Losing Old Friends, Making New Ones

Perhaps Heavens smiled on North, or maybe his time wasn’t up yet—because he survived. But that was it. He only survived. His premature Dungeon Boundary was lost.

When he finally woke up, the first thing he saw was his parents' tired, worn-out faces. They sat beside his bed, their eyes filled with a deep sorrow, and with great difficulty, they told him what had happened. How his reckless attempt at catching a simple rabbit had cost him everything. How his future as a Dungeon Master had been erased before it could even begin. At first, North didn’t react. He just stared at them, their words sinking in like heavy stones, dragging him into a suffocating silence.

Then, it hit him. And when it did, it crushed him.

For a whole month, he refused to eat a single meal. His body withered, his round cheeks hollowed, and in just thirty days, the once plump, energetic ten-year-old had become skinny and frail. But the worst part?

The clan’s higher-ups had made a final decision.

North would no longer be allowed to attend the feasts. They couldn’t waste valuable resources on someone who would never become a Dungeon Master. Hearing this had been the final blow. His depression deepened, and he stopped stepping out of the house completely, choosing instead to lock himself away. He lived like a dead person. His parents, desperate and worried, tried everything to pull him out of it. They even called the neighbor kids, asking them to visit and play with him, hoping it would cheer him up.

At first, it worked—sort of. But after a month or two, even they stopped coming.

Heo was the last one to hold on. For six months, he came every day, trying to coax North out of his shell, dragging him outside whenever he could. But as time passed, even Heo’s visits became less frequent. After eight months, they stopped completely.

The two best friends grew apart. And that was life. People grew. They met others, made new friends, moved on.

But for North, time stood still. Yet, the world moved on— with or without him.

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In the blink of an eye, four years passed.

North was no longer the only child in the house. Now, there were two new members—twins, a young boy and girl, both energetic and lively, much like he had once been. His mother had given birth to them the same year he lost his Dungeon Boundary.

And North, being as perceptive as he was, quickly figured out the truth. They were his replacement. His mother’s attention had shifted. She doted on the twins, cared for them, spent all her time raising them.

And North?

He was left in the background. At first, he wasn’t sure what he felt. Perhaps it was resentment. Perhaps it was denial—a refusal to accept his new reality. But whatever it was, it made him hate the twins. Not in an active, vicious way—but in a quiet, cold detachment. From the moment they were born, he decided—he wanted nothing to do with them. So, he learned to avoid them. He never stayed in the same room as them. Never played with them. Never even acknowledged them when he could help it.

But his avoidance only made things worse.

His mother grew angry.

"First, you make a foolish mistake," she would scold angrily sometimes, "and now you refuse to take any responsibility? They are your siblings,"

His father, though quieter in his disappointment, had become more distant. North didn’t fight back. He never argued. He simply endured.

By fourteen, North had already read every single book in the village’s small school. If nothing else, his father never refused his requests for more books. Perhaps he felt guilty. Perhaps it was just easier this way. North never asked. It didn’t matter. Nothing ever mattered anymore.

He understood himself better than most. He had read enough books to recognize the two types of people in the world: There were those who drowned themselves in the poison of resentment, unable to move forward. And then there were those who contradicted themselves, creating paradoxes within their own hearts—trapping themselves inside.

North was the second.

He was fully aware of the resentment festering inside him. He knew it would only grow, only consume him if he let it. And yet, even knowing that, even understanding it, he couldn’t stop it.

It was just another day, no different from the countless ones before it.

North sat in his usual silent corner, his back against the old wooden wall, an old notebook resting on his lap. It was the same one his father had bought him over a year ago, before he decided North wasn’t worth another one.

“You refuse to help with the chores,” his father had said, “so don’t expect more books.”

North didn’t argue. He simply kept using the old one, writing over and over again, filling the worn pages with the same thoughts, words, and dreams that no longer mattered. Despite everything, his younger siblings never stopped coming to him. They had sensed the distance he kept, the way he never looked at them for too long, never let himself be alone with them. But being young and innocent, they still ran toward him every night, eager to hear stories from their big brother.

That morning was no different.

His little sister came running toward him, full of enthusiasm, her small feet bare against the wooden floor.

“Big Brother! Big Brother!” she chirped, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I brought pudding for you!”

She held up a small ceramic bowl, filled with the sweet pudding their mother had made especially for her.

