Deep in the heart of the Superior National Forest, the world feels suspended—caught between reality and something older. Wisps of silver mist drift between the trees, curling like breath from an unseen spirit. The pines tower like ancient guardians, their trunks etched with timeworn glyphs only the forest remembers. Shafts of pale light pierce the canopy in narrow columns, illuminating patches of glowing moss and flowers that pulse with a faint, otherworldly light.

  The wind carries more than the scent of pine—it whispers names, forgotten songs, and soft warnings in languages long lost. A brook trickles nearby, its water shimmering as if it catches starlight in the middle of the day. Somewhere beyond the ferns and curling vines, something watches. Not with malice, but with curiosity—an old, patient curiosity, the kind that has seen ages come and go.

  A man moves slowly through the forest, his boots crunching over a carpet of crisp, fallen leaves. Amber and crimson swirl in the breeze, dancing through the trees like sparks from a hidden fire. Towering pines and maples stand like sentinels, their branches aflame with autumn’s final breath. The air is cool and still, rich with the scent of damp earth, decaying wood, and something older—something watching.

  He pauses often, letting the hush of the forest soak into his skin. The silence feels heavy, expectant. It’s as if the forest itself is listening… deciding whether to let him pass.

  Then, at last, he sees it.

  A shape emerges between the trees—a structure, half-hidden and half-claimed by nature. Wooden beams rise like bones from the earth, a slanted roof blanketed in snow, small windows edged with delicate frost. The house looks impossibly out of place, and yet as if it has always been here, waiting for someone to remember it.

  “This must be the place,” the man murmurs, his voice low, barely disturbing the hush. He glances down at a toad waddling across his path, its skin the color of damp stone. “What do you think?” he asks absently, offering a small smile before continuing toward the door.

  The toad blinks once—then hops after him.

  The man steps onto the creaking porch, the scent of dry leaves and old wood curling around him. He raises a hand and knocks twice. The sound echoes strangely, as if the forest itself is listening. Then, with a long groan of ancient hinges, the door creaks open on its own.

  He hesitates. “May I come in?” he asks politely, already stepping inside.

  The cottage is alive with quiet chaos. Books drift through the air like migrating birds, flapping lazily in looping arcs. Some open mid-flight, pages whispering arcane phrases before snapping shut and sliding neatly onto shelves that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  A broom sweeps across the floor on its own, chasing a dust bunny that lets out a mischievous giggle before darting behind a weathered trunk.

  Frogs hop lazily along the damp steps until they notice the man. In an instant, they scatter, vanishing into the shadows as he climbs toward the upper floor.

  At the top of the stairs, she appears — short purple hair held back by a black headband, violet eyes scanning him like a slow, deliberate search. No surprise. No curiosity. Just a flat, knowing stare.

  The man bows. “I hope I didn’t—”

  “Well,” she interrupts softly, “you did disturb me.” Her voice carries the weight of someone answering a question before it’s spoken.

  Just above her heart, a faint red “third eye” pulses. Thin cords snake from it to her head and wrists, glowing in rhythm with her breath — quiet, steady, mechanical.

  “You must be the great Ange I’ve heard so much about,” he says.

  “I’m used to people being more afraid of me, Aruku,” Ange replies, stepping down the stairs barefoot. Her gaze never wavers, as though she’s turning pages only she can read.

  “Oh, so you know me. That should make things simpler, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I know why you’re here,” she says before he can think of a reply. “So just say it already.”

  Aruku drops to his hands and knees. “I’ve been studying to become a doctor ever since I had to leave Mauna Loa… when the dragon attacked.”

  Ange’s yawn is slow and deliberate, her violet eyes half-lidded. “And yet… it seems to be following you,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of a statement, not a guess. Her gaze cuts straight through him, turning his thoughts like pages in an open book.

  “So… Earth managed to defend itself against the dragon,” she adds idly. “With only a few casualties.” Her lips curve faintly. “One point two billion.”

  “As you can see, this planet now more than ever needs advanced healing,” he says. His voice stays steady, though his thoughts are laid bare beneath her stare. “I heard you have great knowledge of both science and magic.” He draws in a breath. “Will you… please teach me?”

  Something in his tone makes her pause. She begins to circle him, her bare feet whispering against the wood, the red glow of her “third eye” pulsing in time with his heartbeat. “It comes with being alone,” she says softly. “Not much to do but study.”

  “You could come outside with me,” Aruku offers quickly, trying to fill the silence she leaves hanging. “I love a good book as much as anyone, but there are wonders you have to see for yourself.”

  Ange stops, then sinks down beside him. “You’ve known me for less than two minutes,” she murmurs, a faint smile tugging at her lips, “and you’ve already invited me to walk outside… like a human.”

  Her smile deepens — touched by something unreadable. “I may have a problem… I’m starting to like you.”

  She takes his hand and helps him to his feet, leading him down a narrow hallway. The door at the end slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a lab far too vast to fit inside the modest house he entered.

  The chamber is immense and circular, the air alive with a faint hum. Curved glass panels line the walls, each one shimmering with shifting constellations — not stars, but streams of data, pulsing like living light.

  The chamber hums softly, alive with shifting light and hidden purpose. The walls shimmer with constellations — not stars, but thoughts, memories, and fragments of magic Ange has siphoned from across worlds.

  Floating display screens orbit a central pillar of black crystal, its surface etched with runes that rearrange themselves as new information flows in. The air smells faintly of ozone and lavender — a strange blend of sterile precision and something warmer, lived-in.

  Instead of shelves of books, angled racks hold crystal-like memory cores, each glowing with a different hue and whispering faintly if you get too close. Some drift lazily above their slots, tethered by thin magnetic rings.

  Tables are cluttered with instruments that seem caught between alchemy and alien medicine — slender metal arms ending in needle-fine tips, beakers filled with softly glowing liquid, scanners that hum like sleeping animals.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A set of wide steps leads to a raised platform where Ange keeps her personal seat — not a chair, but a suspended harness that lets her recline midair. Cables trail from its frame into the back of her headband, feeding directly into her pulsing “third eye.” From there, she can read minds, run simulations, or trace the hidden patterns of the universe without ever moving.

  “This is… incredible,” Aruku breathes, a stunned smile flickering across his face as his eyes dart from one strange device to the next.

  Ange doesn’t smile. She steps closer, her fingers slipping into the loose fabric of his sleeve. With a slow, almost absentminded tug, she pulls it back, revealing the skin beneath.

  “Do you really think,” she asks softly, her violet eyes locking onto his, “that all those people deserve to be saved?”

  Aruku opens his mouth, but she doesn’t give him the chance.

  “That’s a na?ve way of thinking.”

  He laughs — light, but defiant. “Maybe. But you never know what you’re capable of if you don’t try.”

  Ange leans back slightly, her expression softening into a teasing smile. “So… you want me to go outside, hm? You’ll have to carry me.”

  She doesn’t expect him to take it seriously. “Oh, I don’t see that happening,” she says, waving a hand dismissively.

  “I didn’t need to think about it,” Aruku replies. His tone is steady — like he means it.

  Ange hesitates, then steps outside. The moment she does, the light catches her off guard. The forest stretches before her like a living cathedral — gold and crimson leaves blazing under the low evening sun. Shafts of amber light pour between the trunks, illuminating drifting motes of dust and the slow tumble of leaves. The air is cool with pine and earth, yet warm where sunlight grazes her skin.

  For a rare moment, her lazy detachment slips. Her violet eyes soften as she watches the breeze ripple through the canopy, scattering a cascade of fiery leaves into the air.

  “The Earth has some wonderful sights for visitors like this,” Aruku says, glancing down at the girl in his arms.

  “It’s… nice, I guess,” Ange murmurs, her tone casual — but the warmth in the air, and in his presence, makes something inside her feel unexpectedly light. She almost smiles.

  “It gets dangerous at night,” she adds, tilting her head toward the forest. “Why don’t you stay here? You can use my lab in the morning.”

  The next day comes and goes, and somehow, they’re still together.

  Then another.

  “The health potion you made is ingenious,” Aruku says, holding a vial up to the light. “I didn’t know you could make your body function normally no matter how bad of a state it’s in.”

  Ange feels her cheeks warm at the casual praise.

  “Oh, I don’t need to be a mind reader to see that face,” Aruku teases, laughing softly.

  “I promise you, you’ve got the wrong idea,” she says quickly, turning away — though the blush deepens across her cheeks. “For a doctor, you’re pretty dumb, teasing a Satori like that.”

  “Well, it’s fitting,” he says with a grin. “A mind reader who isn’t a very good liar.”

  Ange’s gaze drops to the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She isn’t used to this kind of attention — not the clumsy teasing, not the warmth creeping up her neck. For a moment, she tries to focus on anything else: the quiet hum of her lab equipment, the faint scent of potion herbs in the air.

  But her curiosity stirs.

  Without a word, she lets her mind reach toward his — a careful, feather-light touch, like testing the temperature of still water. And there it is. Clear. Unhidden.

  Her breath catches. She looks up sharply, eyes locking with his in a long, searching stare, as if she needs to confirm the truth with her own senses.

  “You… you really feel this way?” she asks softly.

  Aruku’s voice carries more certainty than he’s ever felt in his life.

  “My time here… it’s been the best I’ve ever—”

  “I know already,” Ange cuts in, her tone dry but her eyes softer than usual. “You don’t need to be so dramatic.”

  Aruku chuckles. “Well then… I love you.”

  Her breath hitches before she looks away. “Your feelings,” she murmurs, “are louder than your words.”

  Ange turns, leading Aruku into her room. Dim amber light glows over shelves of strange trinkets and suspended crystals. She reaches into a small carved box and lifts out a smooth, glowing stone — its surface shifting in soft ripples of color.

  “This is a Mahoishi,” she says, placing it gently into his palm. “With this—”

  A sharp knock shatters the calm.

  “Alien Department!” a voice barks from outside. “Open up!”

  The frogs vanish beneath the water with a single ripple. The air outside shifts — heavy, wrong.

  A boot slams into the door. Wood splinters. Three soldiers burst inside, rifles sweeping across the room.

  A boot slams into the door. Wood splinters. Three soldiers surge inside, rifles sweeping the room.

  They hesitate — just for a breath.

  She moves. A blur between flashes of moonlight, her strikes landing with sharp, muffled precision. One rifle clatters to the floor. A helmeted head snaps back. Another soldier crashes into a table, glass shattering and spinning across the boards.

  Gunfire erupts — deafening, blinding.

  Somewhere in the chaos, a scream tears through the night.

  “Aruku!” Ange’s voice cracks through the darkness — sharp, desperate.

  Then it changes. Low. Cold.

  Her hands seize the nearest soldier, lifting him as if he weighs nothing. The others barely have time to aim before she slams them into the wall, disarming them in a blur of motion.

  “You’ve crossed the line this time,” she says, her voice like ice. “When I’m done, you’ll wish you’d died here tonight.”

  They thrash, but her grip is unyielding. Their weapons clatter uselessly to the floor. One by one, she drags them toward the shadowed stairwell.

  The sound of the basement door slamming shut echoes through the house. Their screams follow — fading — until there’s nothing.

  Ange rushes back into the bedroom. Aruku lies on the floor, blood seeping through his shirt. Her breath trembles. She grabs a vial from the shelf — a health potion — and lifts his head carefully.

  “Drink,” she pleads, pressing it to his lips. The liquid glows faintly as it slides down his throat.

  “Ange!”

  A voice cuts through the silence. Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Lemres bursts through the doorway — and freezes. His eyes lock on Aruku’s bleeding body… and Ange, trembling, her face streaked with tears.

  “No…” Lemres whispers. “I was too late.”

  “Why do they always do this?” Ange’s voice breaks, but her eyes blaze with fury. “It doesn’t matter the planet — humans are all the same.” Her fingers curl into fists, nails biting into her palms. “I’ve had it with this bloody life.”

  She looks toward the shattered doorway — the night still burning beyond.

  She looks down at Aruku, her fingers brushing his cooling hand. “He was kind. He was good. And they couldn’t stand that I was happy… so they shot him.”

  “I’ll get him medical attention,” Lemres says quickly, stepping forward. “I know the best healing mages, and she—”

  “I’m going to kill them,” Ange cuts him off, her voice low and raw. Tears rise again, but there’s steel beneath them. “Every single human. They all deserve to die. And now I see it — it’s my job to start the genocide they’ve been begging for.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Lemres says, though his voice falters under the force of her glare. There’s a dangerous stillness in her — the kind that makes even him hesitate.

  “You need to calm down,” he tries again, forcing his tone steady. “I know who runs the Alien Department. If you want revenge on the ones who did this, I’ll help you get it. But I won’t stand by and let you take it out on every human on Earth.”

  Her jaw tightens; violet eyes narrow as if weighing the worth of his words — and whether he is worth listening to at all.

  “Any one of them could have stood up,” Ange says, voice low and trembling, “and said no — we won’t behave like animals anymore.”

  Lemres glances at Aruku’s unmoving body on the floor. “Looks like you found one,” he says, stepping closer.

  Her eyes flare with fresh rage, but he moves gently. “Relax. I’ll handle it.”

  “For the sake of humanity,” she snaps, “you’d better.”

  Lemres doesn’t answer. He kneels, lifts Aruku carefully into his arms, and carries him out into the night toward the relative safety of his base.

  From the doorway, Ange stands stone-still, the faint red pulse of her third eye burning like an ember in the dark. She watches them disappear into the trees, silence folding over the house like a held breath.