Aeon POV
Pent braced himself beneath the gnarled tree, arms trembling as Aeon balanced on his shoulders. From that height, the glowing fruits swayed within reach, humming faintly like lanterns pulsing with trapped starlight.
"Hold still, Pent!" Aeon hissed, reaching eagerly. "If you wobble, I'll crack my skull."
"I'm already holding still!" Pent grunted. "You're heavy, brat!"
Aeon smirked, plucking the first fruit and handing it down to Mike, who stood waiting with a torn cotton scrap stretched like a sacred bowl.
Mike's eyes flicked nervously at every rustle. "Q-quickly, Aeon! Before anyone sees—"
Aeon dropped the fruit in with a flourish. "Behold! The first jewel of our glorious heist!"
Mike nearly dropped it in panic. "Don't say it so loud! What if the witch hears?"
Pent puffed his chest under Aeon's wobbling weight, gripping his stick. "Then I'll fight her."
Aeon chuckled, reaching for another fruit. "Sure. You'll be broth before that stick even pokes her."
Mike whimpered, but Pent scowled. "I'll protect you both anyway. I'm the oldest!"
One by one, Aeon harvested the bounty. Second fruit, third, fourth—until five glowing stars rested in Mike's trembling hands.
Mike fumbled at the cloth's corners, pale with nerves. Before he could tie it, Aeon hopped down, snatched the sack, and slung it onto his back. It nearly dragged him sideways, but he squared his shoulders like a conquering hero.
"Perfect. Our prize is safe."
Then the sound rippled through the grass.
"Miceee…"
They froze.
Mike clutched Pent's sleeve. "Aeon… i-it's the guardian! We should run!"
Pent's stick dipped. "Maybe… maybe we should."
Aeon's grin faltered. He looked at his friends' pale faces, then at the sack. The thrill of treasure burned in his chest. To leave now was agony. But then his mother's smile flickered in memory—soft until it turned sharp, colder than steel. His stomach twisted.
"Fine. We'll go. For now."
Pent and Mike sagged with relief. Mike even whispered, "Thank the spirits…"
But Aeon's fingers curled against the strap. Not over. Not yet.
The voice came again.
"Miiiceee…"
Closer.
Ice lanced their veins. No words were needed—they ran.
Pent led, stick in hand, legs shaking. Mike stumbled after, nearly tripping, his fear raw enough to rattle his bones. Aeon stayed behind them, heart hammering, glancing back as if daring the darkness to show itself.
"F-faster!" Mike gasped.
"I'm going as fast as I can!" Pent barked, voice cracking.
Aeon gritted his teeth. Why does it always end in running? The sack bounced against him, fruits glowing faintly through cloth. Triumph tugged at him even now, even as fear knotted his gut.
Then—
"Micceeeeee…"
Right at their heels.
Aeon's bravado cracked. He pushed harder, lungs burning, forcing a grin just to steady the others. "Don't look back!"
Mike squealed. Which meant, of course, he had looked back.
The grass heaved, as if something vast slithered beneath. Aeon's skin prickled—he could feel eyes on him, unseen but heavy.
"Just a little further!" Pent panted. "We'll be—"
The earth groaned.
Before Aeon could breathe, the ground split. A dark mouth yawned open.
"Pent! Mike!"
He dropped, swallowed whole.
The last thing he saw was their backs, still running, unaware he was gone. The sack clung to him, its glow streaking the dark as he fell.
———
Far Away — Aisa POV
Far away, in the quiet of their home, a crimson bird of fire burst into a cry. Its shriek tore through the stillness, vanishing in an instant, yet its warning rippled invisibly through the walls.
Aisa stood at the stove, humming a soft tune as she flipped a golden pancake, the sweet scent of honey drifting through the air. Her lips curved with that same gentle smile she always wore, the one that made the house feel like a cradle of warmth.
Across the room, Essa sulked, her wooden practice sword discarded on the floor. She paced like a stormcloud, muttering sharp little curses under her breath, cheeks flushed from failure.
Then the cry reached Aisa.
Her song ended mid-note.
The warmth drained from her face. The smile, fragile as glass, cracked and vanished. Her eyes — once as soft as spring rain — turned cold, fathomless, abyssal.
