> Ollo

>

> Oh−loh

>

> Type: Interjection

>

> Meaning: A formal or informal greeting used among Menschen, equivalent to "hello" or "greetings" in Human.

Veilla wandered through the Palace gardens, bathed in a blend of scents—floral and soil-like, intertwined with the gentle breeze. The peace of the surroundings momentarily calmed the storm within her thoughts and, perhaps, within her heart.

Her eyes, lost in thought, eventually focused on a small figure amidst the lush foliage: her daughter, Fiorna.

Fiorna's hair, as white as the purest alabaster and woven with a myriad of blossoms, presented a vivid contrast to her deep blue eyes. Those eyes, a hallmark of the Menschen lineage, shimmered with a depth of kindness and innocence as deep as a tranquil sea.

She was fixated on a young sapling, her slender fingers hovering just above it with a touch as gentle as a whisper. Veilla proudly observed in silent awe. Under Fiorna's careful magic, the sapling responded as if touched by the Green Mother itself. Its leaves unfurled, revealing a lush green vibrancy, while its buds bloomed into the softest shades of pink, an enchanting spectacle of natural beauty and grace.

"Scheida!"

"Language!" Veilla interjected, her tone light yet assertive, cutting through the garden surrounding them. "What's there to complain about? It's absolutely beautiful."

Fiorna, with a mild start, turned to face her mother. Her smile, radiant and warm like the first light of dawn, graced her features. "Mother, you gave me a scare," she said with a light chuckle, her relief evident. "I was trying to create blue flowers, but it seems these trees have a preference for shades of pink or red."

A gentle smile played on Veilla's lips as she instinctively placed a hand on her round belly, "Persistence might be the key, sweety."

Fiorna glanced back at the sapling, her expression softening with a touch of wonder. "The closest I managed was purple," she mused. Then, her curiosity shone through, and she turned her attention back to her mother. "How did it go?"

"How did what go, sweetheart?"

"Your talk with the man with hair of diamonds," Fiorna clarified, her eyes searching her mother's face, “Your first love, but not the last.”

Veilla's expression wavered for a moment, a hint of unease flickering in her eyes. "Oh, you knew about that..." she murmured, her voice trailing off as she grappled with the memories of that difficult conversation.

"I know many things, many that I choose not to speak of," Fiorna's voice floated softly, imbued with a depth of wisdom that seemed to surpass her Falls. “Like the name of the father.”

She was more than just the personification of Spring; she possessed an indescribable power, a kind of clairvoyance, perhaps, that Veilla couldn't fully grasp. And Fiorna, in her bizarre way, remained tight-lipped about whose Spirit called her Master.

Amidst the rustling leaves, Veilla's voice arose, fragile and hesitant. "Am I making a mistake?" she asked.

Fiorna turned to her, "Does it feel like a mistake?"

Veilla's reply was an uncertain murmur. "I don't know..."

A shadow of contemplation briefly darkened Fiorna's expression, a ripple of concern crossing her face. "Everything happens for a reason." Fiorna paused, her eyes dropping as if grappling with a painful realisation. "It's just a shame..." Her voice trailed off, "The world will be a much darker place without them."

"Fiorna?" Veilla's heart clenched, a sense of foreboding enveloping her as she sensed the weight of her daughter's words. "Who is them?"

Fiorna seemed to withdraw, her attention shifting back to the sapling. "I can't force a tree to bloom blue flowers," she murmured, perhaps deflecting, perhaps answering in her own cryptic way.

"If something was wrong, if something was going to happen, you would tell me, right?"

Fiorna paused her spell, which was nurturing the tree, and turned to face Veilla with a solemn expression. She placed her hands tenderly over her mother's belly, feeling the subtle stir of life within. "It's too late now, and there was nothing any of us could have done," she spoke softly, "You will survive. And you will bring back the sun to the sky in the most extraordinary way imaginable. Zora will be the name fighting against darkness so that the Dreamer can write about the light."

Veilla listened, her mind swirling with chaos. Was Fiorna speaking to her or to the unborn child within her?

"But the sun is already shining," Veilla responded, her thoughts turning to Yeso. "The Commander brought back the sun… he wouldn't plunge the world into darkness again."

"Not for long," Fiorna repeated, her voice low and laced with an ominous certainty. "Not for long." With these words, she lowered her gaze and began to meander through the garden, leaving her mother behind.