But she didn’t want it for herself, She wanted North to have the first taste. Trailing behind her, the small boy followed, though his steps were hesitant, uncertain. Unlike his sister, he didn’t run straight into North’s space. He lingered a few steps back, watching carefully.

Because even though North had never yelled at them, never once raised his voice: He had always pushed them away. And the boy was smart enough to have learned that his big brother didn’t want him close. Even in his young, childlike mind, he had slowly picked up on things, understanding in his own way that North was someone they could only approach so much before being turned away.

North looked at his sister, his chest tightening for a brief moment.

But before that feeling could take root, before he could let himself feel anything at all, he silently pushed her hands away. The little bowl wobbled slightly, but she managed to keep her grip on it, blinking up at him in confusion.

He didn’t meet her eyes. Or his brother’s. He knew that if he did, he might start to love them. And that was something he couldn’t afford. Without a word, he stood up, his movements quiet and calculated.

It was morning, the sun barely peeking through the mist-covered sky.

He tucked his notebook under his arm, already preparing to leave, when—

“North, I need to go to the market today,” his mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “I need you to watch the twins or take them with you if you’re going out.”

North’s footsteps froze. His stomach coiled in frustration.

He wished, more than anything, that he could simply disappear from this place. And so he did. Before his mother could open her mouth again, before she could yell at him for being useless or not helping with anything, North bolted. He ran out the door, his feet hitting the dirt road as he escaped before she could catch him.

All he wanted was peace. His notebook, his thoughts… and maybe, just maybe, to jump off a cliff.

But he still couldn’t quite gather the courage.

As North walked down the muddy street, his footsteps suddenly halted. For a brief moment, his breath stopped, his instincts screaming at him to turn around. Then—he moved. With quick, silent steps, he ducked into another street, pressing his back against the wooden wall of a house.

His heart thumped against his ribs. A gang of five boys had just turned the corner—the same boys who had successfully formed their Dungeon Boundaries. They were supposed to be his batchmates. They knew who he was. And every time they saw him, North could never predict what would happen. Half the teenagers in this village seemed to have nothing better to do than fight, as if their first instinct upon seeing another person was to punch them, wrestle them, or humiliate them.

As if causing harm to others was some necessary proof of strength. So he hid. And he listened.

The boys strode down the street, talking loudly, their voices carrying in the open air.

“Teacher finally explained Dungeon Boundaries today,” one of them said, his voice eager. “He said a Dungeon Boundary is like a home. Just like we live inside our houses, the Dungeon Boundary is a house for dungeon Bugs. As Dungeon Masters, we’re expected to build that house—and the more we build, the higher our Rank becomes.”

North’s ears perked up despite himself. He had never heard this explanation before.

He had lost his Dungeon Boundary before he even understood what it truly was.

"But I still don't get it," another boy, on the left, said, rubbing his head. "What’s the difference between normal bugs on the ground and Dungeon Bugs? They look the same, except shinier."

The leader of the group scoffed before smacking the back of his head. "You’re stupid."

The boy who had been hit didn’t even complain. If anything, he smiled sheepishly, as if accepting his fate.

The leader continued, grinning smugly. "The difference is that one is trash, crawling in the dirt, and the other is a piece of gold."

Then, his voice lowered slightly, his expression darkening. "But most importantly, Dungeon Bugs have intelligence. Like Elder Dai said, they contain a small piece of Heaven itself."

North’s chest tightened. A piece of Heaven?

"Heaven is all-encompassing and all-governing," the boy went on, his voice full of certainty. "Anything that contains a piece of it is, of course, something extraordinary. That’s why it’s so important. That’s why Dungeon Masters are different from normal people. A Dungeon Bug can’t be used by humans, but if they become Dungeon Master, they can use their Dungeon Boundary to manipulate and use them for their personal use."

“Oh!”

North clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms.

“I just need to wait for my father to pay the academy fees,” the boy continued, "and then they’ll finally let me choose my first dungeon bug."

His fingers curled into a tight fist, his voice turning bitter.

"And then I’ll let that bitch Jade know my power. How dare she beat me when were just practicing simple moves teacher told us to practice?"

North’s breath hitched. So the girl from chief house was still going strong as ever.

In his eyes as he now had a lot of free time in his hand to thought things through: Jade had always been strong, skilled, and fearless. And this boy—Cleo—had always been obsessed with proving himself stronger than her. A dangerous kind of hatred flickered in his voice, a grudge buried deep.

North exhaled slowly, pressing himself further into the shadows. He had no intention of getting caught up in this.

But, just as North pressed himself deeper into the shadows, hoping to stay invisible, a boy’s excited voice shattered his hopes.

“Boss, boss, look! North’s hiding there!”

The boy grabbed the sleeve of another, tugging like a child eager to show off a prize. North cursed under his breath and smacked his forehead against the wooden wall in frustration. Damn it. He didn’t wait for them to close in. Instead, he bolted.

"Where?!" Lain’s head snapped toward the alley, his sharp eyes locking onto North.

The other boys followed his gaze, and within seconds, they were on his tail. North could hear them laughing, their footsteps pounding against the dirt path, closing in fast. Lain, their self-proclaimed leader, looked the most eager—he wanted to catch North, humiliate him, and show off his strength. After all, he was now a Rank 1 Dungeon Boundary Master, just one step away from becoming an official Dungeon Master.

And North? North was nothing. A failure. A perfect target. Or so they thought.

"I should’ve run earlier," North scolded himself as he ducked under a merchant’s stall, nearly knocking over a basket of apples.

But it was too late for regrets. Now, he had to focus on outrunning them. Luckily, he wasn’t as weak as they thought. His thin frame made him quick, and years of climbing trees, jumping cliffs, and sneaking through tight spaces had honed him into a natural escape artist. He dashed through narrow alleys, vaulted over low fences, and slid under hanging laundry lines, using every shortcut he knew. But his pursuers were relentless. Unlike him, they had feasted on the meat of powerful beasts for six years, their bodies stronger, their stamina endless.

And his luck today was terrible.

North’s heart sank when he turned a corner—only to hit a dead end. Tall wooden walls surrounded him on three sides. No escape. His breathing was uneven, his fists clenched. Behind him, the boys slowed their steps, grinning as they realized he was finally cornered.

Lain stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, his lips curled into a smirk of pure amusement. “Let’s see how much you’ve improved since the last time I beat you.”

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His lackeys snickered, their laughter filled with anticipation. But Lain had conveniently forgotten something. The last time they fought, it took all five of them to take North down. Had he been alone, or even with only two others—He would’ve been beaten like wet laundry on a rock. But now that he had his Dungeon Boundary, he thought he was unstoppable. So he did something stupid. Instead of waiting for his group, he lunged forward alone. North’s eyes sharpened. He knew he was going to get beaten today. But if that was the case, he might as well enjoy landing a few punches first.

North didn’t hesitate. He didn’t give Lain a chance to blink before his fist connected perfectly with his nose. A sharp crack echoed through the alley. Lain let out a bloodcurdling scream, stumbling back as blood gushed from his nostrils. But North didn’t stop. He dashed forward, throwing another punch, then another. For a brief moment, he had the upper hand.

Then, reality caught up. The other boys, momentarily stunned by Lain’s pain, quickly snapped out of it and jumped in.

Fists.

Kicks.

A knee to his ribs.

North fought back for as long as he could, but it didn’t take long before he was on the ground, curled up in pain. One foot pressed against his back. Another on his legs. A third against his shoulder. They kicked him, over and over, until their satisfaction outweighed their anger.

It wasn’t until a shout came from the distance that they finally stopped.

"OI! What kind of kids did your parents raise?!" An old, weathered voice echoed through the alley.

The boys turned to see Granny Pei, carrying a heavy bundle of grass on her head, making her way from the fields.

Her face was stern, her steps slow but unwavering. "I’ll be complaining to your parents, you little brats!"

At the mention of parental involvement, Lain and his group immediately scattered, running off without a word. North lay there, groaning, dirt in his mouth, bruises already forming along his ribs.

Granny Pei sighed heavily, dropping her bundle of grass to the side before walking over and helping him sit up.

"Thank you, Granny Pei," North muttered, bowing slightly despite the pain.

The old woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Boy, why is it that every time I see you, you're getting beaten by someone?"

She dusted off his clothes, her frail but steady hands brushing the dirt off his shoulders.

North let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe I just have a face people like to punch."

Granny Pei rolled her eyes. "Let’s go," she said, waving her hand. "Help me carry this bundle home, and I’ll make you a medicine so those kicks don’t hurt as much."

North nodded immediately. He glanced at the ground, spotting his notebook—now covered in dust and footprints. With a quiet sigh, he picked it up, dusted it off, and tucked it back into his pocket. Then, despite Granny Pei’s protests, he lifted the heavy bundle of grass onto his own head and walked beside her. She talked about her day, mostly complaining about her old bones, the price of rice, and how the new generation had no manners.

North listened silently, enjoying her presence.

Granny Pei had once been part of a big family, but they had all died on a clan mission outside the mountains, leaving her alone. North often wondered—if he had grandparents, would they have loved him despite his failures? Would they have treated him kindly even though he was no longer special? But before his thoughts could wander too deep, he shook his head.

He turned to Granny Pei and said, "Why don’t you call me when you go to cut grass? I’ll help you carry it home every day. It’s not like I have anything better to do. And it’ll help pass the time."

Granny Pei paused mid-step, looking at him.

For a moment, there was a flicker of sadness in her old eyes.

"Stop talking like that," she scolded, her voice sharper than before. "You’re still fourteen. You have a long life ahead of you. So, why you want to take care of these old bones. Even if you can’t become a Dungeon Master, the world doesn’t end."

She fell silent after that, as if contemplating something. Finally, she sighed and spoke again. "Outside these Soaring Dragon Mountains, there’s a great kingdom called the Brilliant Kingdom," she said.

North’s ears perked up slightly.

"I’ve heard the Dungeon Masters in Caravan talk about it," she continued. "Every year, they hold scholar examinations. People travel from all over to take the test. If they pass, they become ministers, officials... they earn money, fame, and power. Even without a Dungeon Boundary."

She gave him a knowing look. "It’s a path different from being a Dungeon Master... but it is still a path."

North absorbed her words, letting them settle in his mind.

A different path.

One that didn’t rely on Hope Bugs or Dungeon Boundaries.

Soon, They reached home and he carefully dropped the bundle of grass inside her small wooden house. Despite the day’s beating, North felt oddly content. Perhaps it was the silence, or maybe it was just being in her presence—someone who didn’t judge him, scold him, or expect anything from him. Meanwhile, Granny Pei poured two cups of water, one for herself and one for him, after all the walking. They sat side by side on a four-footed woven bed, watching her two cows graze on the fresh grass in the courtyard.

The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

"It’s hard to leave the boundaries of these mountains," Granny Pei murmured, breaking the silence.

Her tired eyes watched the sky, the vastness beyond the peaks of the Soaring Dragon Mountains. "But that doesn’t mean you can’t make a name for yourself here in the clan."

She gestured toward his notebook, dirt-streaked and worn from use. "Why do you study so much if you don’t plan to put those words to use?"

North’s fingers instinctively tightened around the notebook in his lap. He had no answer.

Granny Pei’s expression shifted, turning serious. "We are all members of the Three Leaf Clan," she said, "and we are supposed to live like a family."

But then, she let out a short, humorless laugh. "But the world doesn’t work like that."

North turned his head toward her, listening intently. "There is good and bad in people’s hearts," she continued. "Mostly a lot more bad than good."

Her fingers rubbed against her worn-out sleeves, as if recalling something distant.

"When a family is small, there are fewer mouths to feed, and fewer worries overall. But when a family grows too large… feeding more mouths becomes harder. Raising them all becomes impossible."

She sighed, her voice heavy with knowing. "So what do clans do? They choose the best and nurture them forward."

North stared at the ground, unmoving. It was the ugly truth—one he had already known but never accepted. He was not one of the chosen. And that meant he had no place in the clan’s future.

Granny Pei looked at him patiently, sensing the storm in his heart.

She reached out, lightly patting his arm. "So you shouldn't feel resentment toward it," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

"Resentment only burns you from the inside out. It doesn’t harm others—it only destroys you."

North let out a slow breath. The anger, the bitterness, the ache in his chest—they had nowhere to go. Maybe she was somewhere right.

After spending some time with Granny Pei, chatting about nothing and everything, North finally left her house, his feet leading him toward the towering mountains. The village, despite being the heart of their clan, was not the only settlement in these mountains. There were small villages scattered across the ridges and valleys, hidden between thick forests and winding rivers. And three more clans like his: Blue Fire, Mountain Shouldering, and Majestic Bear.

Though he knew of their existence, he had never ventured beyond his own home. And today wasn’t going to be any different. He had no plans to wander aimlessly. He only wanted to feel the cold air against his skin, let the wind rush through his hair, and—just for a moment—enjoy the silence.

His feet found their way to the edge of a steep cliff, where the land dropped sharply into an endless sea of emerald trees below. One wrong step and he could easily fall. But fear didn’t cross his mind. Instead, he sat down, letting his legs dangle dangerously over the ledge.

The sky stretched wide and endless above him, the clouds drifting like lost dreams.

With a calm exhale, he pulled out a charcoal pencil and a tattered notebook. And he began to write. He wrote without thinking, letting the words flow as they wished.

He sketched the mountains, the sharp lines of the ridges, the twisting patterns of the wind. He had no direction, but Granny Pei’s words lingered in his mind, giving him something to mull over in the quiet afternoon. He had always dreamed of leaving. Of walking away from this place, from his family, his village, his clan. Of going somewhere new—somewhere no one knew him, no one pitied him, no one remembered his failures. But those thoughts were nothing more than fleeting ideas. A boy like him, weak and alone, had no way to cross these mountains. With his meager strength, getting past them was harder than flying.

His grip tightened around the charcoal pencil, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

How can I form another Dungeon Boundary again?

How can I still become a Dungeon Master?

These questions had haunted him for years. Lately, these thoughts had become even louder, more suffocating—especially after hearing the news. The other children from his batch had finally started their official training, entering the clan’s school to become real Dungeon Masters. They were learning to rank up using their Dungeon Boundaries, how to use Dungeon bugs, growing stronger every day. And him? He was stuck in the same place, drowning in his own what-ifs and regrets. Or maybe, those questions had always been there, whispering in the back of his mind, since the day he lost everything.

A soft rustling in the tall wild grass startled North. His body jerked in alarm, his hands gripping tightly onto the thick stalks of grass to keep himself from falling off the cliff. His breath hitched, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he slowly turned his head, expecting to see a mountain bear or worse—a territorial beast from the deeper forests.

Instead, his eyes landed on a girl.

She stood near a centuries-old tree, her delicate fingers tracing the tree’s weathered, white bark. She inspected it curiously, almost absentmindedly, as if she had merely wandered there by chance. North’s mind went blank. For a long second, he forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think.

The girl finally turned slightly, her silver gaze catching his stunned expression. Her lips curled into a smirk—the same familiar, mischievous smirk that once terrified him years ago.

"What?" she said, taking a step forward, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I thought I was a cow looking at myself in a puddle, thinking I was a swan."

North immediately snapped back to reality, his face flushing slightly. Damn it. He was so stupid when he was younger, spouting any poem that came to mind. And she remembered. How could she not? That poem was the reason she had beaten him black and blue the first time they met. But things had changed. The fake cow, it seemed, had truly become a swan.

Jade reached into the pocket of her long skirts, pulling out a shiny gold coin.

She twirled it between her fingers, letting the light glint off its polished surface. "Tell me a good poem," she said simply.

Then, she held up the coin. "I’ll give you this."

North’s gaze locked onto the coin instantly. Gold. These rich people in big houses really had the luxury of throwing money away so carelessly. But North? He knew exactly what that gold coin could buy. With that money, his entire household could survive for four, maybe five months. His fingers itched, already reaching for his notebook. He quickly flipped through the pages, scanning for the perfect phrase—something to capture her completely. For a gold coin, if she wanted, he was even willing to write a hundred copies of an essay.

But before he could choose, Jade’s hand shot forward, snapping his book shut. "No," she interrupted, her voice firm.

North blinked up at her, confused.

"You have to make a new one," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Like you did in the past."

North stared at her, his mind spinning. She wanted something fresh. Unscripted. Something that came from him, at this moment.

It wasn’t hard for North to think. After all, that was all he ever did. Think. Think. And think some more. His mind never rested, never stopped. He was always trapped in his own thoughts, always turning words over in his head, shaping them, molding them into something worth speaking.

So when he looked at her, when he saw her molten-silver-moon like eyes glinting under the afternoon light,

The words came naturally..

She blinks—

the heavens lose colors,

Thoughts scatter with the wind,

—lose for words.

Jade’s eyes widened slightly, then her face split into a triumphant grin. She clapped her hands together, cheerful and smug. "Much better! You finally learned to appreciate beauty" she declared, very impressed by the lines.

At this moment, she was very happy, because the stupid boy had finally said something good. Thus, she decided to hand him the gold coin. If he hadn’t, well, she was definitely planning to beat him red and blue.

North accepted the coin immediately, enthusiasm lighting up his face. His first payment ever. A wave of joy rolled through his heart—not just because of the money, but because it was his words that had earned it. Then, a thought struck him. Maybe, just maybe, he could write poems for these rich ladies and earn even more money. They were pretty stupid anyway.

As soon as the idea took root, another poem formed in his head.

A fool trades gold for fleeting words,

A poet smiles, richer than kings.

He smirked, hiding the thought away for later. While his thoughts continued to crash:

Ink flows like spring rain,

Words bloom like morning flowers.

One verse serves all courts, Like jade fits any setting.

A few pretty words about grace,

Some flowery praise about face,

Tell her she's rare,

Beyond all compare.

They’ll think it's divine,

These recycled lines,

While I think the profit's sublime.

North swallowed a sudden chuckle that threatened to spill out.

"What are you thinking?" Jade’s voice pulled North from his thoughts as she took a seat beside him, her legs dangling freely over the cliff’s edge, just like his.

North shifted slightly to the side, discomfort creeping up his spine. It had been four years since they last spoke. And now, suddenly, she was here, asking him for poems, handing him gold coins, and acting as if they were still familiar with each other. It was far too suspicious.

His brows furrowed as he turned toward her. "Why are you here?"

His voice was clipped, cautious—as if an intruder had trespassed into his home.

Jade didn’t seem bothered by his hostility. Instead, she simply gazed at the wide chasm below, her silver eyes reflecting the endless stretch of valleys and towering mountains. "I just wanted to take a stroll today."

North didn’t buy it. But he also didn’t care. "Okay."

Without another word, he stood up. If she wanted to sit here and admire the view, she was free to do so. But he was going somewhere else—one of his other secret places where he wouldn’t have to deal with her presence. So what if the girl was pretty? So what if he felt drawn to her—a strange, magnetic pull that had always been there since they were children? That kind of thing didn’t matter anymore. Maybe four years ago, he would have folded easily if she had simply spoken to him like this. Maybe four years ago, he would have listened to her without suspicion.

But now?

Now, he rarely trusted anyone’s words. Because trusting people meant giving them power over you. And North had already lost too much because of his own stupidity.

"Wait!" Jade yelled from behind him, frustration in her voice.

"Where are you going?" North didn’t even look back as he walked away. "Letting you enjoy the peace and quiet." His voice was flat, indifferent. Then, after a beat, he added, "Also, I don’t like people barging into my personal space."

"Rude." Jade pouted dramatically, but then her voice shifted, teasing yet serious. "If you sit here, I’ll show you something interesting."

North’s footsteps halted instantly. For a brief moment, he hesitated—then slowly, he turned back.

Jade was twirling something between her fingers. North squinted, trying to make out what it was. A thin, dark object—something small and hard-shelled.

It looked like…

A beetle?

Something she must have picked up from the ground?

"It’s a Dungeon Bug, stupid," Jade said, sounding almost exasperated.

North’s eyes widened in disbelief.

A Dungeon Bug.

An actual Dungeon Bug.

Despite being beaten to a pulp earlier, today had been surprisingly good—he had earned his first gold coin, gained valuable knowledge, and now—he was staring at something even the poor kids in the village had never been lucky enough to touch. His suspicion deepened. Slowly, he walked back and sat beside her, his entire focus glued to the small beetle in her hand. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe too loudly. Didn’t even move.

"This… this is a Dungeon Bug?" he asked, voice low with pure curiosity.

Because nothing about it looked special. It just looked like a normal bug as one of the boy in the hooligan group had said.

"Hmm." Jade nodded, twirling it between her fingers. "It’s called a Rock Skin Beetle. It can turn a person’s skin into stone for a few seconds."

"Really," North’s mind raced, trying to process what that meant. But before he could react, Jade closed her hand around it. North flinched slightly, coming back to his senses. Something was wrong with this situation. Why was she showing him this? Why now?

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked cautiously. His sharp eyes flicked up to hers. "Do you want something from me?"

Jade suddenly smiled sweetly.