The large wooden mansion door opened by itself before Viana could touch it, as if welcoming her arrival. A soft hiss, like an ancient breath, escaped from its crack. Warm light flooded Viana's face, different from the sunlight outside – deeper, richer, like light filtered through gemstones.
"Whoa," Viana murmured, awestruck.
She stepped inside, her feet landing on the cool yet comfortable marble-veined carpet. The entrance hall was vast and magnificent.
The high ceiling was adorned with fresco paintings depicting a forest filled with light and graceful winged creatures. Gleaming white marble pillars supported it. But it wasn't the opulence that made Viana gasp.
Life. That's what it felt like.
Vines with shimmering silvery leaves grew lushly along the walls, climbing the pillars. Strange flowers whose petals emitted their own soft light – blue, purple, pale green – bloomed in crystal pots that seemed alive. In the air, tiny particles of light, similar to what she saw in front of the secret door, drifted gently like magical plankton. The soft sound of trickling water came from a small fountain in the center of the room; its water was clear as crystal and emitted a thin, shimmering mist.
"This… is incredible," Viana whispered, her eyes unable to take it all in at once.
Whisper strutted beside her, tail held high with pride.
[Of course. This is the heart of Lumera. The place where Yggdrasil's power flows strongest.]
Viana walked slowly, her hand almost touching a softly pulsing silvery leaf. "But… grandma? Elf Queen? That still sounds crazy, Whisper." She turned to the cat, doubt and hope warring in her eyes. "I don't have pointy ears! I can't do magic! I'm just… Viana."
Whisper jumped onto the fountain's edge, gazing at the sparkling water. [Blood isn't always visible, Vivi. But it feels. Remember the warmth in your chest when Luna merged? That was the resonance. Sylvanore blood responding to Lumera's heart.]
Whisper's voice grew softer, more filled with memory. [And Luthien… she was magnificent. When the Miasma gnawed, she came like a storm of light. With her living wooden staff, she drove back the darkness, purified the sickened earth, and planted the small seed of Yggdrasil. We, the old guardians, witnessed it. She brought back to life what was nearly dead.]
Viana felt a lump form in her throat. The image of the grandmother she never knew, the kindly old woman with wrinkled hands who always brought cake, collided with the shadow of the mighty Elf Queen who planted the World Tree.
"If she was so powerful… why did she leave? Where?" Her voice trembled.
Whisper was silent for a moment. His fur fluffed slightly.
[It was the day the deep purple mist appeared from the western border of the forest. Thicker, more evil than the usual Miasma. Luthien went to investigate. She promised to return before the next full moon.]
The cat lowered its head, staring at its reflection in the clear water. [She never returned. Only her staff was found, lying near a small fissure in the ground, at the edge of territory still tainted by lingering Miasma. The staff was cracked… and lifeless.]
"A fissure? Cracked?" Viana stepped closer to Whisper, her heart pounding. "Show me! Maybe there's a clue there!"
Whisper lifted his head, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. [That place is dangerous, Vivi. Lingering Miasma still lurks, it can poison mind and body. And your power… hasn't awakened yet.]
"But I need to know!" Viana argued, her fists clenched. The warmth in her chest pulsed stronger, as if responding to her resolve. "She's my grandma! And… and now I'm the Keeper, right? Isn't this my task too?" The last argument felt strange on her tongue, but also true.
Whisper watched her for a long moment. Then, his tail moved slowly. [Your spirit is like hers. Very well.]
He jumped down. [Follow. But be careful. Extremely careful.]
They left the beautiful entrance hall, traversing a wide corridor. The mansion was like a labyrinth of living beauty. Hallways were adorned with tapestries whose patterns shifted slowly, telling tales of the forest. Stained-glass windows filtered light into dancing colors on the marble floor. Some doors were tightly shut, emanating mysterious energy. Viana felt unseen eyes watching her – perhaps from carvings, or from the plants themselves. Some felt friendly, curious; others… wary.
After passing through an inner garden filled with singing flowers, they reached a quieter part of the mansion.
The air felt colder here. Light from the windows diminished. The vines growing on the walls looked darker, their leaves no longer shimmering as brightly as before.
Whisper stopped before an old, plain-looking wooden door, out of place amidst the surrounding luxury. Simple carvings resembling spreading roots adorned it. [Here,] he whispered, his voice low and serious.
[This door leads to a cellar connected to a tunnel. That tunnel leads to the western edge, near the fissure where Luthien's staff was found.]
Viana reached out a trembling hand. She touched the cold wood. As her fingers met the root carving, thin lines of golden light suddenly flared along the pattern, radiating from her touch, then vanished instantly.
The door creaked softly and opened a crack.
[See?] Whisper whispered, sounding satisfied. [Your blood recognizes the way.]
They descended a narrow, cold stone staircase. The air grew damper and smelled of earth. Light came from small crystals embedded in the walls, emitting a dim, sorrowful blue glow. At the bottom of the stairs, a stone corridor stretched into darkness. At its end, a different, unstable purplish light could be seen – a light that felt… wrong.
"Miasma?" Viana asked, her voice a whisper.
Whisper nodded, the fur along his spine slightly raised. [Remnants of it. Seeping from that fissure like poisonous smoke.]
They walked slowly. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the silent corridor. The closer they got to the end, the heavier the air felt, like trying to enter a smoke-filled room. Viana felt a strange pressure in her head, formless whispers trying to plant fear and despair. She bit her lip, focusing on the warmth in her chest. That warmth pulsed, like a small shield deflecting the worst of the influence.
Finally, they arrived. The corridor ended at a small, semicircular chamber. In the center of the stone floor was a fissure – not a large hole, but a crack in the bedrock emitting a weak, pulsing, murky purple light.
A thin, purplish-gray mist seeped out of it, touching the floor like dirty fingers before dissipating. Beside the fissure, lying on a flat stone, was an object.
The staff.
It was about shoulder height for Viana. Made of wood that must once have been living and strong, but now looked dry, brittle, and… dead. Its color was a dull brown, having lost all luster. Near its middle, a large crack nearly split it in two, like an unhealed wound. No leaves, no buds, no sign of life at all. At its top end, where perhaps a crystal or ornament once sat, only a broken, charred connection remained.
Viana crouched slowly before the staff, her heart aching. She reached out a hand but hesitated. "Can… can I touch it?"
[Do it,] Whisper whispered, sitting beside her, his blue eyes vigilant on the purple mist.
[She is of your blood.]
Holding her breath, Viana touched the cracked wood.
Zzzzt!
A small electric shock, stronger than when she touched Luna, jolted her finger. But it wasn't pain. It was… memory.
Images flashed through her mind, fragmented and chaotic...
A pair of emerald green eyes filled with resolve and deep sorrow. Her grandmother's eyes? Luthien's eyes? The same hands holding this staff, emitting a brilliant green light that flooded the darkness, healing the dying land. A beautiful, strong voice singing in an unfamiliar language, vibrating the air. A flash of painful purple light, sudden and vicious. A feeling of profound terror, then… despair. A heavy decision.
The staff was deliberately thrown… away from something… or someone.
A vague symbol – like a closed eye with three tears made of crystal – reflected on a wet stone surface for a moment before the images vanished.
Viana snatched her hand back as if burned, gasping. Her eyes welled up. "She… she left it on purpose," she murmured, her voice hoarse with emotion. "She was scared. But… why? Of what?" She stared at the crack in the staff, then at the fissure emitting evil mist. "And that symbol… what does it mean?"
Whisper moved closer, sniffing the staff. [You saw something?] he asked, intently.
"A symbol. Like a closed eye with crystal tears," Viana answered, trying to sketch it in the stone floor dust with her trembling finger.
Whisper studied the simple drawing. His fur suddenly stood on end. [The Closed Eye…] he hissed, his voice trembling with an unusual fear for the normally composed cat. [That is the mark of The Weepers.]
"The Weepers? Who are they?" Viana asked, a sudden chill creeping down her spine.
[Entities from Outside,] Whisper answered, his voice very low, almost inaudible. His eyes swept the chamber warily, as if expecting something to emerge from the purple mist.
[Thieves of Dreams. Polluters of Life. They are said to come from the spaces between worlds, drawn to pure sources of life like Yggdrasil… and powers like Luthien's.] He looked sharply at Viana, his gaze heavy. [If they took her…]
Whisper's voice was cut off by a sudden low rumble. Not from the fissure, but from within the stone wall opposite them. Large stones began to shift with a terrible grating sound, revealing a deeper darkness beyond. From that darkness came a long, wet hiss, full of hunger. A new smell followed – the pungent stench of rotten eggs and decaying flesh, far stronger and more revolting than the lingering Miasma from the fissure.
The purple mist from the fissure suddenly churned, forming shadowy, clawing shapes reaching towards them.
[VIVI! GET BACK!] Whisper yelled, leaping forward, his body suddenly glowing with a pale silvery light, bracing against the threat emerging from the darkness and the evil mist. His fur fluffed out fully, making him look twice his size.
Viana stumbled backward, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Panic froze her blood. Before her eyes, two threats emerged: the living remnants of Miasma from the fissure, and something much larger, more evil, that had just opened a door in the darkness. She saw her grandmother's cracked staff lying helplessly on the stone floor, between her and the danger.
Run? Or try to grab the Elf Queen's last legacy – the staff that might be the key to saving her?
The warmth in Viana's chest pulsed with panic, beating hard like a tiny war drum. Her journey as Keeper of Lumera was no longer just about finding the truth.
Now, it was about survival.