Veilla watched her leave, a sense of profound realisation slowly settling over her. For the first time, she grasped that Fiorna had revealed more in this conversation than ever before, unveiling glimpses of a future she had always kept secret. What made her change her ways?

The name 'Zora' echoed in her mind, but she couldn't fully comprehend why.

Fiorna walked to her room and closed the door. After that, she waited while the delicate sound of her dress rustled softly, intermingling with the whispering breeze that flowed through the tall, open window. Her petite figure was now gracefully positioned on the bed, one leg folded over the other.

The room was holding its breath in wait for something—or someone significant.

Yet, Fiorna's thoughts drifted to her twin, Fiona. The difference between them was as profound as contrasting elements akin to water and oil.

Fiorna, a beacon of warmth and light, starkly contrasted with Fiona's impenetrable darkness, which seemed devoid of emotion and warmth.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She had often attempted to breach the icy barriers surrounding her twin's heart, seeking to understand and empathize with Fiona. However, the cold, impenetrable walls surrounding Fiona Saatgut presented a formidable challenge, leaving Fiorna often at a loss on how to connect with her sister.

Fiorna possessed a unique perceptiveness to the essence of all living beings, an ability to perceive their innermost 'seeds'—what humans might refer to as the soul.

However, when it came to Fiona, this perception presented a profound nothingness. Fiona's seed, if it existed, seemed ensnared in an eternal frost, a state that was both unreachable and unyielding. This led Fiorna to ponder deeply and often: Did Fiona even possess such a seed? Could such a phenomenon exist—a being without a soul, merely a hollow vessel filled with raw, unguided magic?

As Fiorna was lost in her contemplations, a sudden, tiny squeak pierced the quiet of the room. A small white mouse, its movements both swift and jittery, darted in through the window, adding a touch of whimsy to the scenery.

"Ollo, Spirit," Fiorna greeted it, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

The mouse halted for a moment, its small, red eyes shimmering in the soft light. It seemed to cautiously evaluate its new environment. Sensing the absence of danger and perhaps drawn by Fiorna's inherent warmth and the peaceful aura she radiated, the mouse timidly approached her.

Fiorna slowly extended her hand, palm facing upward, towards the tiny visitor. "You appear to be troubled today."

The mouse twitched its whiskers, and though it made no sound that a creature could understand, Fiorna nodded as if receiving a silent message.

"You may speak," she whispered, more to herself than her tiny guest. "I won't tell anyone."

The Dreamer Mouse tilted her head. "You can hear me?" She asked, her voice surprisingly clear for such a small creature.

"Yes, I can hear you and the others, too.”

The mouse seemed almost human in its mannerisms, climbing onto her hand with a familiarity that spoke of a bond deeper than appearance.

"Who is your Spirit?" The Dreamer looked up at her, her whiskers twitching, almost demanding. "I need to know if I can trust you or them! Is it the dual-headed fish? I don't like that guy!"

"I'm not sure... they've never revealed themselves to me," Fiorna admitted.

"I see, I see... But why summon me?"

Fiorna's gaze settled back on the small mouse, her face reflecting a thoughtful demeanour. "I've heard that you're in search of your Master."

"Who told you that?" the mouse asked with a hint of scepticism.

"No one in particular."

"But someone or something must have informed you. Knowledge doesn't just appear out of thin air, and even air is something tangible. So, who was it? Who told you about my Master?"

Fiorna appeared slightly puzzled and shrugged her shoulders in response. "I truly don't know... and unfortunately, I don't have much time left to provide you with that kind of information."

The mouse seemed to grow anxious. "Do you know where he is, then? My Master, where can I find him?"

"I believe you will meet him very soon.”

"How soon?" The Dreamer asked impatiently.

Fiorna paused, considering her words. "What does 'soon' really mean?" she mused aloud. "What is now was once tomorrow and will be yesterday. For a dreamer like you, it should be clear that time is perhaps the greatest lie ever conceived."

The mouse let out a huff, a quaint sound that conveyed both exasperation and charm. "Ah, you're one of those philosophical types... quite frustrating. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a Spirit yourself! A masterless Spirit at that!"

The princess laughed lightly. "I am merely Fiorna."

"So, is that your only message for me? That I'll meet my Master soon? Not much of a useful information..." The Mouse asked with a hint of disappointment on its tiny face.

Fiorna gently shook her head, her hair moving softly with the motion. "No, there's more. I have a gift for you. Well, actually, a gift for your Master."

