Two twins lived in the Wonderlands — the most visited realm in all the Story World, one of the Thirteen Great Territories, where countless kingdoms sparkled under their many rulers.
Our story begins in the Garden Kingdom, a land of endless bloom and golden breeze. There, among the singing fields and sugar-colored skies, lived two small human children — a boy named Hansel and his twin sister, Gretel, both only six years old.
The twins carried Borrowed Stories that allowed them to dwell in this bright and breathing fairyland: Hansel had borrowed his father's tale, that of a D Ranker who tended the farmland they called home, while Gretel carried her mother's, an E Ranker's gentle story.
...
The twins were laughing by their little house, sunlight scattering through the trees like spilled glitter.
Gretel chased after her brother, her laughter bubbling through the air as Hansel ran ahead, teasing, "Too slow, Gretel! You'll never catch me!"
But she only grinned, calling back between breaths, "Oh, I always do! You'd better keep running, Hansel!"
He made a series of ridiculous noises — half growls, half hero cries — as he dashed away.
Then, just as his giggles began to fade into the hum of the wind, he heard a few boys calling out his name from the distance.
Hansel slowed his pace and turned back to Gretel, his cheeks flushed from running.
"Let's stop for a bit," he puffed, brushing his hair from his eyes.
Gretel caught up, triumphant, with that tiny smirk she always wore when she won a chase. "Tired already?" she teased, poking his shoulder.
"And you said I was the slow one."
Before Hansel could come up with a clever comeback, a group of boys appeared at the edge of the lane, waving. Their laughter drifted like the chirping of sparrows.
"Hey, Hansel!" one of them called. "We're heading to town—want to come play with us today?"
Hansel nodded at once, eyes lighting up. But when Gretel stepped forward beside him, the boys' smiles faltered.
"Not her," one said, scrunching his nose. "She's too slow. And—she's a girl! We're all boys."
The words landed heavy in the air.
Gretel's grin wilted.
For a heartbeat, she stared down at her shoes, the shimmer in her eyes dimming. Then, softly, she said, "It's all right, Hansel. You can go. I'll play here and wait for you."
But Hansel's face set firm.
He shook his head. "If my sister can't come," he said, "then I won't either."
The boys groaned and rolled their eyes, exchanging exaggerated sighs. Finally, the tallest of them muttered, "Fine—she can come. But she'd better keep up!"
And just like that, the air brightened again.
Gretel's smile returned, small but warm, as Hansel took her hand. Together they followed the boys down the sunlit path, their laughter weaving once more through the Garden Kingdom's golden breeze.
Days passed like drifting petals, and then — as quietly as a candle's last flicker — sorrow came to the little farmhouse.
Their mother fell ill, and before the moon could turn twice, she was gone.
The house that once rang with laughter now held only silence and the smell of fading flowers. Hansel and Gretel clung to their father, their small faces buried in his chest, tears soaking through his worn shirt.
He held them close, his arms trembling as though trying to shield them from the truth itself.
Hansel's tears came with anger. "If we lived in one of the Fairy Crown's kingdoms," he cried, voice shaking, "they could've saved her! They could've given her a new toy body — the [Toymaker] could've made her live with us again!"
His words cracked like glass, full of the desperate hope only a child could hold.
Their father lowered his gaze, sorrow deep as the soil he tilled. "It's out of our hands, my boy," he said softly. "The [Grass Queen], our ruler, is still speaking with the Fairy Crown. She wishes to join their alliance… but talks take time. Too much time."
Outside, the wind whispered through the blue grass, carrying the faint scent of blossoms that would never bloom again.
And in that small house within the Garden Kingdom, two young hearts learned the weight of stories that could not be rewritten.
Hansel's anger lingered even as their father held them close.
His little fists trembled against his sides, his eyes red but burning — as though tears and fury were wrestling for place in his heart.
That night, after the last guest had gone and the moonlight fell pale upon the garden, the three of them stood together by the small mound of fresh earth behind their house.
The air was heavy with the scent of soil and sorrow. When they finally went inside, silence filled the home like a slow-creeping fog.
Their father lit a single candle, its flame trembling as he spoke. "Children," he began quietly, "don't you find something… strange?"
Hansel and Gretel looked up at him, puzzled, and both shook their heads.
He sighed, eyes glinting with both wonder and worry. "Gretel is borrowing your mother's Story," he said slowly. "But since your mother has passed away… how is Gretel still able to borrow it?"
For a moment, neither child spoke.
The room seemed to shrink around them. Gretel's mouth parted in surprise, while Hansel's eyes widened in sudden fear.
"Does that mean—" he stammered, "—the Editors will come? Will they take her away?"
Their father shook his head, placing a gentle hand atop Gretel's hair. "No, my boy. You don't have to worry. Before she left, your mother gave me her Story — I've Inherited it. That's why Gretel can still borrow it safely."
Gretel's eyes filled again, this time with a shimmer of relief.
"And not only that," their father continued softly, "your mother told me she wished to pass her Story to you, Gretel. That's why I called you both here tonight — even though today has been the hardest day of all."
The candle flickered, casting three shadows upon the wall — one tall, two small — swaying together like fragile threads of the same story, still trying to keep their light.
Hansel sat very still, his eyes wide and unreadable.
Words seemed to have left him, scattered somewhere among the shadows of the candlelight.
But Gretel — sweet, bright Gretel — gasped and then laughed through her tears. "Really, Papa? I can have Mama's Story?" she cried, hopping in place before suddenly throwing herself into his arms.
The joy in her voice broke halfway into a sob as she buried her face in his chest.
Her father held her close, smiling through his own sorrow. "Yes, my little flower," he murmured. "Your mother would be so happy. And so am I."
Hansel, who had been silent all this time, finally lifted his head. "Can I… go to sleep?" he asked quietly.
The father blinked, surprised by the question. "Of course, Hansel," he said after a moment. "It's been a long, hard day for you. Gretel will be along soon."
Gretel looked over her shoulder, still cradled in her father's arms. "You can go ahead, Hansel," she said softly. "You don't have to wait for me."
Hansel nodded once.
"Goodnight," he said — nothing more, not another word.
Then he turned and walked away, his small shadow slipping down the hallway until it vanished into the dim light of their home, leaving behind the soft sounds of his sister's sniffles and his father's quiet, steady breathing.
...
Hansel lay on his bed, eyes wide open, the blanket pulled up to his chin.
Sleep hadn't come — it didn't even dare.
After a while, the quiet creak of the floorboards broke the stillness.
Gretel tiptoed in and climbed onto her small bed beside his. For now, they still shared a room — their father had promised that when they turned ten, they'd each have one of their own.
"Are you still awake?" she whispered into the dark.
For a moment, Hansel said nothing.
Then, after a breath too long, he muttered, "Yeah."
Gretel giggled softly, the sound like a chime in the night. "I got it," she said, her voice glowing with pride. "Mama's Story! It's a bit weaker now — it dropped to F Rank to match mine — but still! It's Inherited, not Borrowed anymore!"
Hansel turned his face toward the wall, the shadow hiding his frown.
His voice came out low, sharp around the edges. "Stop talking. I want to sleep."
"Oh—sorry," Gretel said quickly, still not catching the storm building in her brother's chest. "We can talk tomorrow, okay? Goodnight, Hansel."
He didn't answer.
Her breathing soon evened into the rhythm of dreams, but Hansel's eyes stayed open, reflecting the faint moonlight that spilled across the wall.
Inside, his thoughts twisted like tangled roots: Why her and not me? Why did Mother have to go? Why does Father sound so calm?
He didn't understand. None of it made sense.
And as the night deepened, so did the quiet anger inside him — a small, burning thing, flickering in the dark where no one could see.
...
The next morning, sunlight slipped gently through the curtains, painting the wooden floor in warm gold. But Hansel didn't feel its warmth.
When Gretel ran to him with her usual grin, asking if he wanted to play, he shook his head. "I'm tired," he said quietly. Later, when she tried again to talk, he turned away. "I just want to be alone."
Gretel's smile faded.
She hesitated a moment before hurrying off to find their father.
A short while later, he came to Hansel's room, his steps soft, his voice softer.
"What's wrong, my boy?" he asked.
Hansel's eyes stayed on the floor. "I just… want to be alone," he murmured. "I'm still sad about Mom."
The father sighed gently, kneeling beside him. "All right," he said. "But remember—you still have me and Gretel. We're here for you, always."
Hansel nodded, and his father ruffled his hair before leaving, the door closing with a small click behind him.
Not long after, the voices of children echoed outside.
Hansel's friends — the same boys from before — came calling.
"Hey, Hansel!" one shouted. "You doing okay?"
He stepped outside, blinking against the morning light. "Yeah… I guess."
"Come on," another said, grinning. "We're going to town. We'll buy you some candy from the store!"
Hansel blinked in surprise. "Really? Thanks."
The boys laughed. "Of course! And, uh… Gretel can come too, if you want. We just want you to feel better."
Hansel paused — then shook his head. "No. I don't want Gretel with us."
The words fell like a small stone into still water, quiet but deep.
Behind the house, unseen by the boys, Gretel froze.
She had been peeking from the corner, worry still written on her face. The sound of her brother's voice struck her harder than any scolding.
Her eyes trembled, but she said nothing.
Hansel didn't see her.
He only turned away, following the boys down the sunlit path, leaving the little house — and his sister's silence — behind him.
...
Time drifted by, soft as falling petals. Days folded quietly into one another, and soon a week had passed beneath the gentle skies of the Garden Kingdom.
But something inside Hansel had changed.
He no longer laughed with Gretel in the mornings or chased her through the meadows as he once did. When she smiled at him, he often looked away.
When she tried to share her stories or ask for help, he found excuses to leave.
And every time he was reminded — every time someone mentioned how Gretel had Inherited their mother's Original Story — something cold and tight stirred within him.
Their father's pride, the neighbors' admiration, the way grown-ups smiled and said, "Such a blessed child, to carry her mother's tale!" — all of it pressed heavier and heavier on Hansel's small heart.
Each word of praise for Gretel was another whisper he couldn't silence, another spark that fed the quiet storm inside him.
And though he didn't know why, the more they celebrated her story, the more his own world began to feel dimmer — as though a little bit of its color was fading away, one day at a time.
One golden afternoon, Hansel sat beneath the shade of a great tulip tree with the village boys. The air shimmered with warmth, and the sweet scent of blooming sugar-roses drifted from the meadows nearby.
They spoke of the neighboring woods — the ones that stretched all the way to the border of the Candy Kingdom, where even the soil was said to sparkle with syrup and the stones glistened like sugar glass.
"It's not that far," one boy said eagerly, eyes bright. "If we go through the woods, we could reach the candy fields before sunset. Imagine it — trees of toffee, rivers of chocolate!"
Another boy shook his head quickly. "Don't be stupid. The Candy People don't mind sharing, but only in the places meant for eating. The woods aren't one of them. If they catch us stealing from there, we'll be in big trouble — our parents, the guards, even the Candy People themselves will be furious!"
A collective sigh rose among the group.
Dreams of chocolate and caramel melted away into disappointment.
But Hansel… he didn't sigh.
As the others muttered and kicked at the grass, he sat quietly, his gaze distant, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth — a smile small enough to hide, yet sharp enough to mean something.
...
Tomorrow morning, Hansel went to find Gretel.
She was sitting outside, her small fingers gliding across the pink glow of her Story System Interface. The light reflected in her eyes, bright and dreamy.
He caught himself scowling at the sight of it — her story, her achievement — and quickly forced a smile instead.
"Hey, Gretel!" he called out, waving like nothing was wrong.
His twin sister blinked, startled at first.
Hansel had barely spoken to her the entire week, and when he did, it was short and cold. But now, seeing him approach with that friendly tone, her whole face lit up.
She quickly closed her Interface and turned to him fully, the pink shimmer fading from her hands.
Hansel felt a flicker of guilt twist in his chest at how happy she looked just to see him.
Still, he steadied his voice and said, "I know a fun place we could visit together."
Gretel tilted her head, curious, excitement slowly returning to her eyes.
And soon enough, she was jumping for joy, thanking him over and over. To her, this was the best thing that could've happened — her brother not only wanted to talk to her again, but he even wanted to take her somewhere fun?
It was like all the sad days before had never happened.
She hurried after him, barely able to contain her excitement.
She didn't ask why he had avoided her all week; she was too afraid that if she did, he might go quiet again and change his mind.
Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and asked with a bright grin, "So… where are we going, Hansel?"
"The woods," he said, smiling softly.
"The ones that connect our Garden Kingdom to Candy Kingdom."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Really?! We can go there? Truly?"
He nodded, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for her. "We can eat from the trees, the bushes—everything there. All the candy we want."
Gretel gasped, spinning in place and laughing. "That's amazing! You're the best, Hansel!"
She was going wild with excitement, already imagining the taste of sugar leaves and chocolate soil, while Hansel watched her—his smile tight, but steady.
It took them about three to four hours of walking — laughing, racing, and playing little games along the way — before they finally reached the woods.
The air grew sweeter the closer they got, and soon, the faint shimmer of sugar dust drifted through the trees.
Hansel pulled out his blue Story System Interface and began snapping pictures.
Gretel giggled and did the same with her pink one, twirling as she captured the glittering branches and candy-colored sky.
"Try eating one," Hansel said, pointing at a nearby tree.
Gretel blinked, then reached up to pluck a glossy leaf shaped like a sugar petal.
She hesitated for only a second before biting into it—and almost fell over in delight. "It's amazing! It's really candy! Hansel, it's real!"
Hansel smiled faintly as she laughed and took another bite, her eyes sparkling.
Candy Kingdom—the dream of every child in the Story World.
They had lived all their lives near its border, yet never once set foot inside. Gretel had seen countless Records about it on the Blue Trade Records, but this... this was something else entirely.
The warmth of the sun mixed with the sweetness in the air, and for the first time in days, she forgot every bad thought she'd had.
Hansel joined in, biting into a branch that crackled like caramel between his teeth.
The sweetness melted on his tongue, and for a while—just a fleeting, perfect while—he forgot everything. The jealousy, the plan, the bitterness.
There was only Gretel's laughter, the crunch of candy leaves, and the glittering sugar drifting through the air like snow.
But then—crunch.
Footsteps. Heavy ones.
The twins froze.
From between the licorice trunks emerged four figures clad in shimmering armor, their bodies glinting with crystalline glaze.
Each step they took left faint sugar prints on the ground.
Candy Guards.
They were taller, older, and wholly magnificent—humanoid, but sculpted from hardened candy and syrup. Their weapons gleamed like spun sugar, and even their helmets had a candy gloss that made them both beautiful and terrifying.
Hansel almost laughed at the sight… until the one at the front raised his candy spear and shouted, voice booming like a hammer on glass:
"Identify yourselves!"
The tone carried authority—and power.
Hansel felt it instantly, like a sharp sting in the air.
The aura of an E Ranker.
He froze.
His small hands trembled, and the cheerful sweetness of moments ago vanished into dread. He was only six years old—a child with a Borrowed F Rank Story barely activated.
Gretel, though she had an Inherited Story, was the same age. Still just a child.
And both of them had just been caught where no one should ever tread.
The two couldn't hold up for long.
The moment the Candy Guards questioned them again—those bright glassy eyes unblinking—Gretel broke down and told the truth.
Hansel tried to stay firm, but when she started crying, he knew it was over.
The guards sighed, their candy armor clicking softly as they exchanged looks. "Children from the Garden Kingdom," one muttered.
"Curious as always."
Without another word, they escorted the twins back.
The trip home felt endless. Gretel sniffled quietly the whole way, clutching her brother's hand while Hansel stared at the ground, his mind spinning with shame and anger.
When they reached the small farm, their father was already waiting outside.
The guards explained everything—how the twins had entered restricted land, eaten from the woods, and disturbed the Candy Border.
Their father's face went pale.
He apologized to them, again and again. "I promise, it won't happen again. Please, forgive them—they're only children."
One guard nodded. "Make sure it doesn't. Next time, there will be punishment."
As soon as they left, the air turned heavy.
Their father spun toward them, his voice breaking through the silence: "Inside. Now!"
Hansel flinched at the tone. Gretel was already crying. Neither dared to argue.
They hurried to their room, the door slamming behind them.
Outside, they could still hear their father's voice apologizing to the retreating guards, his tone weary and desperate.
Inside, the sweet aftertaste of candy now felt like guilt.
Gretel couldn't stop crying. Her small frame trembled as she buried her face in her brother's chest, her sobs echoing faintly in the quiet room.
Hansel sat there frozen, arms hovering awkwardly at first—until guilt crushed whatever pride he had left. He wrapped her in a shaky embrace.
This was his fault. All of it.
He'd known they'd get caught. The boys had told him how strict the Candy Guards were, how no one was allowed near the border woods without permission.
He could've warned her, could've told her not to go.
Instead, he'd led her there with a smile.
And for what?
Because something inside had whispered that she didn't deserve it.
That she shouldn't have an Inherited Story while he only borrowed someone else's. That if she lost it—if something happened—maybe things would be fair again.
He hated that thought now.
Gretel's tears soaked through his shirt as she hiccuped, "I-I'm sorry, Hansel… I didn't mean to make you mad at me before… I just wanted us to play again."
Hansel squeezed her tighter, his throat burning. "No, Gretel. Don't say that. It's… it's going to be alright."
She shook in his arms, small and terrified. "Father was so angry… What if they come back for us?"
Hansel blinked hard, fighting back his own tears. "They won't," he lied softly. "I'll protect you."
For a moment, they just stayed like that—their tiny hands clutching each other, their hearts heavy with the sweetness of guilt and the bitterness of love.
Their father's anger that evening was like a storm—loud, sharp, and terrifying.
His voice thundered through the house, shaking even the walls that had always felt so safe.
Hansel stood in front of him, small fists trembling, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he confessed the truth—that he'd known it was wrong, that he'd led Gretel there on purpose.
The crack of his father's hand against his head echoed.
Hansel stumbled, clutching the spot, shame and pain flooding through him faster than he could breathe.
"Go to your room," his father barked, voice still quivering from fury.
Gretel gasped, stepping forward, "Father, please—"
"Not another word, Gretel," he said, softer but firm. "Hansel is punished for the night. You stay away."
And so she did.
That night, Gretel lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the moonlight painting silver lines across the floor. Hansel was on the other side of the room, turned toward the wall, shoulders shaking every now and then.
She wanted to whisper to him, to tell him she wasn't angry—that she just wanted things to be like before—but she was too afraid.
When morning came, Hansel looked pale, his eyes dull and distant.
Gretel greeted him softly, voice small like a bird's chirp.
He didn't look at her.
"Just… leave me alone."
The words hurt, but she nodded.
She knew he was the one who'd caused yesterday's trouble, but she didn't care. Even with the punishment, even with the shouting—yesterday had been the happiest she'd felt in days.
So she just sat outside the house, legs tucked beneath her, watching the wind move through the candy-colored fields. She waited in silence, hoping her brother might come join her again.
...
Gretel was sitting outside, her small fingers tapping at her pink Story System Interface, the holographic screen reflecting in her eyes.
She was watching a Record of toy animals hopping across the fields when a faint sound reached her ears—
Crunch.
Her head lifted.
It wasn't the usual sound of the wind brushing through sugarcane or the rustle of the jelly-bushes. It was heavier, rhythmic.
Footsteps.
Her heart gave a small flutter.
Hansel?
She peeked around the corner of the house—and there he was, walking away, his steps quiet and strange. He didn't even glance back.
Worry bloomed in her chest, fragile but insistent.
Without thinking, she turned off her Interface and tiptoed after him.
He didn't look back once.
They crossed the edges of their village, where the fields turned wilder and the air smelled faintly of syrup and sugar dust. Gretel kept her distance, afraid he'd see her, afraid he'd yell again.
She wanted to stop him, to ask where he was going—but what if he got angry?
What if he never spoke to her again?
Hansel was her only friend.
Always had been.
The other boys in town never played with her, and there were no girls her age—only Gretel and Hansel, two halves of the same story.
So she kept following.
The path grew brighter, colors melting into a landscape of impossible sweetness. Trees with striped candy trunks, flowers blooming in pink frosting, the air warm and soft as caramel.
The Candy Kingdom... again.
Her heart raced.
They weren't supposed to come here, not after last time.
But Hansel didn't stop.
His small figure walked deeper and deeper into the woods, past where they'd been before—past the candy trees and into the glimmering distance.
Gretel's steps slowed.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Every step he took made her chest tighten, the way his small figure drifted further into the pink mist of the woods. If he kept going, he'd get lost—or worse, the Candy Guards would find him again.
Her hands trembled, her lips pressed together, and finally—
"Hansel!" she cried.
The name broke through the stillness like a crack in sugar glass.
Hansel froze mid-step.
His shoulders stiffened before he slowly turned around. The colors of the forest shimmered behind him—blues, pinks, and golds melting together like a dream.
"Gretel...?" His voice was small, disbelieving.
She stood there among the peppermint shrubs, clutching her skirt, breathing hard from running after him.
"You—Where you were going?" She asked, trying to sound brave even though her voice trembled.
Hansel blinked at her, his face unreadable.
He hadn't noticed her following him all this time.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone caught somewhere between surprise and irritation.
The question hung in the air, light as sugar dust but sharp enough to sting.
Gretel's eyes shimmered beneath the pastel light filtering through the candy leaves. She took a hesitant step forward, her voice small but trembling with feeling.
"Because I was worried about you," she said.
"You left so suddenly, and you didn't even tell me where you were going. You came here again—to the Candy Kingdom—and you just kept walking and walking…"
Hansel turned his head away, refusing to meet her gaze. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "You shouldn't have followed me. Go home, Gretel. Don't look for me again."
Her chest tightened. "Why? Where are you going?"
He paused.
The wind rustled through the sugar-crystal branches, the sound soft and brittle.
"I'm… going away," he said finally, voice breaking around the edges.
"Because I was bad. I—" He swallowed hard.
"I led you here yesterday on purpose. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I was jealous, Gretel. Jealous that you got Mother's story, and I didn't. Father must hate me now… maybe you do too. So it's better if I just go away, and you and Father can—"
"Stop it!" Gretel's voice cracked through the air like lightning, sharp and bright.
Hansel froze.
She was crying again, but this time there was anger in her tears.
"That's not what I want! How could you even think that?" she shouted, fists trembling at her sides. "If you leave, Hansel—if you really leave—I'll never forgive you!"
He stared at her, speechless, as she hiccuped through her words.
"I don't care about the story, or ranks, or anything! I just want you to stay with us—stay with me! We can still play like before, right? Just like always…"
The woods were silent except for her soft sobs and the distant hum of the candy wind.
Hansel's throat felt tight, his heart heavy with something he couldn't name.
For the first time, he didn't know whether to cry or run.
Hansel shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You don't understand, Gretel… I don't deserve it. Any of it. Not your kindness, not Father's forgiveness. I ruined everything."
"Yes, you do!" Gretel cried, stepping closer.
"You made a mistake, but that doesn't mean—"
"It does!" he shouted back, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.
"You're better off without me! I hurt you, Gretel—I wanted to! I wanted you to lose your Story just so I wouldn't feel so bad!"
Gretel's eyes widened, but she shook her head fiercely, tears streaking down her cheeks. "No! I don't believe you!"
"I mean it!"
"You're lying!"
"I said go home!"
"Hansel!"
But he was already running—his small feet pounding against the creamy white road, scattering bits of sugar dust in the air.
Gretel chased after him, her heart hammering.
"Hansel, stop! Please!"
The road curved along a slope lined with gumdrop stones and cotton trees. The air was sticky and bright, and the sweet scent of syrup filled her lungs as she ran faster.
"Hansel!"
He looked back for just a moment—and that was enough. His foot caught on a smooth caramel pebble, and his balance broke.
"Ah—!"
Gretel screamed as he slipped, tumbling down the edge of the path. For one frozen heartbeat, she saw him fall backward—his reflection rippling in the bright blue surface below.
Then splash!
He vanished beneath the blue juice river that wound alongside the road, its depths far darker than they looked from above.
"HANSEL!" she screamed, stumbling toward the bank, the sticky-sweet scent of fruit sugar burning her nose.
"Hansel!!"
Her voice echoed through the candy-colored grove, but there was no reply—no splash, no cry for help, not even the ripple of water.
The silence ate at her until she couldn't take it anymore.
Without thinking, Gretel jumped in after him.
Then—
She gasped awake, her clothes damp and sticky, lying in a thicket of soft blue bushes that shimmered faintly like sugar crystals.
No river. No road.
Just her and Hansel, sprawled beside her, breathing.
Gretel blinked hard. "Hansel…? What happened? Where are we?"
Hansel sat up slowly, eyes wide with the same confusion and fear she felt. "I—I don't know. I fell in, and then… I woke up here. You shouldn't have followed me, Gretel. I just—" He looked down, fists trembling.
"I just led you to another bad place aga—"
She didn't let him finish.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding on as tight as she could.
"Don't say that," she whispered.
"I forgive you. You don't have to make it up to me. Just… be my brother again. Be my friend again. That's all."
Hansel's breath hitched, the warmth of her hug melting the last of his trembling.
For a moment, the strange blue forest felt safe—like it existed just for them.
He didn't answer her right away.
He just pulled away gently, stood up, and brushed the blue sugar dust off his clothes.
"…We should look around," he said quietly. "Maybe there's a way out or… something."
Gretel wanted to tell him again that she didn't care about that, that she just wanted him to stay—but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded. "Alright. Let's look."
They began to walk through the strange new place.
The trees around them were thick and dark brown, their trunks gleaming faintly like melted chocolate, and above them stretched a sky the color of strawberry cream.
The leaves shimmered pink, fluttering down like flakes of sugar glass.
The air was sweet—too sweet.
Every breath filled their lungs with the scent of syrup and frosting. When Gretel brushed against one of the blue bushes, it left a faint trail of sparkle on her arm.
Out of curiosity, she plucked a leaf and bit it.
Her eyes widened. "Candy."
Hansel took a hesitant bite of his own, then frowned. "Still Candy Kingdom, then…"
Gretel nodded slowly. "Yeah… but where in the kingdom?"
She turned to look behind them—no river, no creamy white road, no sign of where they'd fallen from. Just endless chocolate trees and blue candy bushes under a pink sky.
"And what happened to the river?" she murmured, uneasy. "It was right there…"
Hansel didn't answer again, but the way his hand tightened around hers said he was wondering the same thing.
They kept wandering for what felt like hours, the air growing thicker with sweetness until it almost hurt to breathe. Hansel kicked at a gumdrop rock in frustration. "This doesn't make sense," he muttered.
"If we fell into the river, we should've woken up nearby, not in some… pink forest."
Gretel hugged her arms, nodding faintly. "Maybe it's a dream?" she said softly.
"Or… another part of Candy Kingdom nobody knows about?"
Before Hansel could answer, something caught his eye — a glimmer of red through the blue and pink around them. He frowned and moved closer, pushing aside a few bushes made of sugar crystals. Gretel followed, brushing branches of candy floss away.
And then they saw it.
A road — a crimson, silky road, smooth and shining like it was poured from melted rubies. It stretched ahead, curving gently through the candy trees.
The two of them followed it with their eyes until it ended at a house.
Not just any house.
It stood proud and bright in the pink-tinted horizon — a white, fluffy, creamy-looking house that seemed almost alive.
Its walls puffed like meringue clouds, dotted with lollipops, chocolate rolls, and peppermint swirls.
The roof was coated in thick frosting, dripping down in slow sugary streams, and the round door was framed with gingerbread and caramel ribbons.
Gumdrops of every color lined the foundation like tiny lanterns.
For a moment, both children just stared.
"...That's new," Hansel whispered.
Gretel took a step forward, her eyes wide with wonder and unease. "Do you think… someone lives there?"
The red road gleamed invitingly beneath their feet, leading straight to the candy-covered door.
Hansel squinted toward the house, his brow furrowed.
"I… don't know," he muttered at last.
"But there's nothing else here. Maybe it's just…" He trailed off, his voice uncertain, as he took a single step forward onto the crimson road.
That step changed everything.
The air around them shifted, thick and warm like melted sugar.
From the candy house came a soft, curling aroma — a smell so sweet and rich that it wrapped around Hansel's chest and squeezed.
His heart beat faster, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
The scent was amazing.
Toasted caramel, baked cream, honey-dipped biscuit… all of it weaving together until it pressed against his thoughts like velvet.
His gaze locked onto the house — the creamy white walls, the glistening candies — and he couldn't look away.
His mouth watered.
Gretel called his name once, twice, but he didn't answer.
So she took a cautious step forward too.
And then she felt it.
The same intoxicating sweetness flooded her mind, tugging at her heart like a lullaby. Every breath tasted of sugar and warmth; every thought melted into one single desire.
The world blurred — the trees, the sky, the road — until there was only the house.
Both children stood there, eyes wide, faces soft, hearts pounding.
There was only one thought left between them, one whisper echoing in their minds:
They had to go inside.
And they had to eat it.
Soon enough, their feet carried them almost without thought along the crimson road.
Each step seemed softer than the last, as if the ground itself was luring them closer.
When they finally reached the little house, it loomed before them like a dream—its creamy white walls glistening faintly under the pink sky, the swirls of candy shining like gems set into frosting.
Hansel hesitated only a heartbeat before reaching for the door.
His fingers brushed the handle—smooth, round, cool—and when he turned it, the latch gave with a soft click.
The door was unlocked.
He stepped inside first, eyes wide with wonder.
Then, something in him gave in to the urge that had been clawing at him ever since they smelled that scent.
He gripped the knob again, twisted it loose, and bit right into it.
Crunch.
A shiver ran through his entire body.
The chocolate melted instantly on his tongue—rich, warm, layered with flavors he couldn't even name. "Ummm… so good…" he mumbled, eyes half-closed.
Gretel followed in right after him, curiosity quickly overtaken by the same sweet madness. She leaned forward and bit the edge of the door itself—and nearly fell from joy.
"Hansel! It's… it's so good!" she gasped, her cheeks smudged with sugar dust.
After that, there was no stopping them.
They devoured everything.
The door.
The window frames.
The frosting along the walls.
Chairs shaped like sugar sticks, a table that smelled like caramel, curtains that tasted like strawberry clouds.
Minutes passed, maybe ten, maybe more. Between every bite, they froze—bodies trembling, eyes half-closed—as though savoring the taste itself was a trance.
Every chew made them forget a little more: where they were, why they came, who they were supposed to be.
They were lost in sweetness.
And the house… welcomed them for it.
And then—
A sound.
A laugh.
It started faint, almost melodic, like a whisper brushing against the candy-coated walls. Then it grew, spiraling upward into a cackle so sharp, so cold, it shattered the trance holding them.
Both twins froze mid-bite, sugar still on their lips, as their eyes darted toward the open doorway.
Someone was standing there.
A woman—no, something that looked like one—blocked the light from outside.
Her figure was tall, graceful even, though wrapped in an unsettling stillness.
Crimson-red hair poured down her back like liquid silk, glinting under the pink light of the sky, reaching all the way to her thighs. She wore a long, dark red cloak that seemed to breathe, its folds moving faintly even though there was no wind.
And from beneath that cloak… they moved.
Long, red, slender appendages—like tentacles or extra arms—unfurled from her back, writhing gently as if tasting the air.
They glistened faintly, somewhere between flesh and candy, sweet and wrong.
Hansel couldn't move. Gretel couldn't breathe.
The woman tilted her head, her smile sharp and knowing.
Her eyes gleamed a deep, melted red, and when she finally spoke, her voice was like sugar melting over a knife's edge—smooth, warm, and terrifying.
"Well, well…" she purred softly. "Looks like my little guests have already started eating."
In that moment, to the trembling twins, it felt like the candy house had shut its mouth around them—and she was the spider at the center of its web.
It didn't take long for the realization to sink in—the kind that freezes the heart before the mind can catch up.
This wasn't a normal Player.
Not a wandering Reciter.
Not even one of the strange Candy Folk.
No… this was her.
Even children knew the stories.
Every bedtime tale whispered her name like a curse.
A being who had turned entire kingdoms into rivers of red syrup, who had poisoned lakes of sugar and made the very stars bleed candy dust.
A Z Ranker.
One of the beings who stood at the summit of the Story World—where only a hundred or so ever reached.
To meet one was like stepping into a storm and expecting to survive.
And her name was whispered by all of Wonderland's kingdoms with fear:
[Blood Witch].
The terror of the Wonderlands.
The crimson plague that drifted from one kingdom to the next, leaving only silence behind.
They said once, long ago, [Last Note of Black] himself had faced her—had fought her across skies of chocolate clouds and rivers of caramel, forcing her to flee, step by step, from kingdom to kingdom.
But it seemed she had found a new home now.
And Hansel and Gretel… had just walked right into her web.
They couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Every muscle in their small bodies screamed run, yet their feet stayed rooted in place—
like sugar hardened into glass.
The woman's laughter trickled through the candy-scented air, soft and melodic… yet carrying something sickly underneath, like honey laced with poison.
Her crimson hair shimmered with every movement, and the strange red limbs behind her swayed lazily, like they were tasting the air.
"Well now," she purred, tilting her head, eyes glowing with an otherworldly shimmer, "how did you two sweets find your way here?"