The air itself bent around her. It pressed down heavy, suffocating, as though the house itself shuddered beneath a weight too great to bear. The curtains stilled. The faint whistle of the kettle died. Even the shadows seemed to shrink from her.
Essa froze, her breath hitching. She had seen this change before — only rarely, and always when Aeon's recklessness dragged the world too close to danger.
"M-Mommy? What's—" Her words broke apart, strangled in her throat the moment she met her mother's gaze.
Aisa turned her eyes toward her daughter. Her voice came soft, almost caressing — and for that very reason it was terrifying. "Essa dear. Watch the house. I'll return shortly."
Essa's knees weakened. She could only nod, the oppressive air locking her tongue in place. And then — like smoke vanishing on the wind — Aisa was gone.
The weight lifted.
Essa collapsed back against the wall, clutching her chest, gulping for air as though she had been drowning. Her heart thundered in her ears.
"Stupid brother," she whispered, voice trembling between fury and worry. "He's gone and done it again. I just… I just hope this time Mother really scolds him…"
But in her gut, she knew. Aeon had never seen this side of their mother — and if he ever did, he wouldn't cower. He would only smile, eyes sparkling, and beg her to teach him the magic that even demons fear.
———
The fall was merciless.
Aeon's small body scraped against jagged roots, stones biting into his arms and legs, the cavern walls rushing past him in a blur of shadows. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears, every breath stolen by the wind clawing at his lungs. The sack of fruit battered his back with every tumble, its faint glow flashing like stars across the pit. He tried to cry out, but the air was torn from his lungs.
Then — crack. His forehead struck something hard. His world bled into blackness.
For a time, there was only the ringing of his ears, the warmth of blood trickling down his face, and a strange noise that clawed at the edge of his fading mind.
"Micce… Micce… Sqmice…"
The sound tugged him back. A pitiful, squealing cry, neither threat nor growl but something more desperate. He groaned, pain exploding through his limbs as he stirred. Panic clawed at him. What is this sound? His arms flailed instinctively, scraping harder against the jagged rocks. Darkness pressed close, and for a fleeting moment, he felt utterly alone—helpless.
The squealing grew urgent, circling him. "Micce! Miceee!"
Aeon forced his eyes open — and froze.
It was a mouse. No… a giant mouse, the size of a football. Its fur was pure snow-white, fluffy and soft like cotton pulled from a dream, its eyes round and green, glimmering with innocence. It didn't snarl or bare fangs; it looked… worried. Tears even brimmed in those oversized eyes.
Aeon's breath caught. Cute. Too cute.
And that made it dangerous.
His mother's stories came rushing back: the most dangerous beasts were not always those with claws or fire, but those that disarmed you with innocence. How many legends had she told of adventurers slain because they underestimated a creature that looked harmless?
His heart pounded as he scrambled backward on his hands. "S-stay back!"
The mouse squealed again, circling him. Not lunging, not biting. Just… squealing.
"Micce! Micce!"
It stopped abruptly, then lifted a tiny paw and pointed.
Aeon blinked. "Me?"
The mouse shook its head.
It pointed again. This time toward his back.
Confused, Aeon shifted and pulled the sack around. The fruits inside glowed softly, their light spilling onto the cavern floor.
"You… mean these?"
The mouse's whole body bounced, nodding wildly. It squealed and scurried toward the sack, nose twitching, eyes locked on the glowing fruit.
Aeon hesitated, then plucked one from the bag and held it out cautiously. "You're hungry, aren't you? You want to eat?"
The mouse squeaked eagerly — but when Aeon offered it closer, it didn't bite. Instead, it nudged the fruit from his palm, rolled it to a patch of loose soil, and pawed furiously at the ground as if trying to dig.
Aeon blinked. "…Wait. You're not eating it?"
The mouse squealed, shaking its head so hard its ears flopped. It patted the fruit, then scratched at the dirt again, chirping insistently.
Aeon tilted his head, blood stinging down his cheek. Piece by piece, the truth began to dawn. "You're… trying to bury it. Plant it."
The mouse squealed again, high-pitched and desperate, as if shouting yes!
Intrigued, Aeon crouched lower. He offered another fruit, but this time pulled it back slyly. "And what if I keep this one, hmm?"
