Fall had passed, and winter had return once more.
A biting wind swept through Limelight City, its icy breath curling around every street and alleyway. The people did not shudder at the cold—no, they welcomed it. The frozen ground beneath their feet, the brittle air that stole warmth from their skin—these were not their enemies. They did not dread the scarcity of food nor the struggle for shelter. Their only fear was the thaw.
For as long as the freeze held, they were safe. But should the ice melt too soon, if winter grasp weakened before its time, then the darkness would wake and so their entire cities would be consumed by its hunger.
Somewhere within Limelight City stood a military compound, housing a vast armory marked by a worn sight that read, Ranger Vault. Heavily guarded soldiers stood watch over its entrance, thought today, the doors were open—granting entry only to those with the proper authorization from the cities administrators.
Inside, the dimly lit armory was thick with the scent of oil and metal. Men inside worked in tense silence, their movements mechanical—wiping, fitting, sorting. The room was clittered with weapons—laid out on wooden tables, stacked on shelves, hanging from iron racks. Yet, unlike any ordinary armory, all the weapons they handled were strange—no blades, no sharp edges, just dull rods with guard and grip, similar to shape of sword. The shields were small, round, akin to bucklers, yet each bore a peculiar design—a hollowed-out center, fitted with a small lantern.
With practiced efficiency, the men cleaned, sorted, and prepared the gear.
Then, the door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside, drawing a brief pause from the group. An old man, his posture relaxed, his weathered face lined with age and experience. Unlike the others, he wore the simple garments of a commoner, unbothered by the chill that seeped through the stone walls.
"Boys… chin up," he said, his voice carrying an easy warmth. "It's just the start of winder—no need to look like you've already died."
One of the younger men still counting the weapons, scoffed. "Easy for you to say, Vexmere." He gestured at the stockpile. "It's a direct order from higher up. And that only means one thing… it's going to happen."
"Baaaah," Vexmere waved a dismissive hand. "It always might happen, every year. But sitting here brooding over it won't change a damn thing." He Smiled. "Beside… it's a noble duty to our people."
The man shook his head, his grip tightening around one of the lantern-shields. "We're all volunteers here, Vexmere. But there's nothing noble about being a sacrifice."
Vexmere barked a short laugh. "True enough. But we don't need cowards either." He smirked "We're not guards or soldiers of noble houses, and no one forced you to be here." His expression hardened. "If you thought this task was just an easy way to earn money, then you disgust me."
He strode past the group, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor, and stopped at the far wall. There, carved into a great slab of darkened wood, was the Will and Order of the Night Rangers. He brushed his fingers over the inscription, as if tracing the weight of every word.
Pray to the Moon, for her lights shall shield and strengthen us from the shadow that consume. Walk fearlessly toward the darkness, so it may prey you and leave your love untouched. Pray to the Sun to returns, for his light alone can hold the shadow at bay.
Silence settled over the room.
Vexmere turned back to them, his voice quieter now, but carrying a weight that filled the space.
He spoke in a solemn tone. "Do you know what happens when even one shadow strays from its path?"
No one answered.
He held up his hand, his fingers calloused and worn. Two silver rings gleamed on his ring finger—one pure and untarnished, the other marred with dark, vein-like cracks.
"Death."
The word was barely more than a whisper, yet it sent a chill deeper than the winter wind.
The city awakes beneath a frozen shroud, heavy with worries that darken the crowd.
Rebelling Thought
Kimmi lay on her bed, face buried in her pillow as she let out a muffled scream.
"Stoppp!" she cried, her voice barely escaping through the fabric.
A wave of delirium engulfed her, making it impossible to focus. Her head spun, her balance wavered, and the world around her blurred into a dizzying mess. She knew exactly what was happening—this was punishment. The urges lashed out at her, punishing her for ignoring its demands.
The more she resisted, the worse it became. Her senses overloaded, her ears rang with noise she could not process, and her vision distorted as her eyes twitched uncontrollably, making her seeing colour around her differently as it tried to absorb information of her surroundings.
Desperate, she reached for a long piece of fabric she had stolen from her mother wardrobe. With trembling hands, she cut it down to size, pulled her hair back, and tied the fabric tightly around her forehead, binding her ears in the process. The makeshift headscarf muffled the world around her, dulling the overwhelming sensations.
She grabbed a handheld mirror and studied her reflection. Bloodshot eyes. Dark circles beneath them.
"Good." She exhaled sharply. "Now focus. No more dawdling over useless things."
She forced a determined smile, trying to build her confidence.
"Just a few more letters... Please, we NEED this."
Kimmi spread a paper open before her, eyes scanning the page. But the stress made her vision blur, her eyes trembling with exhaustion.
Every time she tried to focus, her mind flooded with useless distractions, pulling her away from the letters she so desperately needed to learn. She knew the syllables, she understood how to pronounce it, but the shapes—she could not hold and memories it yet in her mind. She needed to hear from Catherine mount to know which one it was, to understand it meaning and to make connection between it.
But her gaze kept drifting, and her hearing focus on something else. Even worst, the harder she forced herself to focus, the worse it become, it like her mind and body rebelling against her.
Catherine only made things worse. She kept giving Kimmi leeway, stopping their lessons whenever she shows a sign of struggled, extending her learning process indefinitely. And the urges—oh, they raged, evolving, becoming harder to fight. A part of her blamed her mother.
'Why wouldn't she push her harder? Why wouldn't she force her to fall in line?' Kimmi found herself blaming her mother.
Whenever she even thought about learning, the flood of distractions grew stronger, drowning her in a storm of irrelevant thoughts.
She needed something—anything—to counteract it. She needed to change the way she learned. It had to be interactive, engaging, something that could trick her mind into absorbing knowledge without the urges interfering.
Knock Knock Knock
"Dear, are you in there?" Catherine's voice drifted through the door.
Kimmi hesitated, then opened it, allowing her mother inside.
Catherine stepped in, her gaze immediately drawn to the fabric wrapped around Kimmi head. Then, she noticed something else. Her wardrobe. A long piece of her clothing lay across the floor, sloppily cut in half.
"Kimmi!" Shock and anger flared in Catherine voice, but she quickly caught herself, forcing a calmer tone. "Why did you do this?"
"It helps me concentrate… on reading," Kimmi muttered, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, though she fought to hold them back.
Catherine heart softened. "Oh, sweetheart…"
"If it's too difficult, we can try step by st—"
"No! I—I… I CAN DO THIS!" Kimmi lashed out, her voice rising in frustration. But her face told another story.
She was crying.
Her body trembled from the sheer weight of her struggle. She was breaking apart under the pressure, yet she refused to give in.
Catherine chest ached at the sight.
She's fighting it.
"Shhh, shhh, shhh… It's okay, sweetie. It's alright." Catherine reached out, pulling her daughter close, cradling her in her arms.
She thought Kimmi was having another episode.
Catherine glanced around the room, her eyes settling on a high wooden rack just high above the wall and behind a towering figure of a wooden bear sculpture. Rising onto her toes, she reached for a sealed square box teetering at the edge. As soon as she grabbed it, she gave it a firm shake—checking if there was anything inside.
Satisfied, she peeled away the seal and opened it, revealing neatly folded black linen. Taking out a single piece, she returned the box to its place, seemingly unbothered by Kimmi curious stare.
Kimmi had not even noticed that box before—not once in the past week of living in this room. Maybe because the room was cluttered with a lot of wooden sculpture decoration, making it easy to overlook. But now, as she watched her mother handle the linen, something clicked.
She had seen this before.
Ruben had worn something similar around his neck once, and her mother had once called it a Medicine for her. That had always struck Kimmi as strange.
'Medicine? A piece of linen?' But she vaguely remembered its effects—how it made her feel relaxed, almost unnaturally so.
It dulled her thoughts, softened her focus, and even seemed to warp her perception of time.
Perhaps that was its true purpose. To cloud the mind, to make people more manageable. A dangerous drug, if used without restraint.
But to Kimmi, it was tempting. 'What if it could silence the urges?' She hesitated, conflicted. 'Would it work on her? Or would she become dependent on it? She thought. If she relied too much on something like this, would it change her and make her weak. The urges were tormenting, but this was another kind of risk entirely.
