On the second floor of the sturdy stone building, Arian climbed the steps with slow, heavy strides. Metal dust clung to the tips of his boots, and his breath still carried the weight of a long day’s work. Yet he did not rush. He knew—up there, the world felt just a little bit lighter.
Unlike the first floor, which always rang with clashing steel, crackling embers, and the relentless rhythm of hammers, the second floor served another purpose: rest. It was the only place in the entire forge untouched by the scent of iron or the echo of tools—just peace, and air meant for breathing. It was here that Arsy and Elara often spent their afternoons, either quietly observing their father’s schematics, scribbling silly notes on the wooden table, or simply sitting in silence.
Today, Elda was preparing two cups of Kaffira Lume—a golden-brown herbal coffee known across the highlands of Cryfarth Province. The taste was light, a touch bitter at first, but mellowed into warmth, like the glow of youthful memories. Steam rose gently from a small clay pot—handcrafted by Arian himself, years ago.
Her light brown hair flowed freely today, some strands swaying with the breeze that entered through the open balcony. To Arian, that hair always seemed more beautiful than anything he'd ever forged—and at times, he was genuinely jealous. Of the wind.
He had once told her, “The wind isn’t as lucky as I am. It only brushes against you… and then leaves.” That line often ended with their quiet laughter.
Elda turned as she heard his footsteps on the stairs. A soft smile touched her lips as she handed him a cup of Kaffira with graceful ease.
“You look more exhausted than usual today.”
Arian accepted it without a word, nodding lightly before settling into a wooden chair near the open wall. He cupped the drink between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his skin before taking a small sip.
“But it feels worth it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Thank you, love.”
“Thank you as well, my dear,” Elda replied gently. Then, for a moment, they said nothing—accompanied only by the breeze, and the lingering aroma of Kaffira.
“It’s livelier than usual today,” Elda noted, glancing toward the street below the balcony. Villagers walked by—some with baskets, others just chatting beneath the trees. “Must be because it’s the first day of the first month. A new year.”
“Yes,” Arian replied, sipping from his cup. “Ever since the celebration last night… people have returned from all corners of the kingdom. Some faces—I hadn’t seen them in years.”
Elda nodded, her gaze still tracing the village below.
“We’re lucky to have this. Other provinces are still simmering with unrest. Nobles and their people still at each other’s throats.”
She turned to him with a quiet smile. “You really do know how to pick a place to live.”
Arian chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat.
“Credit your family for that—you’re the one born in Regiamagna. I’m just borrowing a little space here.”
Elda laughed quietly and took a sip of her drink.
“Even so, it was your choice to stay in this small village. You could’ve gone back to your homeland.”
“In Cryfarth,” Arian began, his tone shifting slightly as if recalling an old memory, “the land’s harsher than here. More rock than shade. Drier, colder. And we had this strange old tradition… men were expected to live where their wives were born. Supposedly to ‘learn from nature.’”
Elda blinked slowly, amused.
“Learn from nature, or from your wife?”
Arian only smiled in response.
He gazed into his half-full cup, the thin steam still rising in lazy curls. A short silence passed before he finally asked,
“Elda… do you think they’ll survive the deeper layers?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes turned skyward, now partly veiled by thin clouds. She closed them briefly.
“Nhal Vireth…” she whispered. “It’s famous among explorers, but not all the stories are reliable. Still, if it’s Elara—”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, “—she’ll return. Alive, at least.”
Arian smiled faintly. “I know.”
The words sounded light, but carried the weight of a hope he desperately wanted to believe—rather than a certainty he could trust.
Elda inhaled slowly.
“What most people don’t understand,” she continued, “is that they think the entire visflux zone is called Nhal Vireth. But in truth, that name only applies to the first four layers. Beyond that... no names, no maps, no records.”
Arian tilted his head up slightly, eyes narrowing toward the horizon.
“And as always, the nameless… are often the most dangerous.”
“Exactly,” Elda replied. “There’s a rumor I once heard back in Regiamagna—from the explorer circles. They say Napoleon D’Arvelle reached the deepest layer. But like all rumors, there was never any proof… and never a single official statement from him.”
Arian nodded, though he didn’t seem particularly interested.
“I was never close with the high nobles. And Napoleon… he should be long retired by now.”
“I don’t know why,” Elda said softly, “but I keep hoping Elara doesn’t go too far. Still… she’s your daughter. Our daughter. And she carries something neither you nor I ever had.”
“We’ll see in a few days,” Arian murmured at last, glancing sideways at her. “Whether they both return in one piece.”
Elda nodded quietly and smiled.
“Besides Elara… I also hope Arsy’s first day at the academy goes well.”
Arian chuckled under his breath, warmth returning to his voice.
“His first day, huh? Arsy…” He shook his head lightly. “As always.”
Deep Forest, Second Layer, Nhal Vireth
Noon, Luminisday, 1st of Mesiis, Year 1014
The mist in Deep Forest was unlike any ordinary fog. It drifted with a conscious slowness ever since they had first set foot here, coiling around tree trunks and roots like whispers too shy to speak aloud. Between the glowing underbrush and ever-shifting cavern walls, Elara and Louis stood in perfect silence. No conversation. Only the sound of their breathing. Every movement demanded care—as if the place itself forbade careless sound.
Above them, thick roots hung from the stone ceiling like a veil of shadows. In the distance, an unplaceable noise echoed—perhaps a creature they hadn’t yet seen, or maybe just the groan of the earth playing tricks on their ears. But Elara and Louis had walked through too many places like this. They knew: it wasn’t the loud noises you feared most. It was the silence that lingered too long.
Louis turned his head slightly, glancing at Elara. His eyes held more than caution—something else stirred behind them. A curiosity, long buried but rising now. Then he spoke, voice no more than a breath, yet sharp enough to part the veil between them.
“Elara… why did you come to Nhal Vireth?”
“And be honest,” he added. “It couldn’t have been just a feeling or simple curiosity. There’s a specific rumor, isn’t there?”
Elara didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the faint shimmer trailing along the surface of the glowing shrub. She inhaled slowly, exhaled without sound. Not to hide anything—but to choose her words carefully, without wasting them.
“I don’t believe in rumors,” she said at last. Her tone was low but certain. “But I do believe that every rumor has roots, and every root… has a source. I want to see that source for myself. Not from books, not from teachers, not from some secret letters circulating the Academy.”
She turned slightly toward Louis, but stopped short of meeting his eyes.
“And yes… I have a personal reason. But I’m not ready to share it yet.”
Louis didn’t respond. He simply looked at her for a moment, then returned his gaze forward. But his thoughts were racing. If Elara had entered Nhal Vireth with a personal motive… then she was chasing something big. And perhaps, she wasn’t alone in that pursuit.
A distant sound rose from below—not footsteps, not branches scraping. More like a massive breath… held beneath the mist. Louis opened his eyes again, sharper now, scanning the trees below.
“This place…” he whispered, “...never truly rests.”
Elara stood still, her eyes staring at a random spot beyond the fog, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Her breathing slowed before she finally spoke.
“There is… one main reason I came,” she said quietly.
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Louis didn’t turn, but his body shifted slightly. He knew—this time, Elara wasn’t speaking out of pressure. She wanted to share.
“Four years ago, Arsy found a book. Old, bound with gold patterns, written in an ancient tongue. The title…” She paused to swallow.
“The Mystery of Astralyth and the Outer World... written by someone named Seraphina Vaelthorne.”
Her expression hardened slightly, though her voice remained calm.
“I thought it was nonsense. I’d never heard of Seraphina, even though I know the Vaelthorne family—they were one of the old noble lines that once helped push humanity forward. But strangely, there’s no record of her. Not a single one. At least, not in anything I could find.”
Louis finally turned to her.
“And you wondered… who she really was?”
Elara gave a slow nod.
“Yes. And Arsy… with that innocent face and intuition far too sharp for a child his age, said something that’s haunted me ever since.” She drew in a breath.
“Never enter N’Zoth Rae,” he had said.
“It was written in the book, like one of those ominous warnings in old adventure tales.”
Louis murmured, “N’Zoth Rae…”
“Elara,” he continued softly, “I’ve never heard that name—not even in the guild archives, not even in the highest-ranking expedition records. Maybe it’s a myth, maybe just a story. But the description... matches. Too well. Too well with Nhal Vireth.”
Elara looked at him, her expression no longer cold, but weary.
“Out of all the visfluxes recorded across Astralyth, only one takes the form of a chasm: Nhal Vireth. And what the book describes… it’s identical. Ever since I read it, I haven’t been able to sleep peacefully. Not out of fear. But because it won’t leave me alone.”
Louis remained silent for a while, then spoke in a low tone.
“Maybe that’s why only certain people have ever made it back from beyond the third layer. Some have claimed they did—but no one believed them. They were called mad. Liars. Ridiculed. We don’t know what’s truth, what’s falsehood, or what’s delusion. The only thing we can trust is what we see. What we walk.”
“Not everyone gets to claim the truth,” Elara said softly.
She nodded once more.
“And one more thing. Professor Olvenhart—you know, the Academy’s geographer. I asked him once about Nhal Vireth’s structure. But he… avoided it. He’s no explorer, no fighter. He’s a scholar. And I know he has contacts who know more than he dares to say.”
“Maybe… not everyone’s allowed to know,” Louis whispered, his tone digging deeper, as if excavating a hidden truth.
“Or… there’s a bigger design behind all of this. A conspiracy.”
Elara didn’t answer right away, but her eyes said enough—this wasn’t a new thought to her. Louis gave a final nod, firm and certain.
“I understand. Let’s find out ourselves.”
They began packing up their scattered supplies from the vispouch. Elara checked her Enerma, now resting quietly at her side, while Louis folded the cleaning cloth and inspected the untouched remnants of their meal.
With careful steps, they descended the sloped hill, its surface tangled with roots and softly glowing shrubs. Every footstep across the spongy grass sparked a gentle greenish-blue light—alive for a moment, then fading quietly. The ground was slightly damp, but not slippery—like the earth itself cradled their presence and etched each step in luminescence.
“To be honest… I like how the grass lights up every time we step on it,” Elara whispered, her gaze focused on the glow beneath her boots.
Louis, walking not far behind, nodded.
“Yeah… this really is nothing like the surface. This continent hides more biomes than anyone knows.”
Among the scattered stones, tiny silver-purple mushrooms sprouted—glowing faintly and leaving a shimmer on the skin when touched too long. Some resembled the toxic fungi that grew near Leondhardt Village—pale species with black-spotted patterns that could induce hallucinations and bloody vomiting. But here, the colors were richer, and the tips pulsed with subtle rhythmic flashes, almost like they were breathing in time with the earth.
Trees grew along the slope, resembling surface species—yet with twisted, mutated forms. Some had dagger-like leaves; others twisted their trunks away from the cavern ceiling. Elara paused beside one thick trunk, resting her fingers on its bark—coarse, scale-like, almost reptilian.
“Familiar… but not,” she whispered. “Either this place is imitating the surface… or we’re the ones copying something ancient from down here.”
They continued down the natural path of roots and stone, winding through a downward spiral. Vines from the ceiling hung like silent curtains, while thin mist crept between the cracks in the rock—making it feel as though they were descending into the belly of a world untouched by sunlight.
The deeper they went, the more the vegetation changed. The glow from the roots dimmed, replaced by softly glowing fungi and low shrubs emitting a gentle azure hue.
Their steps halted when the glowing bush to their right trembled—just slightly, as if something unseen had brushed past it. The teal light flared briefly, then faded, leaving behind a whisper of movement. Elara immediately turned, eyes narrowing.
“Louis, did you hear that?” she whispered, barely a breath.
“Yes. I heard it,” Louis replied, eyes scanning the trees beyond the fog. His voice remained calm, but his posture shifted—leaning forward, ready to strike or flee at a moment’s notice.
Then came the sound.
Not a growl. Not a groan.
But a whisper. Short. Soft. Like a sliver of wind that slipped into their ears on purpose.
“Ssst.”
It didn’t sound like a human voice—but it was too aware to be called an animal.
Elara didn’t move. Her mind raced, weighing possibilities: a predator with illusion magic, an undocumented forest creature, or something else—something that didn’t want to be found.
But instead of stepping back… she moved forward.
Slowly, deliberately, she approached the glowing bush, her gaze locked in the direction of the sound.
“Elara,” Louis called from behind—not a shout, but a clear warning. He knew she wasn’t the reckless type—so if she kept walking forward, it meant her instincts had sensed something worth seeing. Still, in a place like this… even the sharpest instincts could betray you.
“Don’t move! They’ll notice us!” whispered a voice from behind the bush. It was high-pitched and airy—like a child trying to sound serious.
“I know!” another voice replied, equally light but tinged with annoyance.
Elara crept closer, her body lowered into a crouch. She gently parted the glowing leaves, her fingers sliding carefully between fronds that shimmered like they were alive. The air seemed to hold its breath—even the mist felt frozen.
And beyond the bush… Elara saw them.
Two small beings, no taller than her knee, crouched side by side, frantically shoving each other in panic. Their bodies resembled miniature humans—delicate, proportional, soft. One looked like a boy, eyes wide with anxiety and eyebrows raised. The other, a girl, clutched a glowing leaf like a curtain that had utterly failed to hide them.
Their hair gleamed like woven silver threads, flowing with a soft, internal light. Their eyes were radiant green, like freshly mined emeralds. Transparent wings—butterfly-like and luminous—fluttered gently behind their backs, casting shifting patterns of color that defied logic. Their clothing... unfamiliar. Made from what appeared to be a seamless blend of leaves, crystal, and strands of light—stitched together with a precision Elara had never seen anywhere, not even in royal galleries.
She froze.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. This—this wasn’t possible. It defied every known law. Every lesson from the Academy. Every record in every book. And yet… these creatures were real. They moved. They spoke. And now, they were staring right back at her.
“Eh?!” the two cried in unison, their voices chiming like tiny bells. They glanced at each other, then back at Elara, as if only just realizing they’d been seen.
For a moment, no one spoke. Elara tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Was it illusion? Magic? Reality?
But deep within, some ancient intuition whispered: this was no threat. Not yet. And more importantly… they weren’t human.
Elara offered a faint smile—not forced, but born of honest curiosity. Her gaze was gentle yet alert, watching them without sudden movement.
“What are you two doing here?” she asked softly, like someone catching a child sneaking fruit from a garden.
The two looked at each other again. The boy stepped forward—barely half a step. His wings fluttered weakly, catching light from the glowing bush behind him.
“We were… observing,” he said with a cheerful tone he clearly tried to suppress. “But you detected—uh, I mean noticed us too fast.” He pouted, part embarrassed, part frustrated. Beside him, the girl fiddled nervously with the edge of her garment, eyes lowered.
“We’re not disturbing anyone, promise!” the girl blurted quickly. “We just wanted to see why humans had come this far down. Usually they, well... die near the upper layers. Sometimes here too. But we never interfere—we just stay hidden.”
She gave a small, innocent smile—so casual in tone that Elara's eyebrow twitched at the implications.
“And you are… what, exactly?” Elara asked without delay. Her tone remained calm but focused—genuine curiosity laced with measured caution. She leaned in slightly, trying to catch every flicker of expression on their tiny faces.
The boy let out a short laugh—not mocking, just surprised.
“What? We’re just us,” he said, arms spread. “We’re Elarin. You’ve never heard of us? Ah... of course not. Humans are always like that.”
He shrugged with exaggerated drama, as if used to not being recognized.
“Elara,” the girl interrupted softly, “your name is Elara, right? It’s beautiful.”
She gazed at Elara with glowing emerald eyes. “My name’s Nivelle. And this is my brother, Lioren.”
A faint set of footsteps approached behind Elara. Louis finally caught up, wearing his usual flat expression, though his narrowed eyes suggested his mind was running full speed. He stared at the two small beings in silence for a few seconds, then finally spoke—half confused, half amazed.
“So… childhood fairy tales do have wings.”
Lioren and Nivelle exchanged glances. Elara simply sighed—already familiar with Louis’s habit of saying something strange before getting serious.
“We’re not a fairy tale,” Nivelle replied quickly. Louis merely raised an eyebrow.
“But you do realize,” he said calmly, “that humans don’t even know your kind exists?”
He crouched slightly, eyeing them as if examining a newly discovered species.
Elara slowly knelt to match their height, then looked at Nivelle with a sincere, quiet smile.
“You… are beautiful,” she whispered. “Your hair is like strands of silver under moonlight. And your eyes… like untouched emeralds pulled from the earth.”
Her voice was calm, yet warmer than usual.
Nivelle froze. Her wings quivered, and her cheeks—if they could be called that—flushed with a faint, glowing hue.
“Eh?! M-me?” she squeaked, flustered but pleased. She looked down quickly, toying with the edge of her outfit.
“I-I’m nothing special… Lioren even says I look like a moon mushroom…” she mumbled shyly.
Elara smiled wider. Beneath the compliment, her mind stayed sharp. She knew kind words could open doors—and Nivelle, with her unguarded heart, might just be the key.
“Where do you live, Nivelle?” she asked gently, as if casually trying to learn more.
Without hesitation, Nivelle pointed to the ground beneath them.
“Here! I mean… in this hill, under the big roots. There’s a tunnel hidden behind a rock, and—”
“Nivelle!” Lioren snapped, his face flushing with panic and frustration.
“Don’t tell strangers that! Especially humans! You could—you could—aaagh, why do you always melt when someone compliments you?!”
He nearly hopped in place, his wings flapping erratically in exasperation.
Elara let out a light laugh—a genuine sound that rarely escaped her lips. She hadn’t expected such honesty from them. Beside her, Louis tilted the corner of his mouth—barely a smirk, but enough to show he was enjoying this strange little encounter.
Whether for amusement… or because something valuable had just been revealed without the slightest coercion.
Mundus maior est quam credimus.
The world is greater than we believe.