Tap! Tap! Thud!

The door slammed open, flooding the entire room in a blinding light. When the brightness finally receded, my surroundings morphed back into the familiar contours of the bedroom, where the morning sun cast its own beams of light.

Gasping for air, I pressed my palms into my eyes, dragging them down over my face as if I could scrape away whatever fragments of the nightmare remained.

“Again… It happened again.”

For the past few months, ever since that nightmare first took root, it had latched onto me like a second skin, always lurking, waiting to twist my dreams.

No matter what I dreamt of—good or bad, happy or sad—towards the end, I’d always find myself back home in some way or another. And then the same nightmare would commence, starting with the tapping of the window, followed all the way down to the front door.

And each time the door opened, I’d wake up drenched in sweat and struggling for breath.

The nightmare itself was bad enough, but even worse was the shadow. That terrifying thing made of purer darkness than the depths of the night, which seemed to swell and grow more terrifying with every passing nightmare.

It had no eyes, yet I felt its gaze. No mouth, but its silent, mocking grin pressed into my mind. No hands, yet I could almost see it pointing, accusing.

And then, it would whisper.

An incomprehensible murmur of words that weren’t heard but felt—an insidious force that felt as if shattered pieces of class were clawing the inside of my ears.

“Good morning, dear.” Mira’s sweet, melodic voice jolted me out of my stupor. “Did you sleep well?”

I blinked and slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, nodding stiffly as the words were stuck on the back of my throat.

Her eyebrows knitted together, and her tone softened. “Was it the same dream again?”

“Yeah.” I said, my voice throaty.

She moved to sit beside me, wrapping me in a hug as warm as the blanket. “It’ll be alright, Lyon. It’s just a nightmare, remember?”

The first time the nightmare had struck, I hadn’t told Mira anything. I thought it would only be a bother to her—and honestly, I didn’t believe it would ever repeat. But after it kept coming back, and as I grew more comfortable opening up to her, I eventually shared it.

She said it probably had something to do with everything I’d gone through. That it was my mind’s way of dealing with things and would eventually fade with time. And each time I mentioned it, she’d hug me just like how she did today, washing away the worst of my fears.

“Why don’t you take a bath? You’ll feel much better. And by the time you’re done, I’ll have breakfast ready. How about… dumplings?”

The moment she said the word, I practically jolted upright, nodding so quickly it made me dizzy. “Okay!”

Who had time to worry about nightmares when dumplings were on the line?

Certainly not me!

She laughed softly, releasing me before heading for the stairs. As she did however, something caught my eye.

My gaze flicked to the nightstand. Something was missing.

“Um… Mira,” I called out hesitantly.

She paused, turning back with a questioning look.

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“Where’s the beast core?”

The nightstand looked oddly empty without the familiar orb beside the egg wrapped in a familiar white feather. I scanned the area, but it was nowhere in sight.

Mira nearly stumbled on the stairs, catching herself against the wall. “Oh, that…” Her voice pitched so high it squeaked, and I burst out laughing.

She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself, but a smile cracked through her serious expression.

“I woke up early today, and without anything better to do, I tidied up the place. I must have forgotten to put it back,” she admitted albeit awkwardly, as if she needed a few moments to think of the reason. “Now go take a bath before the water gets cold.”

She waved me towards the bathroom in a playful shooing motion.

The sweat had dried, leaving a sticky sensation on my skin, so I didn’t waste any time. Plus, dumplings were waiting for me.

Usually I liked to take my sweet time, filling the room to the brim and trying to swim. It wasn’t summer, but who cared? Would that stop me? Of course not!

Well… it did.

The room wasn’t big enough!

It was spacious enough for both me and Mira to fit comfortably if we wanted to share a bath, but for some reason it wasn’t enough for me to swim? How was that fair?

In theory, I could swing my arms twice (and maybe a half-stroke if I stretched) before hitting the wall—but that wasn’t swimming at all! More like very aggressive splashing, at best!

At least I could float… That had to count for something, right?

Meh, either way, today wasn’t a day to waste time (or water). A few quick splashes here, some soap and shampoo there, and in less than ten minutes, I was done. (Had to adjust the temperature first, of course—couldn’t have it too hot or too cold.)

The second I stepped out of the bathroom, a delicious smell wafted up from downstairs.

Quickly throwing on some clothes, I raced down the stairs and straight into the kitchen.

And then stopped short.

The kitchen was… well, a complete mess.

Flour dusted almost every surface, not even the cupboards escaped unscathed. Pots bubbled on the stove, steam curling up from several dishes. I didn’t know the names of half the things in our kitchen, but I was pretty sure all of them were involved somehow. Bowls were stacked everywhere—some filled with food, others with kitchen utensils, and a few that were somehow holding other bowls.

And yet, Mira was still cooking more, moving between the chaos like a whirlwind.

What was even going on?

The only spot in the entire kitchen that had survived the culinary catastrophe was a small corner near the far end, where the calendar hung. Surrounded by the mess, it stood out like a lone island amidst a sea of flour and bowls.

Curious, I stepped closer, squinting at the date.

Today was November 26th.

‘Huh… Is something special today?’

“Um… Mira?” I called hesitantly, glancing between her and the explosion of ingredients. “Is… everything okay?”

She paused mid-motion, every pot, pan, and utensil in the kitchen seeming to freeze with her. Turning around, her face—smudged with flour—lit up with a bright smile.

“Of course it is, why are you asking?”

I blinked twice, stunned by how casually she responded to all of this.

With me still standing there speechless, she turned back to whatever she was doing.

“Who’s all this for?” I finally managed to ask.

“For us, of course. Who else?” she replied, not even turning around this time.

I stared at the mountain of food piling up around her.

“All of this?”

“Do you see anyone else around?” She sounded amused, like I’d asked the silliest question in the world.

I shook my head in response, forgetting that she didn’t have eyes on her back. But instead of questioning the ridiculous amount of food, I asked something else.

“When did you even have time to make all of this?”

“Didn’t I tell you I woke up early today?” She turned just enough to give me a quick wink before going back to slicing vegetables. As if that answered everything perfectly.

At this point, I was done with questions. What training with Horny or hunting beasts? Not even a minute here, and I was already exhausted—ready to go back to bed!

The following minutes passed in silence—or, rather, in a flurry of clinking pots, sizzling pans, and bubbling pots. The kitchen sounded like it had come alive, with every utensil and tool singing its own frantic song.

I’d seen Mira cook plenty of times before, but never anything on this scale.

How was she even managing all of this?

I thought using multiple elements at once was hard, but this… this seemed a hundred times more complicated. She was juggling at least four different things: taking out the finished dumplings (the ones that if I knew any better wouldn’t have agreed on), slicing vegetables into perfect little pieces, checking two pots (one boiling, one already full), and constantly peeking into the oven.

It was dizzying to watch.

How did she keep track of it all?

It was kinda amazing honestly. The kitchen looked like it had exploded… and somehow, Mira was the calm at the center of it all.

Finding a chair, I sat back and watched the show unfold. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help—I did. But I knew I’d just get in her way.

After a few more minutes of clattering and sizzling, the kitchen finally settled into silence. Mira wiped her hands on her apron before setting a tray of food on the table and sitting down beside me.

“Sorry for making you wait,” she said, smiling warmly as she placed the first plate in front of me. “Breakfast is ready.”