Catherine pinched the fabric between her fingers, producing a soft 'pop' as a faint aromatic scent filled the air. Then, with a gentle hand, she placed it against Kimmi lips.
Catherine smile and she simply said, "Bite it."
Kimmi eyes flickered between her mother and the fabric, her mind racing. Her finger twitched, hesitant. She was not sure if she wanted to do this. She darted her gaze away, pretending to deliberate—buying herself time.
Then, with a long sigh, she gave in. Thinking that she felt extreme headaches from sensory overload.
Kimmi bit it linen. Her eyes teary but not from sadness but from disappointment.
The effect was fast. The unbearable weight in her chest, the sharp edges of her stress—all of it dulled, fading into something distant and insignificant. The noise in her mind quieted, her thoughts becoming slow and lethargic. It was relief. Pure, undeniable relief.
But something was wrong.
Her mind was not just calm—it was empty. Hollow. Her thoughts, once a chaotic storm, had slowed to sluggish trickle. She could not think of anything at all. She could not form any idea or plan. It was as if the world had lost meaning, as if nothing mattered.
She felt… impressionable.
"Come now, rest," Catherine murmured, guiding her gently toward the bed.
Kimmi obeyed without resistance—not because she wanted to, but because she had no thoughts to argue against it. She simply followed orders. She lay down, eyes unfocused, limbs loose and uncoordinated.
Catherine moved around the room, closing the window to keep out the cold winter from entering but leave the door ajar, allowing warmth from the furnace heater to seep in. She carefully untied the headscarf from Kimmi head, setting it aide on the bedside table. Then, pulling the blanket up to Kimmi chin, she tucked her in and left the room.
Kimmi lay still, staring at the ceiling, her mind drifting into avoid.
Inside her thoughts, there was only silence.
A vast, endless white stretched before her—her mind palace, completely empty. No thoughts. Just nothing.
She pushed the blanket with her feet then she spread her arms and legs, brushing them against the fabric of the bed and moving it up and down, leaving behind the imprint of an angel.
Then, slowly, she placed a hand on her chest and muttered. "Art of Trickery, Detoxify."
In an instant, the drug effect shattered. A sudden jolt of pain shot through her body, like a lightning strike seizing her muscles in a sharp, unbearable cramp. But just as quickly as it came, the pain vanished, leaving her breathless yet unscathed.
It was as if a dam had burst—her mind snapped back to clarity. The sluggish fog lifted, her dulled senses sharpened, and the heaviness that once clouded her thoughts disappeared entirely.
She was back.
"Never again! What terrifying drug," Kimmi muttered, letting out a sigh of relief. Then, she paused and wondered about what had just happened.
"What was that?" Kimmi thought, her eyes widening with excitement. 'Had she just performed witchcraft? The same kind her mother had used before?' The idea sent a thrill down her spine.
"Maybe I can do it too!" Brimming with excitement, she flicked her fingers and declared, "Ignite!"
Nothing happened.
She frowned, staring at her fingertips. Maybe she needed to try harder. "Ignite!" she repeated with more enthusiasm.
Still nothing.
"Hmmm…" she mused, rubbing her chin like a wise old sage.
Just then, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Panic set in. Without thinking, Kimmi yanked the blanket up to her chest and flopped back onto the bed, shutting her eyes in the most dramatic "I'm definitely sleeping" pose she could manage.
Catherine stepped inside, holding a warm, damp towel. Kneeling beside the bed, carefully placed it over Kimmi forehead, smoothing it out until it covered her eyes. Then, she smiled and pressed a gently kiss to her daughter forehead.
"Are you asleep, dear?" Catherine asked softly.
Kimmi held her breath. She was deeply committed to her act of pretending to sleep.
Silence.
Catherine let out a small sigh and stood up, turning to leave.
But just as she reached the door, Kimmi suddenly shot up, "Mom! Can you read me a book?"
Catherine nearly jumped out her skin. "By the Moon, child! I thought you were asleep!"
Kimmi sat upright, her towel now resting in her lap, her eyes bright with determination. She gave her mother a wide, mischievous smile, like a cat who had just knocked something valuable off a table.
Kimmi was about to let her mother leave, but suddenly, she felt the urges returning. It wanted her to ask something to talk—but what? At first, she did not know. She let her mind settle, let her thoughts flow, and then something clicked. She remembered the booklet her mother had given her—the one she could not read.
That was it.
The urges wanted her mother to read it to her. Kimmi saw this as the perfect opportunity to learn while the urges were still interested. She already had a plan forming in her mind, figuring out how to proceed if her mother agreed.
Catherine eyed her daughter suspiciously. "The medicine should have affected by now… why was she still brimming with energy?" she glanced at the linen at was still on her daughter lip.
Before Catherine could question her, Kimmi pulled a booklet from under her pillow and waved it wildly in the air, making her intentions clear.
Catherine gasped. "You want me to read this to you?"
Kimmi nodded eagerly, clapped her hard excitedly.
Catherine stared at the booklet, recognizing it immediately. It was the same one she had given Kimmi—the one her daughter had cried as she struggled to read it.
A warm smile spread across Catherine face as she moved closer. She accepted the booklet from Kimmi, sat down beside her, and gently opened it.
Then in a soft, soothing voice, she began to read.
Kimmi eagerly seized the opportunity to point out any word that she did not quite grasp, her eyes lighting up as she memorized the words and sentences spoken by Catherine. She was determined to pinpoint anything she did not understands.
"Mom, what does this word mean?" Kimmi asked, her brow furrowed as she pointed to the word in the story.
Catherine, watching her daughter with a soft smile, felt a wave of warmth flood her heart. "Brave means having a strong willpower to overcome fear," she explained gently.
Kimmi nodded thoughtfully, repeating the word under her breath, "Brrraa—eeveee…"
Catherine chuckled softly, delighted by her daughter's growing understanding. "That's right, dear! You're getting better at this."
Kimmi small face lit up with joy, clearly proud of herself. She listened intently to the story, absorbing every word. The tale followed a knight who served the noble House of Sheen, a story meant to inspire loyalty and devotion. But as she listened, she realized something—it was less of an adventure and more of a carefully crafted piece of propaganda.
The story painted the knights of Sheen as unstoppable warriors, noble and just, protecting their city from the so-called enemies of the rival nations. One knight of Sheen, in particular, was depicted as a legend, single-handedly defeating twenty enemy knights in battle.
Kimmi narrowed her eyes. "Twenty against one? That seems a little… exaggerated," she muttered under her breath.
Kimmi pointed at another word "What about this one, Mom? What does it mean?"
Catherine glanced at the page. "Knight," she read aloud. "A knight is a noble soldier who carries out the will of the noble house they serve."
Kimmi tilted her head, deep in thought. "Knii—iight… Do all knight have to serve a noble house?"
Catherine smiled, amused by the question. "Well… not necessarily. A knight is a title granted by nobility, but not all knights remain loyal to a noble house."
Kimmi curiosity deepened. "So, can someone become a knight without serving a noble?"
Catherine nodded. "Of course. Some knights earn their title purely through their own strength and achievements. They don't need a noble's recognition—only the respect of those around them."
Kimmi squinted at the illustration of a knight in shining armor, her eyes gleaming with understanding. "Oh! So, strength is what earns respect from common people!"
Catherine laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from Kimmi face. "In a way, yes."
Without a hint of impatience, Catherine answered each of Kimmi questions with care, cherishing every moment. This was not just about teaching anymore—it was a journey they shared together, one that brought them closer with every word.
Through bedtime tales, she steadily prevails.
Moon Shelter
Kimmi, exhausted from the long day, drifted into a deep nap. Catherine watched her for a moment, ensuring she was sound asleep, before quietly leaving the room. She descended the stairs, her footsteps light against the wooden floor. The shop remained closed for now—she had more pressing matters to attend to.
Catherine made her way to the basement, a dimly lit space beneath the house. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of aged wood and stored provisions lingered. This basement served many purposes—storage for food and tools, an improvise workshop when quick repairs were needed. It was conveniently located beneath the staircase, right beside the shop counter, allowing easy access without needing to go upstairs.
But this basement held a deeper secret—one that few knew about. Hidden within its depths was a concealed shelter.
Catherine stood in front of a think white drape that concealed the wall behind it. With a firm pull, she drew the fabric aside, revealing a stone wall lined with strips of metal forming a many small square pattern. However, one section stood out—a rectangular outline with a metal door handle.
Reaching for the handle, Catherine pulled the door open. Inside was a pitch-black room, yet everything was meticulously arranged, as if maintained and cleaned regularly—perhaps once a year.
This was their shelter, a hidden refuge meant to protect her family. The space, though simple, had been carefully refitted for survival. Five bunk beds lined the curved walls, and a small but well-stocked supply of rations sat neatly in an alcove—enough to last at least three days.
The walls, ceiling, and floor were decorated with metal strips, each carefully fitted yet removable at a moment notice. Even the door bore the same intricate design, allowing it to blend seamlessly into the room.
Catherine stepped inside, her movements deliberate. She began methodically removing the metal strips, placing them carefully into a basket. Over and over, she repeated the task, her fingers working swiftly until ten full baskets sat before her. She counted the strips, double-checking her work. Not a single one could be left behind.
Then, one by one, she carried the baskets to the entrance of the shop ground floor. Once the last piece was in place, she stood still.
And she waited.
Time flew, as moments were due.
A sudden knock broke the silence.
Knock Knock Knock Knock
"Cane, are you in there?" A rough, unfamiliar male voice called from outside.
Catherine body tensed, but she quickly composed herself and unlatched the door. Standing before her was a stout, broad-shouldered dwarf with a thick, braided beard and sharp, observant eyes. Behind him was a large cart, piled high with metal strips similar to the ones she had just removed from her basement. The only difference was that these had a strange, shimmering blue hue.
"Mr. Goran, finally! You're here." Catherine let out a sigh of relief.
"Ha! Of course, I'm here." The dwarf let out a booming laugh. "Well? Did you manage to remove all the Moonsteels from your shelter?"
"Yes, every last piece." Catherine nodded before dragging several baskets of Moonsteel to the doorway.
Goran turned to his two apprentices, giving them a sharp nod. "You two, get to work."
The young dwarves quickly stepped forward, lifting the heavy baskets and hauling them onto the cart. Meanwhile, Goran reached into the cart and pulled out another basket, filled with the newer blue-hued Moonsteel, placing it inside the store.
"Hey, Cane! You need help putting all these back?" he asked, raising a thick brow as he glanced at the sheer number of strips she'd have to return to their proper place.
"I would… but your job is far more urgent than helping me here," Catherine replied, her voice firm. She knew these Moonsteel strips needed to be delivered as soon as possible.
Goran scratched his beard, deep in thought. "I don't know what's got everyone so on edge, but it feels like a damn disaster is about to hit our city."
Catherine expression darkened. She hesitated for a moment before speaking in a low, wary voice. "Black Winter is not just a disaster, Mr. Goran… it is death itself."
The dwarf usual cheerful bearing faded. "Aye… true enough. But it's been thirteen years since it last came."
"I know…" Catherine exhaled, her eyes flickering with unease. "But the dread it brings… it never fades."
Her gaze shifted toward the staircase, her thoughts immediately turning to Kimmi. She had to keep her daughter safe.
Goran studied her for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Cane! We'll be off then."
With that, he and his apprentices pushed the cart back onto the road, disappearing down the street, leaving behind ten baskets of new Moonsteel at her doorstep.
Catherine sighed. A long night of work awaited her. Just as she bent down to pick up one of the baskets, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.
Kimmi sat on the staircase, her small legs dangling over the edge, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Oh dear… You're already awake," Catherine said, her voice laced with mild surprise.
Kimmi tilted her head, staring at the shimmering blue metal strips. "Mom, what is all this?"
She climbed down the stairs, her tiny hands reaching out as she picked up one of the Moonsteel strips. Examining it closely, she turned it over in her fingers, noticing something peculiar—the same metal strips were embedded into the walls of their house. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the engravings were not just decorative markings.
They were words.
"Mooo—on… ste—elss…" Kimmi muttered, trying to sound it out.
Catherine barely held back a squeal, her hands twitching as she resisted the urge to pinch her daughter's chubby cheeks. "Oh my, Kimmi! That's right! It's called Moonsteel."
