The scent of grilled mushrooms mingled with river mist. The old man tore a piece from the sizzling skewer and handed it to Jimmy with a faint smile.
"Eat," he said. "They taste better by the river."
Jimmy accepted it silently. The warmth of the food was welcome. Beside him, the two young Whisps — one striped like a tiny tiger cub, the other fluttering mid-air like a glowing leaf — had already begun their mischief. The tiger pup, Shaoran, bounced up onto Jimmy's lap and pawed at his coat, while Cirayl, the winged one, hovered and chirped above his shoulder.
Jimmy chuckled without a sound. He broke off a piece of the mushroom and offered it to them. Shaoran growled in delight and snapped it up. Cirayl nibbled delicately, then spun once in the air and landed gracefully on his shoulder.
"They like you," the old man said, watching with half-lidded eyes. "They usually don't take to strangers."
Jimmy gently pet Shaoran's back. "I've never seen Whisps like these."
"Most haven't," the man replied. "But their names are in history. You'll read about them one day… if you choose to remember."
Jimmy didn't ask what he meant. Instead, he raised his hand and moved his fingers in soft gestures — asking where Cerulune was.
The old man pointed. "There."
Jimmy turned.
Near the edge of the tree-wrapped shrine, a pale snake-like Whisp coiled protectively around three eggs, each a different colour — one deep emerald, one dusty crimson, one ashen white.
Jimmy tilted his head. "They're not hers. The shell markings are different."
The old man narrowed his eyes slightly. "You can see that? Even without sight?"
Jimmy didn't answer. Just sat still. The glow of the pond reflected across his blindfold in shimmers.
The man chuckled once, a dry and knowing sound. "Interesting…"
The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them for a while. Then Jimmy began to sign again — slow, open gestures. He spoke of the journey here. Of caves, whispers, and dreams.
The old man listened. Sometimes nodding. Sometimes not.
When it was his turn, he said simply, "I've been here longer than most can remember. These woods forgot my name long ago."
Jimmy paused, then asked with a gesture: "Why stay?"
The man poked at the fire. "Because someone has to. I was never made for cities. Or stages. Or shrines, even. I just… stay where I'm needed."
Jimmy raised a brow. "You speak like someone who once left."
A smile, worn and fragile, touched the man's face. "Maybe I did."
Shaoran rolled onto his back, belly up, clearly wanting more food. Cirayl twirled in the air and nuzzled Jimmy's jaw.
After a pause, Jimmy signed again: "What is your talent?"
The man exhaled like he was letting go of something heavy.
"I am no one. A caretaker, at best. I clean, I guard, I cook mushrooms."
Jimmy frowned. "You don't want to talk about it?"
The old man looked him in the eye.
"I've lived too long to be flattered into telling stories. You have your silence. I have mine."
Jimmy turned back to the fire. "Fine. I don't care," he signed. "Not interested anyway."
The old man smiled wider this time. "Good. Then we understand each other."
He poked at the fire again. "I only want one thing."
Jimmy raised a hand: "What?"
"To heal her," he said. "That's all I want."
Jimmy nodded once.
There was peace in that moment — no need for more.
The breeze returned, carrying the scent of old books and wet moss. Cirayl buzzed quietly near the firelight while Shaoran finally tired out and curled into Jimmy's lap.
The man sat in silence for a while, until he finally asked:
"Tell me something, Mr. Blind… do you know what talent is?"
Jimmy didn't answer.
Not yet.
The old man stood up slowly and walked toward the river, cane tapping on stone.
.................................
"Talent," the old man said softly, not turning back.
"It's something you're born with — yes. Like a seed buried deep inside."
He paused, the fire crackling behind him.
"But not every seed grows."
Jimmy tilted his head.
The old man continued, "Some never water it. Some are too afraid to even dig and look for it. And some... some have it wrapped in thorns — pain, doubt, pride. They mistake noise for power, and power for meaning."
He looked over his shoulder now, eyes sharp in the moonlight.
"Talent is like a locked door.
Being born with it only means the key exists.
Whether you ever find it... that's another story."
Then he turned back toward the darkened path near the shrine.
..................................
Jimmy remained still, the glider Whisp curled on his shoulder, warm and weightless. The crackle of the fire behind them softened.
The shrine stood silent — but not empty. Its crescent arch hummed softly now, the spiral-flame symbol pulsing with a slow, heart-like rhythm.
The old man stepped closer to it.
"You asked what this place is?" he said without turning.
Jimmy gave a slight nod.
"This shrine doesn't grant anything. It doesn't awaken power or whisper prophecies. It's far older than that kind of magic. It's a mirror — for the truth you're ready to admit."
He ran a hand along the stone.
"Every generation, someone comes here thinking they'll gain something. What they don't understand is... this place only reflects."
Jimmy tilted his head slightly. The old man continued:
"When people talk about 'talent', they think it's something that shines bright from birth. Something that makes the world notice them. But they forget — even the brightest light casts shadows."
He turned to face Jimmy fully now, his face unreadable.
"True talent is not just having the key. It's having the will to find the lock. The courage to open it. And the strength to live with whatever you find behind it."
The tiger cub growled softly and settled by the shrine's base. The glider on Jimmy's shoulder gave a gentle trill, as if responding to the words.
Jimmy didn't respond. But his grip on the small skewer of mushrooms tightened slightly.
The old man gave a tired smile.
"This shrine doesn't care who you are. Noble or nameless. If your heart is ready, it'll show you what you buried. If it's not—"He shrugged. "—you'll just see stone."
Then he sat again beside the fire and gestured gently.
"Eat. Rest. The night is still deep. And tomorrow…"
He paused.
"…tomorrow, you'll decide whether you want to search for your door. Or keep walking past it."
The wind shifted slightly. The pool beneath the shrine rippled without a touch.
The symbol glowed, then dimmed again — as if the shrine had just… listened.
The old man's voice softened.
"The time hasn't come yet. But one day… you'll feel it."
He looked at the shrine, not with reverence, but with quiet understanding.
"Shrines are like talent — unpolished, buried in fear, left unexplored. They wait. Until someone dares to truly see them. And when that day comes…"
He paused.
"…they awaken."
...................................
That old man said nothing for a while — only began to absentmindedly toss a stone in the air, the two Whisps flitting around him like leaves in wind. But they didn't want to play.
They came back.
One perched on Jimmy's shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek. The tiger pup rolled at his feet, growling in tiny bursts. The flying Whisp flapped gently, curling against his neck like warm air.
Jimmy remained still, then gently placed them down.
Through Luna's whisper, his message reached them:
"You're not my friends. We just met. You belong to him."
The tiger pup gave a soft whine. The flying one tilted its head.
The old man chuckled faintly, not offended.
"You can keep them… or even one. That's a gift, not a burden."
Jimmy didn't even look at him this time.
"Don't need," he said flatly.
There was silence for a breath. Then the man nodded.
"Very well. Have your boundaries."
He glanced toward the sky — the artificial dawn beginning to stretch over the curved horizon.
"You done here? The sun's rising. Time flows faster in this space — six times, give or take. You've four hours to cross the two lines before the 2nd line. Win. We will meet again in future."
Jimmy's eyes narrowed. But just then, his attention flicked to something behind the man.
His heart paused.
The spider. The Queen.
She was there… standing beside the old man. Calm. Proud.
Jimmy's brow twitched.
So… she was his Whisp all along.
They began to walk, side by side — the man and his regal companion. Behind them, the pond had completely dried up, its once-lustrous glow now a cracked basin of faded blue stones.
Jimmy opened his Codex with a short nap. Luna's name pulsed at the first.
Intermediate Tier - Level 9.
But…
There was something more.
Her frame was outlined with a faint aurora. She was… right at the edge. A push away from Advanced Tier.
Jimmy stood quietly, letting that settle.
Just as he was about to step toward the exit path, the man called out behind him,
"One last thing, boy. Please. Come."
Jimmy turned with slight annoyance. "What now?"
The man held something out.
A glowing object, jagged and radiant — pulsing between orange and red like a sleeping ember.
"A molten crystal?" Jimmy said, narrowing his eyes.
The man nodded, but his voice cracked.
"It's all I have left… after my friend..."
There was silence.
The old man's hands trembled as he pushed it forward. "If you have a fire Whisp or in future … feed it this. It'll increase its core strength. May even reshape its evolution path."
Jimmy looked at it. He didn't extend his hand.
After a pause, he finally said,
"…Thank you. I'll take it."
The crystal dropped into his pouch like a warm heartbeat.
The old man wiped at his eyes quickly, then gathered himself. His voice regained its edge.
"One more thing."
Jimmy stared.
"If fate permits… go to the sanctuary in Kwantheris. It's not on most maps. Only the right ones. You'll either gain something priceless… or nothing."
Jimmy gave the faintest nod. Not a promise, not a refusal. Just… acceptance.
The two Whisps finally fluttered back to the old man, curling around his legs. The Queen glanced once at Jimmy — a gaze filled with quiet approval — before vanishing into thin mist.
Jimmy stepped out.
The cave behind him sealed slowly with vines and shifting stone.
And ahead —
A new morning.
Not real.
But bright all the same.