Hansel opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Before he could force an answer, her smile widened—too wide.
"Oh, don't bother," she said, voice dripping with delight. "I left many doors open to lure little ones like you… or really, anyone foolish enough to wander close."
Hansel's throat burned.
He tried to lie, to say they were lost, that they'd wandered by mistake—but the words that came out weren't the ones he chose.
"I… wanted to run away," he said, voice trembling. "From home. From the Garden Kingdom. I came here… I fell in the blue river."
Gretel's eyes widened as she too spoke without meaning to. "I followed him! He was gone and I was scared… I just wanted to bring him back…"
The witch's crimson gaze gleamed, and she let out a small, delighted giggle.
"How adorable."
She stepped forward, her cloak brushing the candy floor.
"Such an interesting little tale," she murmured, as if savoring the flavor of their words.
"Tell me, my sweet runaway… why did you want to run away from home?"
Hansel's trembling lips parted—and again, no lie could escape them.
"I… was jealous," he stammered, voice cracking. "Mother's Story… she passed it to Gretel. Everyone praised her. Father too. I just… I just wanted it to be me."
The [Blood Witch] listened in eerie stillness, her crimson eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the candy lanterns inside the house.
The air thickened with sugar and dread.
Then, turning to Gretel, she cooed:
"And what about you, little one? What do you feel toward your brother?"
Gretel's hands fidgeted against her skirt. She didn't want to answer—yet, just like him, the truth spilled out like water breaking through a crack.
"I… I love him. He's all I have. Even if he's angry… I just want him to smile again."
The witch's grin widened until it almost reached her ears.
"Oh, what delicious honesty," she whispered. "How refreshing."
She tapped her chin with one of those red, threadlike limbs, humming as if in deep thought. Then her voice shifted—silky and cruel.
"Usually," she said, "I'd simply eat both of you. Two sweet little stories, so full of flavor, perfect for improving my own abilities."
Hansel's heart nearly stopped. Gretel clutched his sleeve.
"But…" the [Blood Witch] continued, tilting her head, "I am feeling generous today. Perhaps… I'll let one of you go."
Before Gretel could even blink, Hansel blurted out—
"Let her go! Please! Just her!"
Gretel turned to him, shaking her head wildly, trying to speak—but her lips sealed shut as red stitches wove themselves across her mouth like living threads, pulling tight until not even a whimper could escape.
The [Blood Witch] chuckled softly, the sound like silk tearing.
"Shhh," she said, amusement glittering in her crimson eyes. "Your brother has spoken… and how fitting, don't you think? He's the naughty one, after all—the one in need of punishment."
The [Blood Witch] leaned forward, her red hair spilling over her shoulders like ribbons of molten silk, her smile blooming into something inhumanly wide.
"Well then," she purred, voice dripping with a sickly sweetness, "I suppose we have a deal. I'll let your dear sister go…" —she paused, her tongue tracing her lips— "after she feeds you. Until you're plump and soft and warm."
Her gaze slithered toward Gretel, the red threads around the girl's mouth shimmering faintly.
"And when you've ripened enough, my little flower will place you in my lovely oven…"
She tapped one finger against her chin thoughtfully. "Alive, of course. Otherwise, the taste just isn't the same."
Hansel froze where he stood.
His heart thudded so hard it hurt, his mind screaming to move, to run, to say anything, but his mouth wouldn't obey. Every breath of air seemed to taste of sugar and smoke.
Gretel struggled, muffled cries pressing against her stitched lips, her tiny fists shaking as tears welled in her eyes.
The [Blood Witch] only chuckled, waving her finger side to side, like scolding a misbehaving pet.
"Ah-ah," she tutted playfully. "No protests, little sweet. You'll ruin the flavor."
Then her crimson eyes turned back to Hansel.
"Now then," she said, voice soft as velvet and just as suffocating, "what are your names, my darling sweets? Tell me."
Hansel's lips trembled.
He wanted to resist, to stay silent—but something coiled around his voice, pulling it from him like a string from a puppet.
"H-Hansel…" he whispered, his throat dry, "and… my sister… Gretel."
The [Blood Witch]'s smile deepened until it nearly split her face.
"Hansel and Gretel," she crooned. "How adorable. What fine names for a meal."
The [Blood Witch] hummed a tune—a lullaby warped into something dreadful—as crimson threads spilled from her fingertips like liquid silk. They slithered through the air, glowing faintly in the dim pink light, and coiled gently around Gretel's head.
The little girl's body jerked.
Her eyes widened in horror as her limbs stopped obeying her. She shook her head wildly, but the threads shimmered brighter, tightening their hold until she stilled like a marionette waiting for her master's pull.
"There, there…" the witch cooed, her voice almost affectionate. "Now, let's make our little supper nice and round."
She flicked her wrist.
The red strings tugged, and Gretel moved—slow, trembling steps carrying her to a shelf where she picked up a flat, board-like slab of shining candy.
Her tears fell freely now, glistening like drops of sugar water as she turned toward Hansel.
More threads shot out from the witch's other hand, wrapping around Hansel's wrists and ankles, lifting him slightly from the candy floor.
His mouth was pried open by another set of shimmering red lines.
He struggled weakly, his sobs muffled and broken.
"Now, now," the witch sang, swaying as if to music only she could hear. "Let sister feed brother, like a good little pair."
Gretel's shaking hands moved on their own.
She lifted the candy board and pressed it to Hansel's lips.
The red threads wriggled, forcing him to chew. He gagged, tears spilling down his cheeks as the sweet taste filled his mouth—so sugary it burned.
And again. And again.
Each bite made a strange sound—pop, creak, stretch!—as his belly began to swell unnaturally. His cheeks puffed out, his arms rounded like dough rising in an oven.
His small shirt stretched tight against him, buttons pinging off one by one with little tink! sounds that vanished into the candy air.
"Wonderful!" the [Blood Witch] giggled, clapping her hands once.
"Oh, how lovely! Like a cartoon in motion!"
She circled them with a twirl of her cloak, eyes glowing with a manic glee.
"You see, my little treats, this isn't ordinary candyland. My home lies between the Candy Kingdom and the Dream Kingdom—made of materials that twist time and sense! Here, things grow faster, sweeter, rounder!"
Her laughter filled the room, echoing against the sugary walls.
Gretel's sobs were silent behind her stitches, and Hansel's body trembled under the weight of his growing form, each breath harder than the last.
The witch leaned in close, red eyes glinting.
"Eat up, my darling Hansel," she whispered, voice like molten syrup. "You'll be ready for the oven soon."
After a while, the [Blood Witch] finally stopped laughing, her crimson eyes glinting with delight as she pointed one elegant, blood-threaded finger toward the oven.
"Perfect," she cooed.
"Fat enough to feed an army—or just one lonely witch."
Gretel's body trembled as her small hands wrapped around her brother's arm. Her face was soaked in tears, the red stitches glistening as they pulled with each sob.
The threads attached to her limbs twitched again, guiding her against her will.
Slowly, step by step, she began dragging Hansel toward the oven's open mouth, where orange firelight danced and flickered like a thousand mocking grins.
The [Blood Witch] leaned lazily against her candy table, humming to herself.
"Ah, this oven is quite the piece, isn't it?" she mused, her voice dripping with mock admiration.
"The shell's from the Toy Kingdom—those little craftsmen do such fine work with sugar-steel. And that fire, oh, that's a gift from the Fire Kingdom. Burns forever, never fades. Even the ashes dance."
She giggled, her laughter like glass shattering in syrup.
"See? The Wonderlands truly are wonderful. Every kingdom offers something sweet… even if it's for something so bitter."
Hansel stared at the flames, his bloated body shaking.
His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow—like a puppet waiting for its final command.
Gretel's hands quivered as she pushed him closer, the heat brushing their faces.
Behind them, the [Blood Witch] raised a hand, the red threads pulsing, her grin widening.
"Now then," she whispered, "let's see how long it takes before you pop."
Gretel's hands trembled as she tried to resist, her tiny fingers twitching, desperate to stop dragging her brother any closer to the flames.
Her body screamed to stop, but the red threads slithered through her veins like living veins of fire, jerking her forward with every hesitant step.
Hansel's eyes darted toward her—pleading, terrified, and yet filled with something else: guilt. He wanted to move, to pull her away, to at least be the one who ended it himself.
Anything but this—anything but making his sister the executioner.
But his limbs refused to obey.
His body wasn't his anymore; it was a doll's shell, bound by invisible strings and cruel laughter.
