walking around? Just thinking about those sheep-headed pegasus' eyes makes my skin crawl. I’ll never get why people like them."

  Getting that answer, the girl just smiled awkwardly but didn't seem to want to argue. She was used to this, with her friends and their difficult and troublesome natures. Therefore, she dropped the topic and continued with what she was doing: knitting. Something that made it easy for her to focus and stay calm.

  The sun shone gently, occasionally veiled by the slow-paced drifting clouds. Ayn sits up and feels the wind caress his face. His eyes squinted toward the west of the horizon. From their hill, the world looked endless—mountains standing like old giants, forests swaying in silent resistance, farmnds basking under spring’s touch. It was beautiful, but Ayn had grown tired of how familiar it all felt.

  "Zenith, isn't it almost time?" Ayn opened his mouth after a period of peaceful silence.

  The girl looked up from her knitting and blinked in confusion. The boy didn't continue immediately even though he knew Zenith wouldn't respond right away. He just stood up and patted his pants before turning to look at the back of him.

  "Shouldn't you help your mom? I mean, it's almost noon." Said Ayn while pointing at the sun.

  As if struck by consciousness, the girl in front of him immediately stood up and ran towards her home.

  "Hey, careful!" The boy clicked his tongue as he watched his friend rush down the hill. Ayn grabbed the forgotten knitting tools on the ground. Quietly, he followed after her.

  The journey home was not short. They passed a spacious cattle ranch, and Zenith didn't forget to greet the farmer from outside the fences before continuing walking to the west on the dirt path.

  Slowly, the sounds of livestock and busy farmers faded into the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Open nd became less and less until only trees covered the ground in all directions.

  If you're greeted by the coolness of the trees, it is a sign that you are close to the pce where Zenith and her mother reside. It's a simple, humble house, but it is decent for living. There is a small plot for a vegetable garden. The house was pretty isoted, and they had no neighbors except for a tall tower that penetrates through the leaves about two kilometers away. They lived on the border, after all, the least popur spot for building a house.

  "Mom! I am home!" Zenith excimed after opening the door; her step doesn't make a noise even though she's not being careful—ouch, her waist just collided against the tip of a table.

  A woman stood at the back of the house, wearing a patched apron and a face lined with a few wrinkles. She shares the same features as Zenith—brown hair that is almost bronze in color—but it was longer, reaching her waist. Her calm gaze followed her daughter’s clumsy movements, at odds with the natural scowl on her face.

  "Be careful, you might trip," she advised in a monotonous voice, but it's too te for Zenith to not trip, and just in time for Ayn to arrive and witness. The tter facepalmed himself at what happened to his brunette friend. However, Zenith stands up quickly and approaches her mom, taking a basket from the woman's hands.

  "I'll help too," said Ayn before he approached the pair of mother and daughter. Although Zenith's mother kept refusing, Ayn persisted. The older woman then sighed and insisted that he should at least have lunch in their humble house together ter.

  Her daughter got such a nice friend; that's what she thought while watching the pair of friends walking towards the backyard and harvesting fruits. She stepped away from the back door and tottered towards the kitchen. She quietly cursed and hoped her body wasn't this weak that she had to depend on the children.

  Returning to the side of the two kids, they were finally done with their task. It was a fruit tree that was unique to their nd; it only bore fruit in spring and bore fruit around midday. Unfortunately, despite the high harvest rate for its season, it's not an edible fruit, or precisely, it's not delicious, and until now, nobody knows how to process it to make it tolerable to the human tongue. Ayn's face frowned at the memory of having tried that fruit in the past. This is where they will sell it to the factory that processes the white bell-shaped fruit, which is called 'moon apples' by the townies. However, in the suburbs, it was popur as;

  "Oh, these mpberries are top-notch!" A plump woman, who seems to be around her forties, excimed happily while receiving three baskets of the previously harvested fruits. She pced it on a table in a room—spacious, maybe seven by eight meters, made of bricks. It appears to be a living room and must be a comfortable one because Ayn is rexing carelessly on its couch.

  The pce they just arrived at was about fifty minutes of walking from Zenith's house—not further to the forest but back to the agricultural area. Specifically, a factory that specializes in producing various types of fabrics. Standing next to sheep farms, silkworm sheds, rows of cotton fields, and various other types of agriculture for fabric materials, the factory covers a rge area of nd. It can be said that this factory is one of the spots in the agricultural area with the rgest number of people. A vilge itself. There are clusters of homes where workers and their families lived—some passed down for generations, others rented by newcomers from the city. It was one of the busiest pces in that area.

  Ayn remembers that Zenith's mother once said that the factory had been standing for around two hundred years and is one of the pilrs of the country's economy—there are even articles about it dispyed on the wall of the room they are in now. The owners are always descendants of the previous owners; the business is inherited from generation to generation. Years of operation have passed, but they still do not know how to develop the mpberry pntation. Even though mpberries are native to this nd, they’re notoriously hard to grow. There are only four people in this kingdom who know—or the correct term is, talented—to cultivate the trees. Zenith's mother is one of them.

  "My mom is impressive," whispered Zenith, apparently reading the same articles that Ayn was seeing on the wall.

  Moments ter, a man entered. He looked very simir to the plump woman, including the age. Their body shapes are almost simir; their hair is equally curly; even their standing poses are mimicking each other.

  "Are those mpberries from Zara's orchard, Rowena?"

  Rowena nodded and confirmed. "Hey, Rowan! Yes, this is from Zara's orchard!"

  "That means Zenith and Ayn must be here."

  Rowan gnced towards the couch and spotted the kids sitting there; Zenith waved towards him, and he waved back with a smile.

  "For mpberries, we can't decide the price by weight alone, right?" Rowan asked, approaching his sister, who was sorting and counting the worth of the fruits.

  “Right. It’s by size,” Rowena nodded. “Under three centimeters, 50 astrises each. The bigger ones—up to seven centimeters—go for 105.”

  "Even one small mpberry is enough to buy meals for two," responds the male twin while helping.

  "And we have... Three baskets of it," Rowena whispers, making sure only her brother can hear. "I wonder why Zara needs or keeps such an amount of money yet is still living on the border."

  Silence fell between the middle-aged twins.

  "She even asked us to seal the money in an envelope that can only be opened by her. Do you think... she doesn't trust her daughter?"

  "Rowena, I think what we are doing is what our mother describes as gossiping. Let's stop." Rowan warned, longing in his eyes.

  "Tsk, you're no fun~."

  Minutes have passed, and finally, the twins are done counting.

  "Zenith, this is the money for the mpberries. Go home quickly and give it to your mom, okay? Don't wander around!" Rowena said, but she held the envelope in the air instead of giving it to Zenith before suddenly turning towards Ayn. "On second thought..."

  Zenith saw this, and she just pouted pyfully at the older woman, "Aw, c'mon! Just give me! I never lose my mom's money."

  Rowan just chuckled at that but didn't say anything. He and his sister then stood in front of the window, watching the two children walking further and further away from the bustling fabric factory area. Out of the gate, away, and getting closer to the border; a forest that no one dares to approach.

  "I always wonder how much those fruits cost," Zenith wondered while staring at the envelope inside the basket that she was holding—Rowena was just teasing earlier about entrusting it to Ayn instead.

  Ayn tilted his head and asked, "Your mom didn't say anything?" He frowned when her only response was a slow shake of the head.

  The rest of the journey was silent between the two of them. It was getting te, and they had yet to have lunch. Luckily, Zara packed milk puddings for each of them. It wasn’t enough to fill their stomachs—but that was the point. Just enough to keep the hunger away until lunch.

  They were getting closer to the forest. Ayn always recognized they were near Zenith's house when the tall towers began to rise above the sea of leaves. In these towers, which were about 5 kilometers from each other, there were soldiers guarding the border. If you squinted, you might spot a few of them patrolling at the top of the stone structure.

  "I want to approach those towers," Ayn mumbles. Zenith failed to pick up on that.

  "Ah, you better not. A kid like you will be crushed by those tower guards."

  Suddenly, a voice Ayn didn't recognize answered. He quickly turned his head toward the side of the road. There was a man, around his mid-20s, sitting on a tree stump. His face was calm, and his blond hair even made him look dignified in white attire, but something about him sent a chill creeping up Ayn’s neck. There was a book with a leather cover on the man's p; it must have been a holy book, just like the one Ayn had seen in Zenith's house.

  "Uh, excuse me? Who are you?" Ayn asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.

  Judging by how that man is dressed—a fancy robe from high-quality fabric—that guy definitely wasn’t from around here. That's the only thing that Ayn is sure of, for now.

  "Ah, my bad. I am Harith, a monk."

  A monk? There wasn’t even a temple anywhere near the agricultural zone. Where did this stray monk come from? That was the only thing running through Ayn’s head.

  "...and I was lost. I am looking for... Someone named Zara."

  "Oh, do you mean my mom? She lives with me," informed Zenith, who's been quiet all this time.

  Ayn mentally facepalmed. Of course Zenith would fsh a warm smile and tell her whole life story to a total stranger. Typical. But whatever—it already happened. He probably didn’t attend formal school like the rest of their friends. But when it came to resonance ability, his overconfidence makes him sure that he could match any adult. Even monks.

  In the end, Ayn was forced to accept that he and Zenith had to walk home with the suspicious, chatty monk. And by chatty, the guy was the walking definition of nosy. He asked way too many questions, and Ayn already hated that enough. But after just a few more questions, Ayn’s annoyance deepened into something else entirely. The man kept staring at Zenith. Way too intently. Harith also asked Zenith a lot of questions, so much so that it could be said that most of his questions were in the form of interviews and interrogations. He asked Ayn a few things too—politely—but then acted like the answers didn’t even matter. Luckily, Zenith got the hint this time and pyed along, keeping her personal info to herself.

  "You two don't look older than 16. Shouldn't kids like you be at school at this hour?"

  "Ah, we felt like skipping."

  She’s such a terrible liar. But hey, at least she’s trying.

  After minutes of enduring the blond’s endless questions and small talk, they finally reached the cozy house. Small animals—rabbits, squirrels—scampered around the yard. Naturally, Harith pointed them out. At this point, Ayn was convinced the guy could turn air into a conversation topic.

  Zenith rushed to the front door but tripped on the steps. Harith chuckled, and Ayn—deadpan as ever—failed to see what was so funny. The girl blushed awkwardly but immediately knocked on the door before opening it.

  "Mom, you have a guest!" Zenith excimed.

  Before Ayn could even make a move to avoid another dose of Harith’s small talk, Zara was already at the doorway, moving with slow, deliberate steps. Her daughter trailed behind, matching the mother’s pace.

  Zara's gaze first fell on Ayn. The bck-haired boy only got the woman's default expression: ft and calm, devoid of emotion. Then that familiar ft gaze shifted to the other figure standing in her yard—the stranger who stood out like a sore thumb.

  For the first time since meeting her, Ayn saw Zara’s expression change.

  First came shock—like she’d seen someone rise from the grave. Then dread. And finally, anger. Deep and unmistakable, burning in her dark eyes. A furious fme that certainly has a history and has been ignited for a long time.

  Ayn wasn't the only one who caught the anger wrapped in that silence. Another person who is more sensitive to these emotional changes is none other than the daughter. Worry etched itself onto her youthful face. When her green eyes followed her mother’s line of sight, Zenith immediately expressed dislike in her gaze for Harith, even though the girl herself didn't know anything about the blond man and his business with her mother.

  "Ayn, go home," Zara commanded coldly. "Zenith, go with Ayn."

  One thing that confirms Ayn's discomfort even more was Harith's reaction. A smile. It was formed on the monk's young face, as if feeling entertained by the mother's anger, which was rarely shown. Never in his life had he seen anyone smile in the face of such barely-contained rage.

  The girl was initially reluctant to come along. However, that little rebellion was only expressed on the face because in the end, she still obeyed. Further into the forest, Ayn takes her away with him.