The world teetered on the edge of twilight, its final glow seeping into a canvas of ember and ash. Aeon burst from the root-choked tunnel, a small figure tangled in dirt, dust, and the faint crimson of a fresh forehead gash. Above, the twin moons of Engora—Calithra's silver sheen and Nysera's deep sapphire—cast their silent judgment over the east, bathing the wild garden in an eerie, pulsating light. The air thrummed with magic, a restless hum that wove through the soil and whispered in the glowing plants, promising secrets older than the kingdom itself.
Aeon's heart pounded, not from the pit's dark maw or the guardian's eerie hiss, but from the looming specter of his mother, Aisa. Her gentle smile, soft as a spring breeze, could harden into something that made even Essa's fire dim. He was late, battered, and his torn tunic screamed of trouble—trouble that would summon her quiet, terrifying wrath. Yet, in the garden's hidden folds, another force stirred. Aisa watched from the shadows, her presence unseen but heavy, her crimson fire bird dissolving into the ether. Her concern wasn't the scrapes or the sack of stolen fruits, but the creature at his side: Micro, a Mikka, a Master Mouse thought lost to time. Its emerald eyes gleamed with ancient devotion, a beacon that could draw the greedy claws of Artia's mightiest houses or worse—shadowy guilds hungry for legends.
Aisa's lips curved, a flicker of pride laced with dread. Her son, her brilliant, reckless spark, had bound a myth without a spell, his mischief weaving a thread of destiny she could not yet unravel. She tightened the invisible shield around her family, a barrier forged from love and ferocity, ready for the storm this night would unleash. The drama was only beginning, a mystery coiled tight around her child's fearless heart.
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Aeon POV
Aeon stumbled from the tunnel, gulping air like he'd just escaped one of Essa's bone-crushing hugs. The moons' glow—silver and sapphire—bathed the world in a light that screamed one truth: I'm so late. He swiped at the dried blood on his cheek, the sting sharp but sparking a thrill of triumph. Mother's face flashed in his mind—her fairy-like smile, warm until it wasn't, her eyes turning cold enough to freeze the house's warmth. His stomach twisted, picturing that gaze, the one that could halt Essa's tantrums mid-swing.
"Micee! Mice!" Micro's squeal pierced his dread, high and frantic.
The mouse bounced on its hind legs, its fluffy fur puffed like a snowball, emerald eyes blazing as it pointed to the garden. Aeon followed its gaze, and his grin bloomed, sly and unstoppable, the kind that always meant trouble was brewing. This wasn't just the Witch's backyard—it was a magical wonderland. Fruits glowed like captured stars, pulsing in rhythm with his racing heart. Leaves shimmered, humming with power that made his skin tingle, whispering promises of alchemy that would make even Grandma Hera's ember eyes widen. The air smelled of earth and secrets, chasing away the ache of his fall and the knot of fear about Mother's wrath.
"Aeon! Where are you?!" Mike's voice cracked from beyond the tangled fence, raw with worry.
Pent's shout followed, sharp and fierce. "Get out here, you idiot!"
Aeon's chest warmed, a mix of affection and amusement. His friends, loyal even if they'd bolted at the first whisper of danger. "Let's go, Micro," he said, slinging the sack of fruits over his shoulder, their faint glow seeping through the cloth like tiny moons. His legs itched to run, to beat Mother's anger home.
But Micro dug its claws into the dirt, squealing wildly. "Mic-ceee!" It pointed back to the grove, whiskers trembling, its whole body shaking with desperate urgency.
Aeon crouched, brow furrowing. "What, the fruit again?" His voice was soft, curious, like when he puzzled out Essa's games.
Micro shook its head, ears flopping like one of Mother's silly bedtime tales about harmless beasts. No. Its tiny paws gestured frantically, pleading, eyes locked on the glowing plants.
Aeon scratched his cheek, blood flaking under his nails. His mind raced, sharp as ever, piecing it together like one of his rock-paper-scissors tricks. Oh. Micro wasn't hungry—it was guarding this place, tending it like a gardener with a sacred duty. A magical creature, rare and precious, its devotion as fierce as Essa's clingy love. Leaving it here risked someone finding it, stealing it, like the whispered tales of spirits haunting this garden. The thought stung, a protective ache blooming in his chest.
His stomach growled, loud and traitorous, pulling a chuckle from him despite the drama. That's it. Mother's pancakes—golden, honey-sweet, the kind that melted even Essa's sulks. The ultimate bait.
Aeon struck a dramatic pose, arms wide, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Micro," he said, his tone thick with flair, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Stay here, and you'll miss legendary greatness."
