The morning light broke gently across the ridges of Misty Town, like fingers parting a curtain of smoke.
The mist clung low, soft and silvery, wrapped around every rooftop, tree, and narrow path like an old friend reluctant to leave. But as the sun rose higher, the vapor began to lift—slowly, patiently—revealing cobbled streets, ivy-covered buildings, and rooftops brushed with dew.
It wasn't a large town. But it was charming, in the way only ancient places could be. Quiet houses leaned with age but stood with pride. Faint laughter and distant footsteps echoed from somewhere between the alleys. Signs swayed above bakeries and smithies, still damp from the dawn.
The light poured in golden sheets through the mist, turning the whole town into a watercolor.
And in that peaceful quiet, there was something else.
A pressure.
Not oppressive. Not obvious.
But for anyone attuned enough to feel it, the air held a subtle hum, a trace of power long forgotten. It pulsed beneath the soil, curled between the bricks, and slept in the shadows of the oldest walls.
Primordial.
Residual.
Waiting.
Inside a modest two-story home near the edge of town, morning had already taken hold.
The smell of toasted bread and warm spiced broth drifted through the kitchen, curling up the wooden stairs and slipping under bedroom doors like a gentle invitation.
From the kitchen, a tired but steady voice rang out:
"Lin, Silver! Downstairs. Breakfast is ready. You'll be late!"
The voice belonged to Ms. Rose, standing by the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and her other pressed lightly against her side. Her long black hair, still damp from an early wash, was tied into a loose bun. A few strands fell into her tired lavender eyes, which had dulled over the years—but still held warmth when she spoke.
She was beautiful once, in a way that silenced rooms. Now that beauty felt like a memory still trying to breathe—graceful but faint. Her frame was lean, a little too lean, and her steps careful, like someone carrying weight deeper than bone.
She turned slightly toward the stairs, already sensing which of them would come down first.
---
The quiet thump of feet on stairs answered her.
Silver entered first, brushing a lock of silver hair behind one ear as she stepped into the light of the kitchen.
She looked as though she'd been sculpted by moonlight—hair gleaming, silver eyes sharp and bright, and a face that bordered on unreal. There was something captivating in her movements, as though she was always half-aware of being watched, and subtly played to it.
Even in her school uniform, loosely worn with rolled-up sleeves, she carried herself like someone born for a bigger stage.
"Morning, Mom," she said gently, voice smooth but half-asleep. She slid into her chair with effortless grace, already pouring herself tea.
Behind her came a slower, sleepier step.
Lin appeared at the bottom of the stairs, one hand lazily adjusting his black-rimmed glasses, the other dragging his school bag. His black hair, caught the light as he yawned and blinked against the brightness.
His face still held its boyish cuteness—soft, clear features, wide lavender eyes behind the lenses, and a quiet that felt older than he looked.
His uniform was clean but slightly uneven, tie half-tightened, collar lopsided.
"You're up early," he mumbled to Silver, sliding into the seat opposite her.
"You're late," she replied with a smirk.
---
Ms. Rose smiled faintly, setting plates down in front of them.
For a moment, just a flicker in time, it felt like a normal morning. Like they were just three people in a small house in a quiet town.
Before the world remembered who they really were.
And what was waiting to wake.
The clink of cutlery filled the silence, broken only by the occasional sip of tea or rustle of toast.
"Awakening's tomorrow," Silver said casually, eyes on her plate, but her tone just sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
"Everyone's going nuts about it."
Lin gave a slow nod, chewing thoughtfully.
"Yesterday was a mess. Three fights, two desks flipped, and someone tried to swallow a crystal they thought would speed up their chances."
"Did it work?" Silver asked, deadpan.
"They puked blue foam for twenty minutes and passed out."
Lin sipped his tea. "So… maybe?"
Silver snorted. Ms. Rose gave them both a warning look, but there was no heat behind it.
"It's always like this before an Awakening," she said, sitting slowly beside them.
"Everyone gets desperate when they feel time running out."
"You don't sound surprised," Lin noted, tilting his head.
"Didn't you used to…?"
Ms. Rose gave a soft laugh.
"I worked in the old archives, back when awakenings were cataloged by hand."
"Now I'm just a librarian with too much dust in her lungs and not enough silence in her mornings."
"You love the noise," Silver said with a smirk.
"You practically raised us in that library."
"And you broke more books than you read," Ms. Rose muttered, but the smile crept through.
She stood to collect their plates, but halfway to reaching Lin's dish, her hand trembled.
The smile vanished.
She winced—just slightly—then drew in a slow breath and steadied herself.
Neither of them missed it.
Lin was already half out of his seat.
"I've got it," he said quietly, reaching for the plates.
Silver's silver eyes narrowed, not with panic—just focus. She didn't speak, but her hand brushed Ms. Rose's wrist gently, as if to say "we saw that."
"It's fine," Ms. Rose said quickly, but her voice was a shade too thin.
"Just stood too fast. Happens sometimes."
But they knew better.
This wasn't the first time her body had betrayed her.
And tomorrow, when the whole world would be looking to awaken, she would still be fighting to hold herself together.
"You shouldn't go in today," Silver said softly.
"The archive won't dust itself," Ms. Rose replied, just as softly.
"And you two have your final prep. Go. Eat. Worry about your own talents tomorrow."
She gave a final pat to Silver's shoulder, then turned—slowly, carefully—and began to clear the dishes.
Ms. Rose reached for Lin's plate, brushing his hand aside gently.
"I'm fine," she repeated, almost amused. "Don't treat me like glass."
But as she turned toward the sink, her steps faltered.
Her hand jerked suddenly—dropping the plate.
CRACK.
Porcelain split on the edge of the counter.
She leaned heavily against it, one hand clenching the wood, the other pressed tightly against her ribs. A faint, pale-blue mist leaked from her fingertips—barely visible, barely there—but Lin and Silver saw it.
Her knees buckled slightly.
"Mom!" Lin was already moving.
"I said I'm—" she started, but the lie broke midway.
A tremor ran through her body—shoulders shuddering, teeth clenched as a cold sweat broke across her face. Her breathing quickened. Shallow. Ragged.
Silver was beside her now too, one hand on her back, steady, calm.
"It's flaring again," Silver said quietly.
Lin grabbed the nearby stool and helped ease her down.
Ms. Rose's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Her lips were pale. That faint mist still curled around her hands—the residual energy of her own powers, backfiring.
"Shouldn't have pushed it," she whispered.
"Just stood up too fast. That's all."
But they knew better.
This was the same illness that haunted her on cold nights, the one that made her cough up frost and clutch her chest when no one was watching. An ice talent that had turned inward, freezing her from the inside out—slowly, cruelly.
Lin handed her a cloth. Silver passed the warming balm.
"You're not going to work today," Lin said softly, but firmly.
Ms. Rose opened her mouth to protest, but Silver cut in first:
"We'll cover for you. The head librarian knows us."
There was a long pause. Then Ms. Rose gave a faint, worn-out nod.
She looked between them—her broken smile soft but proud.
"You two…"
"You were never meant to be normal, were you?"
They helped her sit, gave her water, dabbed her forehead—none of it felt new.
It was a routine now. One they hated. One she refused to acknowledge.
Eventually, her breathing steadied.
The mist that curled from her hands faded, drawn back beneath her skin.
"Go," she said, looking at both of them with that half-smile again.
"You'll be late."
"We'll drop by the library after class," Lin offered.
Ms. Rose nodded slowly, eyes lingering a bit too long on both of them.
Lin opened the door.
Outside, the last of the morning mist had lifted, leaving behind a fresh sunlit chill.
"See you later, Mom," Lin said.
"Don't forget to rest," Silver warned with a raised brow.
"I'll try," she lied with elegance.
The door clicked shut behind them.
---
But Ms. Rose did not rest.
She sat there for a moment, hands gripping her knees, face pale, body still aching from the internal chill clawing at her ribs.
Then slowly—deliberately—she stood.
She moved to the sink, cleaned the broken dish, wiped the counter. Every motion calculated, slow, as though performed under a weight no one else could see.
She changed into her gray work cloak, pinned her librarian badge to the collar, and laced her boots with stiff fingers.
She looked in the mirror—brushed the strands of black hair back into place.
Her lavender eyes met their reflection. Dull. Honest. Tired.
But never empty.
"Not yet," she whispered to no one.
"Not while they still need me standing."
And so, despite the frost still burning beneath her skin, despite the pain that wrapped itself around every breath, Ms. Rose stepped out into the sunlight, coat wrapped tight around her frame, spine straight.
Like she wasn't fading.
Like she wasn't afraid.
Like she hadn't died a little more that morning.