Then she came stumbling forward, crying—her body was cut with deep cuts from her hands to her feet, her clothes streaked with crimson from flowing blood. Her skin was pale, her eyes glowing a strange, mystical blue.
She walked around, even dropping some stone formations around her as she barrelled on.
With a heavy thud, she collapsed to the ground.
"Mommy, I'm scared," said one of the children nearby.
"Shoosh, now don't be scared; it's going to be alright," the mother said.
True, as much as she wanted that to be, it wasn't going to be alright; this, in fact, was when the fall of Flos began.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the woman fell to her back.
"H—Help! Somebody—anyone, please help!" A nearby resident shouted as they rushed toward her.
Still balancing the sacred vase atop his head, the Fairy King hurried to the wounded woman. And when he finally saw her face—truly saw her—the vase began to tremble violently, as though shaken by some unseen force. The king fought with it, trying to make it stable, but it would not yield.
"There is… something wrong here," Remy muttered as he pushed through the ocean of people. And then he, too, stood before the stranger. He froze. Words died. His body trembled, eyes locked on her as though staring at a ghost.
"Remy… Remy…" Chad grabbed his shoulders, shaking him back into himself. "What's wrong, man?"
Remy finally tore his gaze away, turning slowly toward Chad.
"It's her… the saint," he whispered. "She looks slightly different… feels odd somehow. But it's her—I swear it. But how? That would make her nearly five hundred years old. Not even Mystic Mastery can extend life that far."
His thoughts were shattered at the sound:
CLANK.
A visible crack split across the sacred vase atop the Fairy King. Most people didn't notice, but the king's face went pale. His hands shook as he quickly lifted the vase from his head and sealed it with a lid carved in the same design, holding it on the ground.
Just when Remy was about to move forward to inspect her closely, the sound came again.
A violin—soft, sorrowful—echoed through the air, a melody so mournful it could make a grown man crumble. And once more, the boys felt themselves being pulled, carried against their will. There was still so much they needed to know about that woman.
A new day broke.
It was dawn, and the sky shimmered with an orange glow that scattered beautifully across the snow. The air bit cold against the boys' skin. Winter had fully claimed the land—snow reached their ankles, and some house doors were buried entirely.
Their gazes shifted, searching.
And there she was—Rosalina—walking into a narrow alleyway.
The boys moved instantly, following her. They slipped through the entrance and down into the tunnels. There, crouched before them, they saw her take something out of a brown bag she clutched tightly to her chest.
"Big sis…!"
A small group of children rushed toward her.
Their skin was smudged with soot, their clothes torn and thin—yet their eyes shone brightly.
"Now, line up. One at a time…" Rosalina said gently.
The children formed a neat line, each receiving a small piece of bread from her. Their faces lit with joy as they bit into the dry crust.
Up close, the boys saw it clearly: Rosalina's eyes were heavy… tired… hurting.
"Oh no…" Remy whispered.
That expression—the guilt in her eyes—
It was the same look his mother wore on the nights she couldn't feed him.
Rosalina had aged quite a bit now. If she had once been a cute girl, she was now a beautiful grown woman—perhaps twenty-two years old.
After sitting and chatting with the children for a while, she finally stood, brushed the snow from her skirts, and walked down the street. Plastered along the stone walls were posters with a face—Remy recognised all too well.
"Come get Hathor's Granary—it grows even on snow."
The poster proclaimed in bold ink.
Just then, Remy overheard murmuring from an elderly couple standing beside them.
"Oh… Claeem, when will this winter end?" the old woman sighed. "It's been over four years now, and the sun hasn't shone properly even once. Day after day, our children go missing." Her voice trembled. She was dusting the snow off her front door. "It's that witch—Hathor. Ever since—"
"Shhh, now, Luan…" the old man hissed, cutting her off. "What if they hear you? "
"What of it?" she replied bitterly. "We are going to die anyway… Oh, if only the Fairy King were well, we wouldn't have to deal with all this."
The boys exchanged glances and continued to follow Rosalina as she headed toward the woods. They walked deeper and deeper, weaving between massive trees dusted with white. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, a house came into view.
Her pace slowed as she approached the door. She scanned in all directions, cautious, almost fearful. Then she lifted her hand.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She knocked softly.
The door cracked open—and the person who appeared was Ilex. She had grown as well; her once-coloured hair was now completely black, flowing down her shoulders like a shadow.
"Rosa!" Ilex exclaimed, pulling her friend into a deep, shaking hug.
"How is he?" Rosalina murmured as she stepped inside.
"It's bad," Ilex whispered, moving aside.
Remy and Chad slipped in behind them, still unseen phantoms drifting through memories that weren't theirs.
Lying upon the nearby bed was the Fairy King. His hair had turned grey; deep lines carved valleys on his once youthful face. Yet even now, he radiated that same aura of kindness—the gentle warmth of a father who had guarded his people for decades.
"Look, I tried foraging for herbs…" Rosalina said as she hurried toward the small kitchen. "I read in a book that spider-faced mushrooms and the five-leafed clover lily can enhance blood circulation. You can brew them into a tea."
She spoke as if this were her second home, her hands moving with practised ease among the shelves and pots.
(Spider-faced mushrooms were rare plants that bore markings resembling a spider's face. They had powerful medicinal effects, but when overdosed, they caused vivid hallucinations. Only skilled healers knew how to balance their use.)
Inside the kitchen, Rosalina and Ilex crushed the ingredients together, the pestle tapping against the stone bowl. Then suddenly, Ilex's breath hitched.
"Aha… Aha…" Her voice broke, trembled, then shattered. "He is dying. He only has one more year and then—then he will die… I don't want him to—"
Her tears poured like a waterfall, staining her trembling hands.
Rosalina turned and wrapped her arms tightly around her.
"It's going to be alright," she whispered, though her own voice quivered.