"A gift? For my Master? But why?"

"I won't be needing it anymore, and since I haven't been able to turn the flowers blue, I want to make sure it's safeguarded," she explained, her words filled with a sadness that The Dreamer couldn't understand yet.

The Spirit observed with intense focus as Fiorna brought her thumb to her right eye. She pressed with such force that her eye socket began to bleed, and a soft plop sound echoed in the stillness.

Fiorna then started to cough, making a deep, wracking sound as if something was lodged in her throat. She coughed so violently that she gasped for air, and when finally she opened her mouth wide, something remarkable came out.

From between her lips, she extended a hand, and on her palm lay an eye, but not her blue eye. It was the amber eye!

It wasn't a gruesome sight; instead, it was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, as if encapsulating the mysteries of a hidden universe.

"But that is the…" The mouse started, almost stammering, "The eye that can see it all!"

"Yes, one of them. I still have the other," Fiorna clarified, with one eye bleeding down her right cheek. "I want you to give it to your Master!"

"Why?" The mouse asked in astonishment. "Why would you entrust me with this?" The Spirit looked both bewildered and awestruck, its tiny paws trembling slightly as it beheld the eye.

"You'll understand in time. Your Master is destined to be nothing less than extraordinary. You'll love him, and you'll do anything to keep him safe," she declared, "He'll author so many books and none under his real name. He will teach and guide others, but above all, he will love the way that only one born of the sun could love."

The Dreamer Mouse gingerly accepted the eye, its movements cautious and reverent. "I... I will remember this. I will protect it with my life... sorta speaking..." it said, its voice quivering with the weight of the responsibility bestowed upon it.

"It's alright if the memory fades," Fiorna replied, her voice soft and understanding, even as blood trickled from her closed eye. Her remaining eye looked distant, reflecting thoughts and visions known only to her. "In the grand book of the universe, I am but a fleeting page... a tiny text in a very, very long story."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" The Dreamer asked, its tiny eyes fixed on her, "I mean as a reward for… this."

Fiorna shook her head gently, and then, as if changing her mind, she asked, “Do you think you can ask your Master to give…” she hesitated, “To give the hex to a person?”

“The hex? You mean Yeso’s hex?”

She nodded, “He needs to give it to the Magi, whose name starts with M.”

“Who?”

“He’ll know. I would really like to meet him if it isn’t too much trouble. But besides this, you and your master need to focus on the world, relearning all the events and how it all ended. Once you understand, you'll unravel the fabric of the universe to weave a new story, and maybe I can come back—maybe with two or more pages. Maybe I will have a Hexe, too. I would like that very much."

The Dreamer Mouse seemed surprised by her insight. "Oh, so you're aware of that as well?" it queried, a hint of astonishment in its tone. "Are you certain you're not a Spirit, like myself?"

Tears welled up in Fiorna's open eyes. "I won't be here much longer... but… I… I am not important. I never was. But I hope one day I will…"

"It's okay to feel fear," the mouse said softly, attempting to offer comfort. "I was scared, too."

"I don't want to cave to her satisfaction. I wish to remain brave." Fiorna's voice quivered slightly, yet it carried an undercurrent of firm resolve, a courage that of a dead man's walking. “I’m scared I’m not able to come back… that I would get lost in the night sky forever, and I will never learn his full name.

The Dreamer Mouse's expression shifted. "I can do one thing for you," it declared.

"But I..."

"Your tale won't merely be a page or even a brief chapter in a big story. It will be as grand and profound as your kindness, and I definitely hope to chat with you again. You're incredibly wise, more so than many Spirits I've encountered. Like that stupid dual-head fish, I hope you never meet them. They are the worst! But you, I promise you, all your wishes will come true. I never lie, and my Master always knows how to write a good story. And you will have the best of stories with that Magi that starts with M."

> Perched between the enigmatic boundaries of Dream and Nightmare, the genesis of Mir-Grande-Carta has always evoked a sense of profound mystery. As an author who traffics in the currency of ideas, I find myself contemplating whether these realms are truly places one might visit or if they are simply constructs—metaphors for the polarities of good and evil that we wrestle with every day. The few travellers who claim to have ventured into these realms return with lips sealed, their experiences—visions of what might have been or what is yet to come—locked away. If dreams and nightmares are all what their name said or something else, it is a secret I don't believe will ever unfold in this life nor the next. I know that if I was a passenger, I would never ever write a line about it. NEVER! ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune