> “1971 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

Orlo awoke abruptly, his eyes snapping open to a dazzling display of golden lettering and images that wove themselves before him. Within this mental orchestra, a single image detached itself from the rest.

He could discern the crisp sound of what could only be a flaking, golden-brown crust, its texture revealing the precise heat of the oven cradling it. Rapid lines of data danced before his eyes, shifting with all the urgency of a blitz.

The stream of information flipped through patterns and associations with the speed of skimming through pages in a book. His conclusion crystallized: someone was baking, but what exactly?

An unmistakable scent of flour and butter transformed by heat—the quintessential foundation of a pie, not a cake. He recognized the smell of the baked crust, noted for its toasty, slightly caramelized fragrance—this was no mere conjecture but confirmed by the golden text he read in front of his eyes.

The details were so vivid it was as if he was witnessing the dough rise in real-time through a high-resolution lens, yet all in his imagination. Next, he picked up the soft sound of sugar crackling, the noise muted as if melting atop a soft, mushy surface, indicating fruit cooked down to perfection.

Then, the sweetness hit the tip of his tongue—the unmistakable flavour of red apples from the backyard, enhanced by precisely measured spices.

Finally, the sound of a stool scraping across the wooden floor cemented his deduction. Only one person in his life required such an aid to reach the kitchen counters—Godmama.

The enticing, sweet aroma was undeniable, instantly making Orlo's mouth water. Driven by the delightful scent, he leapt out of bed and dashed toward the kitchen. "Do I smell...?"

Godmama chuckled warmly at his eagerness, "The apple didn't fall far from the tree, I see." She said while carefully setting a warm tray on the kitchen table, revealing the source of the tantalizing aroma: a freshly baked, warm apple pie.

The pie's golden crust glistened under the kitchen light, its steam carrying the sweet, comforting scent of apples and cinnamon that filled the entire room. Orlo's eyes lit up at the sight, and his belly growled ready.

Just as Orlo reached out to dig into the pie with his fingers, Godmama swiftly intervened, slapping his hand away with a wooden spoon. "I taught you better than that! You need to wait for it to cool down," she chided, "And use a fork! We are not savages!"

"But warm is better," Orlo protested, his eyes still fixed longingly on the pie.

"Don't be impatient! Tisk, you are just like him," Godmama tutted, shaking her head. "Just like Yeso. Always hovering around my apron when I was making this pie. And he didn't change even when he got older. Not even when you were just a baby, sleeping in the basket with your little mouse pet. Your father couldn't resist the temptation of my apple pie." she said, interrupted by a proud chuckle.

"Your mother was a good woman and always gave him her part." Godmama tilted her head and clarified, still chuckling, "Well, except when she was pregnant, she craved it too. Now I know why," she mused, glancing at him.

"This hurt, Godmama..." Orlo muttered playfully, rubbing his hand where she had slapped it with the spoon. "Did Claramae go to town?"

"Why do you ask? Planning to graduate again? Didn't you graduate enough?" Godmama said with a touch of playful sarcasm.

"No, I just wanted to talk to her about... going to Ostesh," Orlo replied, a seriousness creeping into his tone.

Godmama's expression softened, "Wise decision. Finally, you are growing out of being a boy, ready to turn into a man."

Orlo hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "But I wanted to ask you for something."

"What is it?" Godmama asked, her curiosity piqued, while she placed a pot with water over the stove.

"Can I have my father's robe?" and immediately explained, "I won't go to trial; I'm not fit to be a Magi... it's not who I am, but... I have my mother's sketchbook, yet nothing that belonged to him. I wanted something... to... I don't know," Orlo tried to explain himself, his voice trailing off.

He took a seat at the table. As he sat down, his godmama silently handed him a cup of tea, her expression thoughtful, considering his unusual request.

"It's pretty damaged. Almost all burned out. I can give it to you, but it doesn't even have his smell anymore. It smells of ashes and... death," Godmama said, trying to camouflage her sorrow with a faint smile.

"Did he have anything else? Like a necklace... or a ring... something?" Orlo asked, hopeful yet hesitant.

"Your father was not as vain as your mother. Most of his belongings were left at the settlement, and with the long Night, everything was lost under the water," she explained, "There was nothing I could retrieve back. His clothes, his sword, his diaries. Nothing, it was all claimed by the Red Sea."

The Faerie then sat next to him, taking one of his hands in hers, offering comfort through her touch. "I don't have anything else of his. Otherwise, I would have given it to you. But I can guarantee that you have your father's eyes, his kindness, his intellect, and definitely his stubbornness. He was so very stubborn. Just like you."

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"I heard he was tall..." Orlo mused, "Any chance..."

"No! You are as short as your mother. She could almost be mistaken for a faerie. Such a beautiful girl. So kind... No wonder my Yeso went crazy about her," Godmama recalled, her eyes distant in old memories.

"So there's nothing of his?" Orlo asked, disappointed.

She shook her head, offering a small compromise. "I could rework your father's robe and wash it. It won't be exactly the same, but it could be something you might cherish?"

"Is that possible?"

"With a little needlework and some good soap, I might be able to do something really nice."

Orlo smiled, visibly pleased with the idea. "That would be great. So, is Claramae coming back anytime soon?"

"She just went out to make some deliveries."

"Deliveries of what?" Orlo asked, puzzled.

"Deliveries of... um... some gardening we do for the humans. It's quite successful," Godmama explained, somewhat vaguely.

"She's selling them drugs, isn't she?"

"It's an investment for your future!" Godmama quickly justified with a broad smile.

Orlo rolled his eyes and stood up, holding his mug of warm tea. The heat from the cup felt comforting in his hands. He stepped outside, walking into the tranquil woods that surrounded them. As he strolled, he took a moment to appreciate the calm daylight.

The peacefulness of the forest with the faeries' houses coated with flowers, the gentle light and the quiet rustling of leaves, a serene ambience that was forbidden beyond the protective confines of the dome.

Especially notable was the fact that, for the first time, Orlo didn't need to get dressed and prepare for a trip into town as if bracing himself to battle against winter. This change allowed him to feel genuinely relaxed, a sensation he savoured. He was looking forward to spending time with Maggie after breakfast, planning to play with her once she woke up.

As Orlo wondered, a figure passed by him – it was Maddie, the faerie who was born from the same flower as Maggie. She bore the appearance of a very old lady, complete with a hunch in her back and a cane to aid her in walking. This was the typical look of faeries at the age of seventeen, not like Maggie.

"Good morning, Maddie!" Orlo greeted, waving his hand somewhat awkwardly. However, the faerie didn't even glance in his direction and simply continued walking away. Orlo was left feeling a bit confused by her reaction, which wasn't atypical. He understood many things, saw many more and could travel to other realms of reality, but Maddie's dislike for him was not one of them. Deep down, he suspected it was because of his friendship with Maggie, but he couldn't fathom why that mattered so much to her. Maggie was still a faerie. A very sick faerie.

Orlo watched Maddie as she slowly walked away, leaning on her cane, taking small steps by step.

Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted. "Good morning!" a cheerful voice sang right next to him.

Orlo turned and smiled. His mood instantly lifted. "Look who's here!"

Maggie's cheerfulness was infectious. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she announced, "I had an amazing dream!" She swung left and right on her feet, eagerly anticipating Orlo's curiosity about her dream.

"You dreamt you were a princess? No, a queen! A frog princess? It was a frog last time, right?"

"Try again!" Maggie replied, her voice bubbling with excitement.

"You were a flower... A really big flower?"

She shook her head in response. "Try again," she prompted, clearly enjoying the game.

He furrowed his brow in thought, but his mind came up blank. Grasping at straws, he ventured, "You dreamt you baked me millions of apple pies?"

Maggie giggled at the absurdity of his guess. "No! I can't touch the stove... you know that."

"Well, I'm at a loss then," Orlo admitted, out of ideas.

"I dreamt the sky was full of big fishes, and the fishes had houses on their backs," Maggie revealed with a bright smile. She stretched her arms up to the sky, rising onto her toes, her eyes sparkling as she vividly visualized the dream. "They were really, really, really, really big!"

Orlo quickly finished the tea in his mug and, with a slight mischievousness, turned to leave the mug on someone's nearby windowsill.

"You can't leave that there. Godmama will be mad at you!" Maggie warned.

"I'll come pick it up in a second," Orlo reassured her with a smile. He then extended his hand towards Maggie, adopting a playful, formal tone. "Would you give me the honour of showing me your kingdom of sky-fishes?"

Maggie's eyes twinkled with excitement. She closed them really tight, and as soon as she touched Orlo's hand, it felt as if the world had turned upside-down.

"Was it something like this?" Orlo asked, gesturing towards the sky.

Maggie opened her eyes to an astonishing sight – the sky was filled with blue whales, each carrying houses, towns, and what appeared to be floating islands, all drifting languidly through a pink-hued sky. It was a breathtaking view, straight out of the dream she had described.

"How do you do this?" she asked in awe.

It was a question she always asked whenever Orlo used his magic to enter people's dreams and other realities that most creatures couldn't fathom. Each time, she was as amazed as the first, yet Orlo, true to his nature, never divulged the secret behind this extraordinary talent. But the truth is, Orlo wouldn't know how to explain it; he didn't understand himself. And his Spirit was awful at teaching.

As they gazed upwards, the sky transformed into an ocean of sunrise hues, with orange clouds undulating like waves. Whales sang their haunting melodies, creating a symphony that resonated through the dreamlike realm as new worlds formed on their backs.

Maddie was in a state of ecstasy, jumping and clapping, her excitement palpable as she pointed to the sky, fully immersed again in her dream.

However, Orlo sensed that something was amiss. He could detect the distinct smell of saltpetre, sulfur, and charcoal, blending together in an ominous way, hissing faintly like warm water in a whistling teapot.

Orlo scanned the surroundings, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary for a dream. Maddie, oblivious to his concerns, continued to run and jump around, playfully chasing the dream whales as they floated through the sky.

Despite the beauty and joy of the moment, Orlo's senses were alert, picking up on subtle cues that suggested something beneath the surface of this dream was not as serene as it appeared.

What was it?

> I never reveal my magical abilities to my peers or people close to me. It's not that I'm trying to hide something; rather, I simply don't know how to explain these powers. Even my Spirit struggles to find the right words to describe what they are or how they function. My magic is unusual. I can understand the anatomy of any creature or mechanism just by observing it. I'm also capable of traversing through dreams and bringing back fragments of them. The success rate of these dream expeditions is about 49%, but when I do receive information, it's 99.7% accurate. However, this doesn't always happen on command; it feels more like random data being thrown at me. Fast written information, graphics, drawings, scrolling rapidly. But casting a simple spell like a fireball is beyond my capability, yet paradoxically, I understand the mechanics perfectly behind such spells and have taught them to countless students. And now you know why I like firearms because you never know. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer