He snapped his fingers, and the surroundings became clear, as if someone had just snapped me into reality. "We're here," Mr. M said.
He then pulled a small, wrapped box from his coat pocket and held it out to me. "Your lola Naomi wanted you to have this for your sixteenth birthday, but..." He trailed off, his eyes darting around, he was clearly trying to find the least awkward way to say, "Your grandmother is dead," and failing spectacularly. "Here, just... take it."
I clutched the gift to my chest, a bittersweet warmth spreading through me. "Thank you, lola," I whispered, then gave him a polite, if slightly strained, smile.
My sister, Clydelle, however, was less focused on the sentiment. "What do we even call you, Mister?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
"Mar—" he started, then cleared his throat. "Just... M."
"M? As in, the letter M?" Clydelle scoffed. "A complete stranger whom our parents entrusted us to couldn't even tell us his name?"
I nudged her. "Uhh, ate, I guess he wants to be the mysterious guy in the story," I whispered. He cleared his throat again, a theatrical gesture that meant he'd heard every word.
"Just call me M. It's what everyone here calls me," he explained, looking utterly awkward.
"Right then, Mr. M," I said with a flourish and a deep curtsy.
He coughed again, a little louder this time, a sound that seemed to get our attention. With that, he spun on his heel, turning his back to us. We were left to admire his impeccably tailored, closed-back coat.
We followed him in silence, the only sound our footsteps on the grassfield. Soon, a sight straight out of a children's storybook appeared before us. An archway, carved from what looked like a giant, petrified tree, stood at the entrance to a village. The words "Crescent Village" were etched into the wood in an elegant, flowing script. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene, but a sudden thought hit me with the force of a tidal wave: It's the middle of the day here, bathed in sunlight, yet I knew, it was midnight back on Earth.
"I'm just going to leave you here," Mr. M announced, as if dropping us off at our nursery.
"Eeehh?! Where are we supposed to live?" I yelped. This suspiciously powerful man who had promised our parents he'd protect us at all costs was just... abandoning us? What the fudge?! First he hid his name from us and now thia? If we were in a comic book, he'd be the cold, brooding jerk who always ends up with the female lead in the end, which is totally unfair because he's a jerk!
And who the heck leaves four teenagers stranded in a bizarre, otherworldly village with no instructions or help? A jerk, that's who.
"I can't be seen around here, so go find the flower boutique inside the village and speak to the owner, Mr. Alfredo. Tell him I brought you here, and they will help you," he explained, taking a moment before he completely vanished.
"I swear I'm gonna punch him and make him cry the next time we meet." I swore as I clench my fist.
—
A wave of unease washed over us the moment we set foot in the village. It wasn't the peculiar solar punk architecture—a whimsical clash of medieval fairy tales and modern technology—that put us on edge.
It was the people.
They watched us with a strange mixture of fascination and scorn, whispering and pointing as we walked by. Their disdain felt sharp and undeserved, yet I couldn't blame them entirely. After all, we had reacted the same way when we first met the man who saved us, Mr. M.
The world itself was a contradiction of old and new. Flying carriages moving between towering buildings with intricate carvings like romanesque and gothic architecture, and shops with hand-painted signs. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the faint metallic kick of advanced machinery. It was all so peculiar, yet also breathtakingly beautiful. "It's like something out of a futuristic fairy tale," I thought, "a perfect sanctuary I never knew existed."
While I found myself drawn to the unique aesthetic, Frank and Tyler, were more constrained. They were clearly as fascinated as I was, but a palpable sense of disbelief held them back. They couldn't quite adapted to the fact that we were in a place so unlike our own, yet with a more magical way of life. The only one who seemed completely unbothered was my older sister, Clydelle.
"Ate, I'll ask them for directions," I suggested, gesturing toward a passerby.
Ate Clydelle, her gaze fixed on a shop with a vibrant floral display, simply shook her head. "No need," she said, her voice a low hum. "We're already here."
We followed ate Clydelle into Alfredo's Fleur Apothēkē, a shop bursting with exotic flowers, and fancy items.
A peculiar, well-dressed man greeted us, his smile wide but his words unintelligible. "Nefketch os mar laibeh! Wiz mons polotch!" he said, his voice a jolly rumble.
A knot of confusion tightened in my stomach. The man who saved us, Mr. M, had spoken our language without issue. Why couldn't this man? "Uhh? What?" I mumbled, feeling a headache begin to throb behind my eyes.
The man seemed to understand my confusion. "Nar zat, nar zat... Kagame~! Zemerk na awrsiter! Si deen ruoy pleh!" he yelled. Within seconds, a young woman with a kind face emerged from a bright pink doorway.
"Thar na yit?" she asked him, her voice soft and melodic. Their conversation was a whirlwind of bizarre sounds that made no sense.
"Zat deen ruoy pleh, zat kash rebish thar yeht kaeps," the man explained, a frantic look in his eyes.
The woman, Kagame, nodded and rummaged in her pocket. She pulled out a small plastic bag filled with colorful, cube-shaped candies. She handed one to each of us and repeated, "Taers, taers, uoy taers," gesturing for us to eat them.
I hesitated, while staring at the strange candy in my hand. But then I saw Clydelle pop hers into her mouth without a second thought. A moment of panic shot through me, but I knew I had to trust her. I took a deep breath and swallowed the gummy.
Suddenly, the world shifted. The strange sounds of their language didn't just become recognizable—they became perfectly clear.
"Can you understand me now?" Kagame asked, her voice no longer a blur of noise but a crisp, comprehensible question.
"Ahh, yes, miss," ate Clydelle replied, her voice a little shaky with shock.
"Oh, wow! You're really good at this, Kagame!" the old man exclaimed. He turned to us, his eyes sparkling with a newfound understanding. "So, what's your intention?"
Ate Clydelle stepped forward, explaining that Mr. M had sent us to find a Mr. Alfredo. "...and he said you were the only one who could help us."
"Oooohhh— OHH! That's why you guys were strangely familiar!" he exclaimed, his face lightens up. "Then you've come to the right place! My name is Alfredo, and it appears that you guys are Naomi's grandchildren."
"You were also acquainted with our lola Naomi?" I asked, a wave of hope washing over me.
"Of course!" he said, his voice full of warmth.
"She's the most beautiful and brave person I've ever met! No wonder Chaos mistook her for Lucy's reincarnation." His smile faded then, replaced by a look of profound sadness. "A tragedy, really."
Kagame, seeming to sense the shift in mood, quickly interjected. "Hello, you can call me Kagame. I've already prepared your clothes; let's go inside so you can take a bath and change." She gestured toward the pink door, and we followed her, a strange mix of relief and dread settling in my gut.
What did he mean by a tragedy?
And who was this "Chaos" he spoke of? The more we learned about this new world, the more questions we had.
You can't judge a book by its cover, and apparently, you can't judge a magical shop by its exterior either.
From the outside, the pink room looked like it could barely fit a broom closet, but the moment we stepped through the door, we were in a room the size of a ballroom hall.
The walls, the ceiling, the floor—everything was exquisitely ornate, decked out in a style. Seven doors lined the walls, each one a different color and hinting at even more space.
"What kind of sorcery is this?" I blurted out, a question that made Miss Kagame.
"It's a common sight in this world," she said, her eyes twinkling. "It's all thanks to sorcery."
My jaw dropped. "Does that mean every house here is like this?"
"Not quite," she laughed. "Only those with a massive amount of mana can pull off a trick like this."
Frank and Tyler looked at each other, their eyes wide. "So what you're saying is this place is basically a magical mansion?"
"Exactly! And it's all thanks to Mister Alfredo's ridiculously strong mana," she beamed.
We all looked at the eccentric-distinguished-looking Mister Alfredo, who just gave us a modest nod. I leaned in and asked, "So how does this thing work? Is it, like, a magic carpet or something?"
Miss Kagame then launched into a detailed explanation about illusion and teleportation spells. "You see," she said, "our shop is actually a bit of a recluse because Mr. Alfredo cast an illusion barrier spell to keep our manor from drawing too much attention. And some of these doors? They're also enchanted with teleportation magic."
She opened the purple door, and we all gasped. On the other side was an enormous laboratory, filled with beakers, bubbling potions, and all sorts of magical items.
"This room isn't actually on this floor; it's located under the house and behind the nearby mountain," she explained, a mischievous grin on her face as she shut the door.
At that point, all of our brains short-circuited. Our eyes widened like a pair of cartoon characters who had just seen a ghost, and we all shouted in unison, "WOOOW! THIS PLACE IS AWESOME!"
Miss Kagame just giggled at our antics. "You'll be staying here for a while," she said. "Your Lola Naomi once lived here, she's also one of the contributors of this manor, and we owe her a great debt but that's not just because of her contributions to this manor but it's something else, so feel free to ask for anything you need."
Mr. Alfredo then chimed in, pointing to two doors on the opposite wall. "Girls, the white door is your room. It was Naomi's. Next to it is Marshal's room, the brown door. Since he's not here, the boys can stay there."
"You'll find clothes and everything you need inside," Miss Kagame added. "The green door is the bathroom."
"Thank you, Miss and Mister!" we all chimed, tripping over ourselves as we raced to our rooms.
"When Marshal told us he was bringing you here, Mr. Alfredo immediately went on a shopping spree," Miss Kagame laughed. "He bought new beds, clothes, and enough food to feed an army."
Ate Clydelle raised an eyebrow at Mister Alfredo. "Someone's a little passionate about this, huh?" she teased.
"Of course! We were so thrilled to meet Lady Naomi's grandchildren," he said with a warm smile.
I couldn't help but feel like there was something more to this story, so I turned to Miss Kagame and asked, "Hey, is Marshal... Mr. M's real name?"