The story begins the day after Lifa’s entrance exam, spanning a week of events. By the end of the first day, relatives and family members gathered anxiously, hoping to see any young girls deemed unready to leave the witches’ school. Grandma Mia was among them, waiting patiently, but no one emerged.

  An hour passed before Jeffrey, the dark magic instructor, appeared above the school walls. His voice boomed, “Congratulations! All the young girls are ACCEPTED! THEY ARE ALL ACCEPTED!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Grandma Mia, visibly relieved, closed her eyes and murmured softly, “Be brave, Lifa.”

  At the same time, near the Gold Tavern, stood Yoka's shop where Dam worked. Despite its location in a dangerous area frequented by thieves, the shop thrived as a bustling hub for adventurers seeking equipment, potions, and magical scrolls.

  The shop’s owner, Yoka, was as usual asleep amidst empty goblets, the room reeking of stale drink. His lifestyle was clear: a lazy merchant who either dreamed or drank, rarely doing anything else.

  Meanwhile, Dam worked diligently, cleaning potion bottles on the shelves until they sparkled. He moved to the counter, wiping it down, when three familiar adventurers entered the shop.

  At the lead was Murdo, a green-haired dual-sword wielder, accompanied by two companions. One was a young archer with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Her intricately carved, dark bow and expensive armour marked her as someone of noble lineage or wealth. The other was an older man dressed in a black robe, carrying a white sword—a weapon that signified his rare and formidable role as a magic swordsman. All three were regular customers.

  “Hello, my adventurer friends!” Dam greeted warmly. “What can I help you with today?”

  Murdo glanced at the shelves. “Healing potions. A lot of them. We had a close call yesterday,” he said.

  Dam began selecting potions from the shelves. “Goblins?” he asked curiously.

  “No, worse,” Murdo replied. “Goblin wizards. I’ve never seen anything like them before—they can actually talk.”

  Placing the potions on the counter, Dam explained, “They’re commonly known as shamans. They mimic human speech and even cry out to trick adventurers into thinking they’re people in distress.”

  The archer, Safle, nodded. “If I hadn’t shot it, that thing could’ve burned us alive.”

  Murdo handed over the payment and remarked, “Your life might seem easier, but this shop isn’t exactly safe either.”

  Dam smiled. “As long as you keep coming back, that’s all the protection I need.”

  Hog, the old man in black robes, asked, “I haven’t been in this city for long, but why aren’t there any guards in this area?”

  Dam smirked faintly, a hint of mockery in his expression. “There aren’t any nobles or rich families to protect here, so why would they bother?”

  Hog nodded thoughtfully, recalling that this part of the city was mostly inhabited by the poor. Meanwhile, Murdo divided the healing potions between himself and his companions. Once done, he turned to Dam and said, “Thanks, Dam. Stay safe, brother.”

  Dam gave a small nod. “You too. Be safe, all of you.”

  As Murdo and his friends left the shop, twilight had already settled over the city. Dam glanced at the dimming sky and muttered, “Time to close up. I need to get home before nightfall.”

  Heading upstairs, he found Yoka still asleep and decided to wake him by spilling a goblet of water over him. Yoka jolted awake, shouting nonsensically, “Snow! Ice! River!”

  Placing the goblet down, Dam said, “It’s almost night. I need to leave, and you need to lock up—or keep drinking, or whatever it is you do.”

  Yoka grunted as he tried to get up. Despite his strong build, years of indulgence had dulled his edge, evident in both his appearance and his reeking smell. Something about Yoka seemed off to Dam—he appeared unusually lethargic, even for him.

  “You’ve been sleeping more than usual. Are you sick?” Dam asked, helping Yoka to his feet.

  Yoka waved the question away and avoided eye contact. “I just... remembered someone. But it’s nothing. You should go.”

  Taking the cue, Dam hurried downstairs. As he reached the door, it swung open. He started to say, “Sorry, we’re...” but stopped mid-sentence.

  Three guards entered the shop. One of them looked at Dam and asked curtly, “Are you the owner?”

  Dam shook his head. “No, that’s Yoka. I just work here. But we’re closing soon—it’s already getting dark.”