Kimmi wasn't particularly interested in the metal itself, but she found it odd that it was everywhere in the house. Her curiosity burned. 'Why was this Moonsteel so important? Was it just for decoration, or did it serve a greater purpose? More importantly, was it crucial for their safety?' She thought
Before Catherine could explain, Kimmi suddenly hugged one of the baskets filled with Moonsteel strips and lifted it with ease, as if it weighed nothing.
"Mom, where do we put this?" she asked innocently.
Catherine's heart nearly leaped out of her chest.
"Kimmi! That's dangerous!" she snapped, her voice sharp with alarm.
Startled by her mother's sudden anger, Kimmi gasped and immediately let go. The basket hit the floor with a loud noise.
Clang!
The Moonsteel strips scattering across the wooden planks.
Catherine heart clenched. Seeing the frightened look on her daughter face made her regret her outburst.
"I'm sorry… Mom," Kimmi murmured, her small feet fidgeting.
Kimmi did not understand why Catherine had reacted so angrily. Perhaps the metal itself was dangerous. The faint blue hue on its surface made her wonder if it was the result of a chemical reaction—one that could be harmful to the skin. If that were true…then maybe she deserved it.
"Oh dear, my sweet child…" Catherine sighed, her tone now gentle. She knelt beside Kimmi, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I did not mean to raise my voice. It was only out of concern for you my, my dear. Do you understand?"
Kimmi hesitated, then nodded slowly.
To reassure her, Catherine carefully refilled the basket halfway, testing its weight before handing it to Kimmi.
"Here, you can carry this one," she said with a warm smile.
Kimmi took the basket, her tiny arms hugging it tightly, and followed her mother down to the basement.
As they descended, she glanced around, noticing how surprisingly clean the space was—even in the dim light. The air felt damp, perhaps because of the winter cold.
"Hmmm?" Kimmi suddenly spotted, her eyes narrowing. Something felt strange.
Her mother was walking straight toward a wall.
Frowning, Kimmi reached out and gently tugged on Catherine clothing, stopping her in her tracks. Feeling the slight pull, Catherine turned her head, meeting her daughter worried gaze.
"Mom, where are you going? There's nothing there…" Kimmi voice was filled with confusion. Then, a thought struck her, and a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. "Wait… is this another sorcery magic? Because if it is, I won't be able to seem it, will I? she huffed, tightening her arms around the basket.
Her eyes locked onto the dimly light wall ahead, and that is when she noticed it—a faint seam, barely visible. A hidden door, she thought.
"Oh?" Catherine raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by her daughter observation.
She had assumed Kimmi would know about the door in the basement—after all, it her favoured place to hide. Perhaps it must had been a long time since she last played down here.
"Well, my dear, I understand it appears empty, but we must return these to their rightful place," Catherine said, brushing off the moment.
Kimmi listened carefully, curiosity sparking in her eyes. She did not fully understand what her mother meant, but she continued asking. "Where do they belong?" she asked, shaking the basket I her arms.
Chang! Chang! Chang!
The sound of metal strips clinking against each other echoed through the basement.
Catherine chuckled at Kimmi innocent question. She had almost forgotten that her daughter used to toyed the very same Moonsteel strips.
Taking one from the basket, Catherine pressed it against the stone wall. There was a shallow groove—just deep enough to hold the metal strip in place. As soon as it settles, a soft blue hue shimmered along its edges.
Kimmi eyes widened in fascination. She watched her mother carefully slot more strips into the grooves, and as she did, a faint outline began to form—a tall, rectangular shape.
Then she saw it. A metal door handle, perfectly placed within the glowing outline.
The low light in the basement had made it difficult to see, but now everything was becoming clear.
Kimmi put down her basket and stepped closer to the wall, inspecting the grooves more closely. She reached into the basket, grabbing a strip and carefully pressing it into one of the empty spaces. It fit perfectly, the blue glow pulsing softly.
Catherine smiled as she watched Kimmi eagerly helping her.
"You are doing quite well," she said, placing another strip beside Kimmi.
Kimmi grinned as she looked at the wall lit with a blue hue. She was mesmerized by its glow and thought how magnificent it was.
Because something told her that whatever this metal was for… it was more important than she could possibly imagine. The urges agree…
The mystery of the Moonsteel still swirled in her mind. But for now, she would wait—wait and learn.