Micro froze, ears twitching, emerald eyes wide with intrigue.
"How can you grow epic fruit without tasting my mother's pancakes?" he continued, painting the picture with a grin. "Golden, dripping with honey sweeter than any magic. You'll never craft fruit like that stuck here!"
Micro's whiskers quivered, its tiny paws shifting, torn between the grove and Aeon's promise. It squeaked, circling him in frantic loops, its fluffy fur brushing his legs like a pleading puppy.
Aeon leaned closer, winking slyly. "We'll come back, I swear. But home? Our garden's huge, soil rich as velvet. You'll practice there, grow fruits to make Grandma Hera jealous—after you taste Mother's cooking."
Micro squealed, sold. It bounded to Aeon's feet, nuzzling his legs with such joy that he staggered, laughing—a light, genuine sound that chased away the night's weight. "Ha! Even magical beasts can't resist pancakes!" he declared, crouching to ruffle Micro's fluffy fur, its warmth radiating against his hand, filling him with a proud, protective glow.
He straightened, slinging the sack of glowing fruits over his shoulder, the faint light seeping through the cloth like tiny moons. Micro scampered close, its emerald eyes glinting as it followed, tethered to Aeon's side like a loyal shadow. He rounded the fence, heart still buzzing from his victory, when Mike and Pent barreled toward him, their faces pale with relief that twisted into panic at his battered state.
"Aeon!" Mike gasped, black eyes wide at the blood and scrapes crusting his cheek. "What happened? You look like you fought a beast!"
Pent grabbed his shoulders, dark eyes flashing with fierce worry, like when he'd vowed to stand guard against imagined dangers. "You idiot! Were you trying to die out there?" His voice trembled, anger and fear tangled together.
Aeon's grin widened, heart swelling at their care, the same thrill he felt when they'd rallied behind his wild plans before. "Just a glorious Quest!" he said, throwing his arms out, ignoring the sting of his wounds. "Saved the kingdom, probably. No big deal."
Before he could spin his tale of pits and guardians, Micro darted from behind his legs, squealing with a high-pitched "Micee!" that echoed through the moonlit garden. The boys froze, their wide eyes shifting from Aeon's scrapes to the fluffy creature, its emerald eyes glinting like tiny jewels. Panic melted into wonder, their jaws dropping in unison.
"What is that?!" Mike squeaked, his voice a mix of awe and leftover worry. He crouched, sticky hands hovering, itching to touch but unsure, his black eyes sparkling with delight. "Aeon, you're okay—and you found… this? It's adorable!"
Aeon's grin grew impossibly wider, his chest puffing with dramatic flair. "Not just found," he said, striking a heroic pose. "This is Micro, my loyal ally. Met him on my quest. Saw my brilliance and swore to follow me."
Pent's stick slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground, his protective scowl softening into boyish wonder. "Your ally?" he echoed, a hint of envy creeping into his voice. He leaned closer, dark eyes locked on Micro's twitching whiskers. "It's… like a magical pet or something! Where'd you even find it?"
"Deep in the quest, where heroes are made," Aeon said, winking, his tone teasing but proud. "Micro's no ordinary mouse. He's a gardener of magic, and now he's with me."
"Micee!" Micro chirped, bouncing toward Mike, nuzzling his hand with fluffy warmth, its devotion as fierce as it had been for the grove's fruits. Mike laughed, a bright, relieved sound, gently petting the mouse, tears of worry for Aeon now mixing with joy.
"You're keeping it?" Pent asked, half-awestruck, half-jealous, reaching out to stroke Micro's fur, his fingers hesitant but curious. "What's next, teaching it spells?"
Aeon chuckled, the sound light but laced with his usual mischief. "Spells? Maybe. First, Mother's pancakes. Even legendary beasts can't resist those."
The sky darkened, moons glowing brighter, their silver and sapphire light casting long shadows. The thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the looming weight of Mother's wrath. But with Micro's warmth in his arms and his friends' laughter ringing in his ears, Aeon felt bold, invincible. "Alright, gentlemen," he said, clapping Pent's shoulder with mock seriousness, his blue eyes twinkling with affection. "Quest's done. Spoils secured. Time to face home."
Mike and Pent nodded, still fussing over Micro with gentle pets and excited whispers, their steps quickening as thoughts of their own homes—and a spark of envy for Aeon's new ally—urged them forward. Aeon followed, his grin a shield of mischief, woven from the same bold spark that had carried him through the day's chaos. He just hoped it would be enough to turn Mother's steel gaze into one of her fairy-like smiles, the kind that warmed the heart before it froze it.