They walked through the village—children jumping on stones, vendors scolding robotic cats trying to steal apples.
— This kingdom is really strange.
Lily said, while gazing at the grand castle perched atop a mountain.
— But why did the witch send us here? What does this have to do with my mother?
Doubts filled Lily with every step. Some villagers seemed not to notice her clothes, which brought her a small relief.
As they walked, Lily felt an invisible weight in the air, like a collective sigh passing through the streets and settling in everyone's hearts. She paused by an old fountain where a group of children silently watched a robotic cat, which this time seemed more curious than mischievous.
— Do you feel that, Caco? — Lily asked softly.
The robot blinked its blue visor and replied in a gentle voice:
— Emotional analysis: latent sadness. Level: elevated.
Before Lily could respond, a silver-haired woman emerged from a small stone house and approached. Her gaze was calm but carried the wisdom of many seasons.
— You are the witch's emissaries, aren't you?
She said, smiling kindly.
— This village bears a shadow—not visible, but felt by all of us.
Lily pressed the lilac book to her chest.
— The witch said I should start with "what is withering," but what does that mean?
The woman nodded.
— Oh, my dear.
She offered a gentle smile.
— It's not plants or anything like that. It's the hopes that are withering, the souls tired from fear and oppression. But not all is lost.
She continued:
— If the witch sent you, then it's certain that you have the strength to change this.
Lily swallowed hard.
— But how? I don't have powers like the witch.
The woman smiled.
— By listening to your heart.
She replied. Her cane trembled with every word, as if about to drop at any moment.
— Not all magic is fire or thunder.
— But what does that mean?
Lily asked, even more doubtful.
The old woman gestured softly for Lily to follow.
— Come with me. I'll show you the place where the real battle is fought.
. . .
Lily followed the woman down narrow alleys where the sky grew distant and the village sounds faded. They passed silent lanes, closed doors, and windows draped in dark cloth. Finally, they arrived at a dead-end street.
— Are you sure it's here?
Lily asked, confused.
— By my calculations, my dear, you might be suffering from poor eyesight.
Caco said, and Lily immediately scolded him. But the old woman just smiled.
— Foolish children.
With the tip of her cane, she sketched almost-invisible symbols on the stone wall. Then she murmured words in an ancient tongue, as if singing to time.
The stones trembled slightly. A faint glow spread across the cracks, slowly forming a magical archway.
— The heart must be open to see what the eyes cannot.
She said.
The passage opened.
Beyond it, a wooden staircase led down into a large underground hall. There were makeshift beds, shelves filled with jars and books, and, above all, people—children with bandaged arms, adults with tired eyes, damaged robots undergoing maintenance. Everything bathed in a soft, warm light.
Lily descended carefully, the book still pressed to her chest. The air was heavy, but not dark—it felt as if all the pain had gathered there to heal, not to hurt.
— This is a refuge where we protect those who have nowhere else to hide. Each one here has lost something.
Lily felt a lump in her throat. Caco approached, analyzing everything.
— Detecting signs of deep emotional trauma.
— Exactly what you see.
The woman looked at Lily tenderly.
— Here, my dear, is where you begin. Listen to the stories. See their pain. Then decide how you wish to bloom in this cracked soil.
Lily tightened her grip on the book. She felt small—but at the same time, as if she'd arrived exactly where she was meant to be.
— Where do I start?
— Where?
The woman scratched her head while humming softly.
— Let's cook.
— Cook what?
Lily hesitated, but she sensed that only through this would she discover why she was here.
. . .
Lily stirred the wooden spoon with care. The cauldron steamed, spreading a sweet, warm scent through the refuge—like a comforting memory of home.
The woman, small-eyed with a curved back, sprinkled dried herbs into the broth.
— Add more hope… this one is old, but still usable.
Lily smiled tenderly, but her thoughts returned to the doubt gnawing inside her ever since they'd arrived.
— Ma'am… have you… seen my mother?
The spoon froze in midair. The old woman turned toward her slowly, her weary eyes carrying centuries of weight.
But before any words could escape, a woman burst into the refuge, her eyes red, her breathing ragged.
— He's gone! — she cried, desperate.
— My son… he was playing near the dead-end street… and now he's missing!
Lily felt the panic in that face. She was afraid—but also certain she couldn't stand idle.
— I'll find him!
— A little girl…
the old woman said slowly.
— I'm sorry, but I cannot do nothing—that would be too cruel.
Lily's words carried weight… but not yet enough to kindle hope.
. . .
She ran outside with Caco racing behind, his eyes flashing in search mode. They darted through familiar alleys as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
— Estimated direction: north. Last heat signature near the dead-end. Scanning heat traces…
Caco pointed with its visor.
— Detected small footprints and recent marks. The boy likely passed this way.
They hurried farther, and found the child near the village edge, fallen, a shallow cut on his knee. His eyes held fear. Before him, a metal horse—with glowing red eyes and a chrome body—snorted steam like a silent guardian.
Behind the creature stood a golden and blue carriage. Its door clicked open, and a boy stepped down.
He was Lily's age. He wore fine clothes, a short cape, and a silver insignia on his chest. His light hair glowed in the sun, and his gaze was sharp—the gaze of someone forced to lead from a young age.
He walked to the fallen boy and paused before him, not noticing Lily. But the moment their eyes met, time froze.
Two worlds faced each other.
Royalty.
And rebellion.
Curious onlookers circled them, captivated. Lily stared at the cape-clad boy with unwavering seriousness.
— What did you do to him?!
— What are you talking about?
He asked, confused—no one in this kingdom had ever dared to speak this way.
— Who are you?
Her voice challenged him.
— Don't dodge my question!
Lily stepped closer.
"Is she crazy?""Is she insane?""Poor girl."
That's what the crowd thought—they'd never seen someone dare to approach him so directly.
— Prince Lain!
The coachman shouted. With a slight lift of his hand, Lain replied:
— It's not necessary. I'll take care of this girl myself.
He turned to Lily. There was something different—an aura, almost.
— Answer me!
He stepped forward, raised his arm, clenched his fist, and then...
POWN!
Lily did something no one expected. Everyone was speechless. Even Caco blinked, confused.
— Who do you think you are?!
— You hurt an innocent child!
— I didn't—
He glanced at the boy's leg. Though the cut was small, something in it stirred him.
— Oh, please!
Prince Lain raised his arm to retaliate. But Lily's tear-filled eyes stopped him cold.
He lowered his arm and said, head bowed:
— I am sorry.
He looked down, turned, and climbed back into the carriage.
The crowd erupted in joy—cheers for the girl who stood up for the weak.
Then, as if guided by a greater force, a soft light escaped from Lily's lilac book, drifting through the refuge, soothing hearts, making children laugh again. The old woman smiled, understanding the change.
"Hope," murmured a voice in Lily's heart.
The first ingredient had been found.
. . .
The prince sat in thoughtful silence, the robotic cat at his side staring at the sad-faced child.
— You shouldn't have faltered.
— Yeah, I know.
— You know the counselor is watching.
— If I were you, I'd act more carefully.
The cat began grooming its metal paws.
— We don't want him discovering your "other face."
Lain pushed the cat gently.
— As if that would ever happen.
For a fleeting moment, the girl crossed his mind.
— She's in danger.
The prince said, wearing a serious look of concern.
What was about to happen would change the life of everyone in that kingdom—and the world.