The mouse's eyes went wide. It squealed in alarm, circling him frantically, then pointed with its tiny paw at the sack, then the ground, then back at Aeon, like a child pleading. Its whiskers twitched, trembling with panic.
Aeon chuckled softly despite the pain throbbing in his head. "Not begging for food… begging for their safety."
To test further, he set the fruit down again. The mouse immediately pressed its nose to it, nudging it close to the others as though herding them together. Then it squeaked, stroking the skin with delicate paws. The gesture wasn't hunger — it was care. Almost reverence.
Aeon's eyes widened. "You're not just guarding them… you're tending them. Like a gardener."
The mouse squealed proudly this time, hopping in place with its chest puffed out.
For a moment, silence hung, broken only by the drip of cavern water. Aeon studied the little creature's trembling whiskers and glassy emerald eyes. Something in its devotion stirred him. He could almost feel the weight of his mother's stories pressing against his thoughts: the most dangerous beasts are not the ones with fangs, but the ones that disarm you with innocence.
Then a slow, mischievous grin crept across his lips.
Aeon wiped at the blood drying on his cheek, wincing, and rose shakily to his feet. His blue eyes gleamed now, not with fear, but with mischief. He placed a hand over his chest dramatically, staggering like a wounded hero before an invisible audience.
"So," he declared, voice echoing off the cavern walls, "you dare spill the blood of the one who will be the future greatest magician in all the realms?"
The mouse froze, tilting its oversized head.
Aeon pressed on, grand and theatrical. "Dragons will fear me. Demon lords will whisper my name a hundred times before daring to act. And you—" he jabbed a finger at the mouse— "you dared strike me down into a hole!"
The mouse squealed in alarm, circling in panicked loops. Its ears drooped, its whole body trembling as if begging forgiveness.
Aeon narrowed his eyes, then softened, lowering his tone like a merciful king. "Fear not. There is… a way to atone."
The mouse stopped dead, staring up with wet, pleading eyes.
Aeon crouched again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Serve me. From this day forth, you shall be my loyal companion. Do so, and your sins will be forgiven."
The mouse squeaked uncertainly, paws shifting nervously.
Aeon leaned closer, grin widening. "Imagine it — when I become the greatest magician, I'll give you a garden larger than any town, filled with magical fruit. All yours. No thief will ever steal from you again."
The mouse froze… then its eyes lit up like emerald stars. It squealed and leapt against him, rubbing its cottony fur against his small body with unrestrained joy.
Aeon staggered under the weight, laughing. "H-hey! Easy, easy—ha! Not bad, not bad at all. A pet who gardens magical fruit. Grandma Hera won't have a choice but to teach me alchemy now!"
The mouse squeaked happily, circling him like an overexcited puppy.
Aeon studied it seriously, arms crossed. "But I can't keep calling you 'big mouse.' That's boring. You need a proper name."
He tapped his chin, pretending to ponder like a king deciding the fate of a kingdom. "Hmm… you're small compared to me—" (he conveniently ignored that it was the size of his torso) "—so from today, your name shall be… Micro!"
The mouse squealed, bouncing so wildly its fur shook like a fluffy ball of snow. It seemed to love the name.
Aeon grinned, proud. "Good. Then it's settled. You're Micro, my first magical follower."
He glanced upward at the dark walls of the pit. The shaft stretched too high to climb. "But how do we get out of here…?"
Micro squealed once, then turned and bounded toward a cluster of narrow tunnels leading deeper underground. Pausing, it looked back expectantly.
Aeon slung the glowing sack back across his shoulders, mischief burning bright in his eyes. "An exit, huh? Alright then, lead the way, Micro."
And with that, boy and beast disappeared into the winding dark.
_________
High above, in the hidden folds of shadow, Aisa stood silent. Her eyes, cold and unreadable, followed the boy and the creature as they vanished into the dark.
"This boy…" she whispered.
What Aeon had so casually named Micro was no ordinary guardian beast. It was a Mikka — a Master Mouse, thought long extinct. A creature whose rarity rivaled even the divine and the legendary. To bind one so young, without spell or ritual…
Pride and dread twisted in her chest. If word spread, many powerful forces and great organizations would claw their way here for it.
And yet, her lips curved with the faintest smile. "Just another headache waiting to happen."
With a sigh, she melted back into the shadows, leaving only the silence of the garden above.