The [Blood Witch] didn't even look at them—her focus elsewhere, humming a playful tune as if she were stirring a pot of jam instead of orchestrating despair.
F Rankers. That's what they were. Children who'd barely awakened their stories.
Even if the [Blood Witch] had been an E Ranker, the result would've been the same—hopeless.
But she wasn't.
She stood among the highest, a Z Ranker whose power stretched beyond comprehension.
Against her, the twins were nothing but paper toys waiting to burn.
So as their tears fell and the [Blood Witch]'s laughter echoed through the candy walls, something shifted.
Her voice—once filled with cruel amusement—cut short mid-taunt.
Her grin froze, then slowly dissolved into confusion, then alarm.
Her crimson eyes darted upward. "How—how could he—without me noticing—"
The words trailed off, swallowed by a sudden quake that rippled through the floor.
The entire house groaned, the chocolate beams cracking, sugar glass shattering, gumdrop chandeliers swaying violently.
And then—
CRASH!
The ceiling exploded into a thousand glittering fragments, shards of candy and bits of chocolate flying in every direction like colored rain.
Yet none of it touched the twins.
The air itself bent around them—every falling piece splitting, twisting, scattering aside before it could land.
The red threads evaporated into smoke.
The pressure in their chests vanished.
Gretel gasped as she stumbled back into her own body again—her limbs finally her own. Hansel blinked, barely believing it.
For the first time since entering that house, they could move again.
And for the first time—
The [Blood Witch] looked afraid.
But Gretel didn't wait to understand.
Her instincts screamed louder than her confusion. She lunged forward and shoved Hansel with all her might—pushing him away from the oven just as another tremor split the floor, flames licking up behind him.
On the other side of the ruined candy room, the [Blood Witch]'s expression twisted—fear turning swiftly to fury.
Her crimson hair flared like fire, and her red threads trembled in the air, snapping and coiling as she glared up through the shattered roof.
Above her, framed by the pastel pink sky of the Candy Kingdom, floated a lone figure.
He wore a sleek black mask that covered his face, his short black hair swept back by the wind.
His shirt—black, neat, its sleeves rolled to his elbows—bore a silver-white emblem of roses, and the gloved hands at his sides glowed faintly with the hum of story energy.
Black pants, black shoes, and a calm, weightless posture.
He stood in the air like a shadowed note in the bright world below.
The twins froze again, but not in fear this time.
Their eyes widened with awe, recognition flashing instantly across their faces. They knew that name—everyone in the Wonderlands, no, in the Story World, did.
He was a legend, a savior, a Z Ranker whose name had become a story all on its own.
The hero who had chased the [Blood Witch] from kingdom to another.
[Last Note of Black].
The [Blood Witch]'s red eyes flared wide, her voice rising in disbelief and fury.
"How—how did you get here without me noticing a thing?!" she hissed, her many crimson threads thrashing like living veins, cracking through the candy walls and melting them from the heat of her aura.
Above, the man in black hovered with the calm stillness of a shadow unbothered by flame. His voice came down soft, steady, and cold.
"I used Severance to cut the air around you."
The witch froze—truly froze this time. Her lips trembled, a flicker of horror breaking through the mask of anger.
"You—Shizu gave you her core ability?!" she barked, her laugh strained and sharp.
"Is she mad?"
The man's reply came without hesitation.
"No," he said simply, almost fondly. "She's my loving wife, that's all."
The [Blood Witch]'s fury only burned hotter at his calm words.
Her crimson hair flared behind her like a living flame as she turned her glare toward the twins.
With a snap of her fingers, hundreds of red threads burst forth from her palms, slicing through the air toward Hansel and Gretel—
—but before they could even reach the children, the threads dissolved into nothing, evaporating into the still air like steam.
She clicked her tongue, irritation dripping from her voice.
"Severance… what an annoying ability."
Hansel and Gretel stood frozen, too terrified to even breathe.
Neither dared to speak nor move a finger.
This was no place for them—a battlefield between beings so far above them that even the air felt too heavy to exist in.
The man floating above—[Last Note of Black]—raised his gloved hand and snapped his fingers.
Then—
The air folded inward, rippling like a broken mirror, before splitting apart as a line of gleaming death surged forward.
The house was divided cleanly down the middle, sugar and candy shattering into dust.
One of the tentacle-like red limbs sprouting from the [Blood Witch]'s cloak was caught in the strike—it screamed as if alive before tearing away from her and melting into the air, leaving behind nothing but a red haze.
The [Blood Witch] staggered back, her eyes wide, the crimson energy around her flickering violently.
The woman screeched—an ear-piercing, furious sound that shook the sugar walls and made the ground of candy tremble. Her crimson eyes burned with fury as another of her red tentacles lashed out toward the twins, slicing through the air like a blade.
But the [Last Note of Black] didn't even move from his place.
He simply flicked his fingers.
His fingers sang, and the wind answered in blood.
The tentacle froze mid-swing—then split apart cleanly, dissolving into scarlet mist.
This time, he didn't wait.
His body descended like a blur of shadow and rose petals, faster than the eye could follow. Landing silently upon the broken candy floor, he raised his hand once more and snapped his fingers—yet no sound echoed, no energy flared.
Instead, Hansel and Gretel's small bodies lifted gently off the ground, their eyes wide and lips trembling. They couldn't move, couldn't even breathe properly; fear and awe had turned them to statues.
The man's gloved finger shifted slightly, and—
Poof.
In an instant, both twins vanished, carried away by his will, far from the web of the [Blood Witch].
...
Hansel barely managed to stay upright, his breath heavy, his heart racing like he had just woken from a nightmare he couldn't escape.
His arms trembled as he held Gretel close, her small form limp against him.
The blue candy-scented breeze of the river brushed against their faces — sweet, soft, and sickening after what they had just lived through.
He looked down at his hands, sticky with sugar and tears.
His body was still bloated — cartoonishly so — round and heavy like he'd been drawn that way. Each breath hurt, not just from exhaustion, but from shame.
His reflection rippled faintly in the blue juice beside them, showing a swollen face that wasn't his.
He looked toward the river, trembling.
The creamy house, the witch, her red threads — all gone.
Only the endless pink sky and the faint sound of flowing juice remained. Gretel stirred slightly in his arms, and he panicked, hugging her tighter.
"It's okay," he whispered, voice cracking. "We're safe... I think."
But even he didn't believe those words.
His legs wobbled under his own weight; he couldn't move far.
He swallowed, his throat burning with guilt. "I'll... find a way home, Gretel," he said softly, brushing a strand of her hair from her forehead. "I promise. I'll fix it this time..."
But as he tried to stand, the weight of his new form dragged him down to his knees.
He didn't care.
Through blurred eyes and trembling breath, Hansel activated his Borrowed Story's ability — the faint glow of blue light tracing his small arms.
His Story was borrowed from his father's Original D-Ranked Story, [Farmer With a Stronger Body] — a humble tale that once gave their father the strength to plow endless fields and lift boulders twice his size.
It wasn't a grand Story, not one of heroes or battles, but of sweat, soil, and quiet endurance.
Their father had used it to travel across Fragments before retiring, choosing to settle in the Wonderlands — in the Garden Kingdom — to live as his Story's name promised: a farmer, strong in body and gentle in heart.
And now that same strength hummed faintly in Hansel's veins.
Even though his small body was bloated and heavy from the witch's twisted feast, even though his legs trembled under his own weight, the borrowed glow of that Story allowed him to move.
He gritted his teeth, lifted Gretel into his arms, and took a single step forward — then another — defying the logic of the swollen weight that should've kept him crawling.
The ground beneath him squished with the soft sweetness of candy grass, and though every step hurt, he kept going.
He didn't look back. He didn't even dare to.
If he did—if he thought too long about what had just happened—he'd probably collapse right there, shaking and crying until he fainted.
They had just stood between two monsters of legend: one born of nightmare and cruelty, the other of hope and light.
Two Z Rankers — the apex of the Story World.
The [Blood Witch], whose very name made kingdoms tremble.
And the [Last Note of Black], the hero whispered about in bedtime tales.
It was madness.
Too much for a six-year-old mind to grasp.
It all sounded too big, too unreal—almost like something from a Story.
Hansel shook his little head hard, trying to banish the images before they could root too deep in his thoughts.
"No," he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip around Gretel. "Don't think about it. Just… keep walking."
And so he did, one heavy step after another, through the pink sky and the candy fields that no longer seemed sweet.
It took Hansel more than two hours to finally reach their small farm.
By the time he arrived, his breath was ragged, his legs wobbled, and his fat, heavy body ached all over. Still, he didn't stop until he saw their house — the small wooden home surrounded by neat rows of crops and the faint shimmer of story-energy lines that protected their fields.
Out front stood his father, speaking hurriedly to a group of guards.
They wore green armor, bark-textured and lined with glowing veins of light. Tree People — natives of the Garden Kingdom. Their voices were calm but firm, trying to keep his father steady.
"…Please, sir, we'll send a search team. The Candy Kingdom already—"
"My children are gone!" his father barked, fists trembling. "Do you even understand that?"
Hansel could see him from afar — red-eyed, disheveled, his usual calm completely gone. His father turned just as Hansel stumbled out from the trees, Gretel still in his arms.
The guards turned too, their leaf-patterned eyes widening in shock.
And for a moment… silence. Just the hum of the wind brushing past the crops.
Then the father's voice broke through, shaking:
"Hansel…? Gretel…?"
Hansel looked different, of course—and Gretel was still fast asleep—but their father recognized them instantly. The moment his eyes met theirs, something broke inside him.
He bolted forward without hesitation, the sound of his boots pounding against the dirt echoing through the quiet field.
The guards shouted for him to wait, uncertain of the two small figures stumbling out of the woods. Their hands twitched toward their weapons, but none dared move to stop him.
They were only E Rankers, after all—and he was a D Ranker, faster, stronger, desperate.
He reached his children in a blur, dropping to his knees and pulling them both into his arms. Hansel clung to him and began to cry, small sobs shaking his shoulders.
Gretel remained limp in his grasp, her soft breathing the only sign of life. Their father said nothing. He didn't cry, didn't ask questions—he just held them, his trembling hands revealing more than words ever could.
The guards stood back, letting the moment breathe.
After a long, quiet stretch of wind passing through the fields, one finally stepped forward and spoke, voice low and cautious.
"…Sir, are you certain? Are they truly your children?"
The father finally loosened his embrace, his hands shaking as he pulled back from Hansel. He kept Gretel in his arms, her small body still motionless against his chest, her face pale but peaceful.
"Yes," he said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. "They're my children."
But as his gaze fell on Hansel again, confusion flickered across his face.
The boy's body… it wasn't right.
He was far too fat—unnaturally so—as if something inside him had twisted the way he should be. It had only been a few hours since they disappeared, yet this change couldn't be explained by time alone.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them stepped forward, his armor creaking softly as he crouched down to meet Hansel's eyes.
"Boy," he said gently, "you've been through something strange, haven't you? Can you tell us what happened? Can you answer a few questions?"
Hansel hesitated, his fingers clutching the edge of his shirt.
His mind raced back to the white house, to the smell of sugar and blood, to the woman who smiled with eyes that weren't human.
He swallowed hard, forcing his trembling lips into a nod.
The guards exchanged quick glances before one spoke, his tone measured but wary.
"Where did you go this morning, boy? You and your sister—where were you headed?"
Hansel lowered his head, the memory heavy on his tongue. "I… left the house," he murmured. "I thought it was for the best."
His father stood silent beside him, saying nothing—his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.
Hansel continued, voice trembling, "Gretel followed me. She didn't want me to go alone… she was worried."
The guards listened intently as he spoke of the blue river of juice that flowed through the Candy Kingdom, of how they fell into it, and then how everything had gone wrong.
He told them about the strange blue bushes, and the white, creamy house that looked like a dream come to life.
But when he reached that part—that woman—his words faltered.
His breath caught, and his eyes darted downward.
His father slowly knelt beside him, one rough hand resting gently atop his son's head.
"It's alright," he said softly. "Go on."
The small gesture steadied Hansel's shaking voice.
He took a deep breath, then whispered the name that froze the air around them.
"The [Blood Witch]."
Silence fell instantly.
One of the guards stumbled a step back; another's hand instinctively went to his weapon.
Hansel's father almost lost his balance, his face draining of color as the weight of that name settled in his mind—an evil that even the strongest Players feared.
One of the guards finally found his voice, though it trembled as he spoke.
"Boy… are you sure about what you're saying?" His hand was still resting on the hilt of his blade, as if the mere mention of those names had summoned danger closer.
Hansel nodded quickly, clutching his father's sleeve for courage.
"I'm telling the truth," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She… she caught us. The [Blood Witch]. Her house—she tried to eat us. There were red threads, and she laughed like—like she already knew it would happen."
The guards' faces turned pale. One cursed under his breath.
Hansel went on, the story spilling from him in shaky bursts. "Then… then someone came. The sky broke open, and there he was—[Last Note of Black]. He fought her. He… he saved us."
His small hands trembled as he spoke, but his eyes were wide with awe now, the memory of that moment still burning behind them.
"He used his power—cut the air itself. Everything vanished in a flash. Then… he sent us away. I don't know how, but we were just… here again."
He took a shaky breath, looking down at his arms. "After that, I used my Story—my Borrowed one—to make my body stronger. That's how I carried Gretel back."
No one spoke for a while.
The wind rustled through the green fields, the hum of distant life returning, but among them, the silence was heavy—too heavy.
The name of the [Blood Witch] and the [Last Note of Black] spoken in the same breath was not something anyone in the Garden Kingdom could easily believe… or ignore.
His father stood frozen, unable to find his voice. The words his son had spoken echoed in his mind again and again, refusing to make sense.
The [Blood Witch]?
Here?
So close that his children had stumbled right into her lair?
He looked down at Hansel—sweaty, trembling, and far too round to even resemble the boy he'd seen that morning—and at Gretel, still limp in his arms.
His throat tightened.
The thought alone made his stomach twist.
She almost ate them...
A Z Ranker.
A monster among monsters.
What chance did two F Rank children have against that?
His hands clenched against Gretel's small back.
He remembered the last rumor he'd heard—how the [Blood Witch] had escaped from the Mirror Kingdom after another clash with [Last Note of Black].
He'd thought that was the end of it. The kingdoms had gone quiet. Everyone believed she'd fled into the deeper, forgotten Fragments.
But no.
She hadn't fled far. She'd come here. To their world.
To the Candy Kingdom.
And somehow, his children had crossed her path—had survived—and had been saved by the same man who hunted her from kingdom to kingdom.
It was too much.
Too unreal.
Like a tale told in taverns, not something that could ever reach his peaceful little farm.
His knees almost gave out, and he had to steady himself, staring at the dirt beneath his boots.
While the father struggled to breathe through the shock, one of the guards stepped aside and raised his hand.
A faint hum filled the air as a green Story System Interface unfolded before him in shimmering layers of light, shaped like twisting vines.
"We have to report this," the guard muttered, voice tight. "Right now."
The others nodded, their armor creaking softly. Even they could feel it—something enormous had brushed against their small, peaceful kingdom today.
"Garden Patrol, Sector Six. Confirmed sighting of Z Rank activity near the Candy Kingdom border. Repeat—Z Rank activity. Two children involved, possibly witnesses."
His tone lowered, nearly reverent. "The [Blood Witch]… and the [Last Note of Black]."
"Understood," the guard replied after a pause, then looked to the father, his face pale. "We're sending word to Her Majesty immediately. The [Grass Queen] will want to know."
The name alone brought a fleeting comfort—their queen, the ruler of the Garden Kingdom, the only Z Ranker who kept the land thriving and its people safe.
But that comfort vanished as soon as the reality sank in.
If the boy was telling the truth… then another Z Ranker, far beyond even the [Grass Queen]'s power, had descended into their world.
The [Last Note of Black]—the Savior of the Wonderlands—had walked their skies today.
The guard shook his head, about to ask Hansel another question—
But the words never left his lips.
He froze.
So did everyone else.
The air shimmered. Green butterflies drifted into existence, their wings glowing faintly like scattered emerald light.
A soft rustle spread through the world around them as if the land itself exhaled. Trees sprouted from thin air—gentle, lush, and impossibly vivid.
The soil beneath their feet turned vibrant, the colors deepening until the entire field seemed alive.
Then came the sound of steps—light, calm, deliberate.
Out of the shifting green haze walked a woman.
Her long dress flowed like silk spun from leaves; her hair, too, was made of them, cascading down in a quiet rhythm of nature.
Her skin was faintly green, her presence serene and commanding all at once.
Upon her head rested a pointed green hat, and a thin veil concealed her face, leaving only the impression of grace and mystery.
She stopped before Hansel, her hand extending softly toward him.
No one dared move. Not even his father.
For before them stood their ruler—the Z Ranker known throughout the Wonderlands as the [Grass Queen], sovereign of the Garden Kingdom.
Her voice came gentle and soft, like a breeze brushing through leaves.
"Are you alright, little one?" she asked.
Hansel could barely breathe, much less speak. He only managed a shaky nod.
The woman tilted her head slightly, the faintest warmth behind her unseen gaze. "Did the [Blood Witch] frighten you?"
Again, Hansel nodded. His small fingers clutched at his father's sleeve.
The [Grass Queen] smiled beneath her veil, a calm, motherly light radiating from her. She reached out and ruffled his hair with a touch so light it almost wasn't there.
"She's gone now," she said softly. "My good friend Renzo took care of her."
She leaned a little closer, her tone carrying a gentle humor. "Oh… you might know him better by his Story Name—[Last Note of Black]."
Hansel didn't answer. His throat felt tight, and his heart still raced from everything that had happened.
The [Grass Queen] continued, her voice steady and warm.
"Unfortunately," she said with a faint sigh, "that terrible witch managed to escape once more. But do not worry, little one. Your queen will see to it that no harm ever comes to you or your family again."
Her words wrapped around Hansel like sunlight through trees—soft, comforting, real. For the first time since the candy house, his trembling stopped.
Before she could say another word, a sudden ripple moved through the air—calm, quiet, yet heavy. A black petal drifted down from above, landing gently on the green grass.
Then, a figure descended.
He floated slowly, as though the air itself carried him.
His suit was perfectly black, trimmed with faint threads of white; a white tie rested neatly against his chest. His short dark hair moved slightly with the wind, and his face was hidden behind a sleek black mask.
The [Last Note of Black] had arrived.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips beneath the mask.
"Am I intruding?" he asked lightly, his tone humble despite the quiet weight of power that still lingered in the air.
The [Grass Queen] let out a soft, melodic chuckle. "Not at all, Renzo. I was simply telling this brave little boy about how you defeated that dreadful woman."
Renzo waved a gloved hand modestly. "Defeated might be too strong a word. I was late… far too late, honestly."
His masked gaze turned toward Hansel, voice softening. "I'm sorry, little one. I should've arrived sooner."
Hansel's eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, clutching at his shirt nervously. "N-No! It's okay, sir! You… you saved us! I'm really grateful!"
Renzo chuckled faintly at the boy's earnest tone, but Hansel couldn't hold his gaze any longer.
He lowered his head, staring at the grass instead, too overwhelmed to look at the two Z Rankers standing before him—their presence felt too immense, too unreal, as if he were standing inside a story itself.
[Last Note of Black] let out a quiet sigh and lowered his head slightly. "Still," he said, "I owe you both an apology."
He raised one gloved hand and snapped his fingers.
Hansel blinked. "Huh?"
He looked down—his hands were thinner, his body light again. The weight that had crushed him moments ago was gone.
"W–What…?"
And then he saw it: beside him floated a small shimmering bubble, and inside it—his round belly. Detached. Floating like some strange balloon.
His eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets, a choked squeak escaping his throat.
Another sharp snap echoed, and the bubble vanished into thin air as if it had never existed.
The [Grass Queen] turned toward Renzo with a small laugh hidden behind her green veil. "Renzo, it isn't very kind to frighten the boy like that."
Renzo lifted his hands in defense, a small grin curling at the corner of his lips beneath the mask. "Not my intention, I assure you."
Then, his voice turned quiet again, serious. "Still… we should continue this discussion elsewhere. The [Candy King] is waiting. This concerns his kingdom's territory as much as yours, Your Majesty."
The [Grass Queen] nodded, her leafy hair rustling softly in the wind.
She bent slightly and ruffled Hansel's hair once more — gentle, motherly — and said softly, "Rest, little one."
Then she took a single backward step.
The air shimmered. Vines of emerald light coiled around her form, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone — dissolved into a thousand drifting petals of green.
Renzo blinked once, his black mask tilting. "Man," he muttered, half to himself, "what a cool ability… to just disappear like that."
Turning toward the stunned guards and Hansel's father, he waved his hands. "Apologies for the intrusion."
Then, with a faint hum of power, he pressed one foot lightly against the ground—
Boom!
The air cracked as his figure blurred upward, soaring into the pink-tinged horizon until he was nothing but a black streak vanishing into the distance, leaving behind only silence… and the faint scent of white roses.
The silence lingered like morning mist — thick, unreal, heavy with awe.
None of them spoke for several long minutes, the only sound the whisper of the wind through the green fields.
Then, finally, one of the guards swallowed hard and broke the quiet.
"Was that…" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, "our queen? The [Grass Queen]—in person?"
No one answered. They all knew the truth already.
Another guard rubbed the back of his neck, still staring at the spot where she'd vanished. "And the other one," he said slowly, disbelief creeping into his tone, "that was him, wasn't it? The Savior of the Wonderlands… [Last Note of Black] himself?"
A hush fell again, heavier this time. Even speaking their names felt sacred.
Then, nervously, a third guard leaned closer to his comrades and whispered, "You know… I've got a friend in the Blue Trade, an Information Gatherer. If we told them about this—about seeing both of them here—" His eyes gleamed with the thought.
"We'd be rich. Famous even."
As the guards spoke between themselves, Hansel felt his father's arms wrap around him again. They didn't say anything this time.
The warmth said enough.
Time passed, and the guards eventually left.
By nightfall, Hansel and Gretel stood side by side facing their father. The little girl was already awake, though still too shocked to speak after Hansel told her everything that had happened while she slept.
Her wide eyes darted between her brother and father, trying to make sense of it all — the Queen, the Savior, the stories she thought were just bedtime tales standing before their very house.
Their father then spoke, his voice low and heavy.
He apologized for not being there enough—for not paying them enough attention. It was his duty, as their protector and guardian, to keep an eye on them.
He failed at that.
Hansel opened his mouth to speak, but his father raised a hand, and the boy stopped.
"It was also my fault," he continued, "for not noticing the quiet jealousy in your heart, Hansel. I should've talked to you about it, helped you understand it, instead of making it worse by always praising Gretel too much."
He then turned to his daughter, his eyes softening. "And I'm sorry, Gretel, for not protecting you… for letting you do all the worrying. You were brave and kind for following after your brother, but the right thing to do was to tell me instead."
Silence filled the small room.
He looked between the two of them, the weight of guilt still on his shoulders, and said one last thing—
"I'll do better as your father from now on."
Hansel couldn't hold it in anymore.
He ran straight into his father's arms, wrapping him in a tight hug and mumbling through shaky breaths that he was sorry for causing trouble.
Gretel followed right after, her small hands clutching at her father's sleeve as she apologized for keeping things secret and following Hansel instead of telling him.
Their father said nothing, only pulled them closer.
The three of them stayed that way—father and children—holding each other beneath the soft glow of the night light, their warmth blending together after everything that had happened.
Hansel turned toward his sister, guilt still clouding his eyes.
He opened his mouth, stammering another apology, but Gretel only shook her head with a soft smile.
She took his hands in hers and said quietly, "Just be my brother again… and my best friend. Can you do that?"
Hansel's throat tightened, but he nodded.
That was all she needed.
She threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly as if to make sure he was real. Their father watched them, a small smile forming as he ruffled both their heads.
"Well," he said, his voice light for the first time in what felt like forever, "not everyone can say they met real legends today."
The twins laughed.
Days passed, and life slowly returned to its gentle rhythm.
The air no longer carried tension — only laughter.
Hansel darted through the fields, Gretel chasing after him, both laughing as their feet kicked up the soft green grass.
In the distance, a group of boys called his name.
Hansel stopped, grinning as his friends waved him over.
"Come on, Hansel! Let's play!" one of them shouted.
Then, with a mischievous grin, another added, "But maybe… not Gretel this time?"
Hansel blinked, then glanced at his sister.
Without hesitation, he reached out, took her hand, and said with a firm smile, "No Gretel, no Hansel."
The boys exchanged glances before laughing. "Alright, alright — she can come!"
And so, the twins ran off together, joining the others under the soft glow of the afternoon sun.
Their father stood at the doorway of their home, arms crossed, a proud smile on his face.
"Be back before sundown!" he called.
Hansel turned, nodding with a wave. "We promise!"
The laughter of the children faded into the wind, carried over the peaceful fields — a promise of brighter days ahead.
—End of Story.