  The second guard, a large man with a spear strapped to his back, pushed Dam aside. His voice boomed, “Stay where you are! We’re here to search the premises for illegal pills that have been spreading in the city.”

  Hearing the commotion, Yoka appeared on the stairs. He looked at Dam and the guards, confused. “Dam? What’s going on here?”

  The third guard, an older man with a disgusted expression—likely due to Yoka’s smell—spoke up. “We’re searching the shop. A new kind of pill has been circulating, one that temporarily forces the body to generate magic. The witches tested it and found it dangerous with prolonged use.”

  Dam nodded calmly. “I understand, but I need to leave before it gets too late. This part of the city isn’t safe after dark.”

  The big guard, unmoved by Dam’s reasoning, shoved him again—this time harder—sending him stumbling into the counter. “STAY STILL! YOU COULD BE HIDING SOMETHING!” he barked.

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  Meanwhile, back at home, Grandma Mia sat alone at the table, staring at the untouched meal in front of her. She sighed heavily, her voice a soft murmur. “Where is my son?”

  Unable to remain idle, she stood up an hour later and decided to look for Dam. Her eyes were red as memories of her late husband, Loen, surfaced. She pictured his warm smile and his voice asking gently, “Are you alright, dear?”

  Back at Yoka’s shop, the guards finally finished their search and left. Dam surveyed the mess they had made, the anger simmering within him as he let out a weary sigh.

  Yoka picked up a goblet of whatever he had been drinking and, without looking at Dam, said, “I’ll clean up. You go back to your house.”

  Dam blinked in surprise and stared at him. “You’re going to clean the place? That’s not like you.”

  Yoka nodded solemnly. “Just go. I... need to close this shop.”

  Sensing something unusual about Yoka’s demeanour but deciding not to press further, Dam nodded and left. Yoka remained behind, still looking distant as he started tidying the shop. He walked to his room on the second floor, gathering the scattered empty goblets and tossing them into a trash basket near the entrance. Then, he moved through the mess left by the guards, setting misplaced potions back in their spots, tidying thrown scrolls, and realigning disorganized shelves. Behind the counter, he sighed as he worked, the quiet room heavy with tension.

  Meanwhile, night had fallen, and Grandma Mia was still searching for Dam. She shivered from the cold and fear gnawing at her thoughts, dreading the worst.

  As she turned down a dimly lit street, she encountered a drunken man holding a large goblet of drink. He stopped and looked at her with bleary eyes, slurring, “Lady, you shouldn’t be out here at night! It’s dangerous!”

  Mia nodded politely. “I’m looking for my son. He works at Yoka’s shop but hasn’t come home.”

  The man paused, staring at Mia for a moment. Something about her reminded him of his own little daughters. A wave of pity crossed his face, and he sighed deeply, imagining what it would feel like to lose someone you love.

  “I wouldn’t wish that on any parent,” he muttered, almost to himself.

  Before Mia could respond, the man downed his entire goblet in one swift motion. She stepped back in shock as he slapped himself, as though trying to sober up, and declared, “Let’s go to the shop!”

  Though hesitant and wary, Mia nodded, realizing she might need his help in this dangerous part of the city. She kept her guard up as they walked side by side, knowing full well she couldn’t entirely trust him, but also recognizing he might be the only option in such perilous surroundings.

  At the same time, Dam was running frantically through the streets, his thoughts racing. “This is the main road leading to the shop,” he told himself. “If Grandma Mia is out looking for me, she’ll be on this route!”

  He turned left, but then froze in his tracks. The street ahead was painted in blood—smeared across the walls, pooled on the ground. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around something—or someone.

  Heart pounding, Dam pushed his way through the throng, gently but urgently shoving people aside until he reached the scene. His breath caught as he saw his grandmother, Grandma Mia, covered in blood. She was being held by two guards, her wrists shackled. Nearby lay the lifeless body of the drunken man who had been helping her, his throat gruesomely slit.

  Blood soaked the cobblestones, and the sight was almost unbearable. Mia was silent as the guards dragged her away, her head lowered and her face pale. Her wide, unfocused eyes betrayed the depths of her shock, as though she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

  Dam stepped forward, his chest tight with fear. “Grandma? Grandma! What happened? What did he do to you?”

  Mia didn’t respond immediately. Her haunted gaze remained distant, her lips trembling as though the words she wanted to speak were caught in her throat.

  One of the guards shoved Dam back forcefully, his voice harsh as he shouted, “Son, back off! She killed someone!”

  Dam, shaken but determined, cried out, “She’s my grandma! She couldn’t have done something like that! Please, let her go!”

  Ignoring his pleas, two other guards grabbed Dam and pulled him away as Grandma Mia was led to a prisoner carriage. She remained silent, her head bowed, her gaze fixed on the ground.

  Dam struggled against the guards, but they held him firmly, forcing him to watch as his grandmother was taken away. He covered his face with his hands, his breaths ragged, teetering on the edge of despair.

  An hour later, Yoka finished cleaning the shop, stretching his back as a series of faint cracks echoed in the quiet room. Scratching his neck, he muttered, “Finally... now, let’s go.”

  As he made his way to the first floor, he noticed movement through the window. Under the glow of the streetlights, he spotted Safle, the young archer, sprinting down the road. Yoka narrowed his eyes, wondering aloud, “Why is that girl running?”

  Opening the shop’s front door, he called out, “Hey, girl! Who’s chasing you?”

  Safle glanced in his direction but didn’t stop, her thoughts racing: *Curse you, Yoka. Why did you have to see me?*

  She said nothing as she continued running. Yoka stepped outside and stared down the street she’d come from, waiting for someone or something to appear. When the road remained empty, he muttered, “No one’s chasing her? Maybe she’s just drunk.” Shrugging, he went back inside.

  At the prison, Grandma Mia sat alone in a small cell reserved for those awaiting trial. Blood still stained her clothes as she remained motionless, her head bowed, eyes vacant, and expression unreadable.

  Across the room, in another cell housing six female prisoners, Jane—a woman with black hair, a scar over her eye, and numerous marks across her arms—watched Mia intently. Her sharp gaze betrayed a dangerous air, though her curiosity seemed piqued.

  Beside her, a short blonde girl with striking blue eyes, Kunvy, whispered, “She looks old, Jane.”

  Jane nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving Mia. “Yeah... what could she have done to end up here?”

  Kunvy glanced at the blood on Mia’s clothes. “Something bad, by the looks of it. That’s a lot of blood.”

  Turning her attention to the guard sitting nearby with a book in hand, Jane called out, “Hey, Roy. What did that woman do?”

  The guard looked up briefly from his book and answered, “She killed a man. Blood everywhere. A real mess.”

  Jane leaned back, her interest deepening as she continued to observe Mia. The older woman remained frozen, her posture unchanged, her silence heavy.

  Inside Mia’s mind, she was far from the grim cell. She was young again, seated under a tree near a tranquil lake in a small village. Dressed in a flowing green gown, she read a book, her face serene, until a familiar whistle made her pause.

  Turning around, she found herself in the arms of a young man who hugged her warmly. She smiled at him, her voice playful as she said, “You didn’t scare me this time—I’m used to your tricks.”

  The man, Leon, laughed softly and kissed her cheek. “Are you alright? Tell me you missed me,” he teased.

  Her smile softened as she replied, “Every day. I work as a doctor, Leon, and I see so many lives lost. I can’t help but think of you and pray for your safety.”

  Leon’s expression grew tender. “So why did you stop?” he asked, gazing deeply into her eyes.

  But as he looked, the vibrant young Mia faded, replaced by her older self—bloodstained, weary, and tearful. She avoided his gaze, trembling as memories overwhelmed her.

  In the cell, Kunvy noticed the glint of tears rolling down Mia’s face. Jane, too, observed closely as the older woman’s stoic mask began to crumble.

  Back in Mia’s mind, Leon’s own eyes filled with tears as he watched her, his voice soft and kind. “You shouldn’t hide your face from me. You’ve always been beautiful—don’t hide from me now.”

  Mia broke down, her wails echoing in both her mind and the prison cell. Her sobs grew louder, drawing the attention of the prisoners and Roy, who looked up from his book.

  In her vision, Mia struggled to speak, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t save you... I didn’t save you... my good old pal. You deserved to live, and I—I should have been the one to go.”

  Leon reached out, his tears matching hers. “It was hard without you,” she whispered, her hiccups punctuating every word.