Lynch stood silently in the turbulence of time, gazing into the still frame of the warm autumn light, a touch of deep nostalgia unconsciously surfacing in his eyes.
The scene before him, he still remembered.
It was an autumn afternoon, the sunlight like molten gold, filtering through the yellowing leaves, casting dappled shadows on the leaf-strewn clearing in the forest.
Avery had read somewhere in an ancient book that the Shadowy Forest within the depths of the Dark Forest grew a rare Moonlight Moss, an important ingredient in crafting certain high-level calming potions. She came to him, eyes sparkling with expectation.
He recalled he had just come out of the laboratory, his hands still stained with traces of unwashed potions. Avery, however, paid no mind, tugging on his sleeve, her voice sweetly pleading:
