Nothingness was the epitome of peace.
And on the lowest floor, there was life. The life that held that peace.
The fireplace to the chimney crackled—a slightly stronger soul against the cold, though the wood was much stronger. A spacious room—with a light wooden table at the center bearing a rectangular shape. Four seats, where only one had a bowl. A bowl filled with liquid cocoa—or in this case—”Chocolate Soup.”
Step.
Step.
A crimson curtain swayed to the beat of a non-existent breeze, allowing the light from outside to pour in once more. When it did, it landed on the one who was merely passing by the stone counter.
A boy. His long hair was unique; long, black, and cascading, yet holding triangular edges at each end. His stare was cold—those black eyes able to shiver the core of anyone. Soft, white skin, slightly covered by black fabric of a similar nature. A black T-shirt that exposed a good chunk of his arms, and black, hanging pants—where at the end his feet resided.
This cold boy’s name… is Cyromin!
“Pwoo…” A wintry breath escaped his mouth as he took a seat. Thereafter, a deep breath. Hands clasped—eyes closed as the mind spouted out words etched into him and his family.
"Life itself is a miracle."
Eyes back to the world—or particularly, his fill for the morning. The chocolate soup, its steam constantly rising. He felt the warmth, and honestly it felt no different from the cold, just as he liked. In his right palm, a linear duststorm of snow bloomed into existence. Ten seconds of swirling, and it became a spoon of steel. Leaning forward slightly, he placed the spoon into the hot chocolate, stirring the contents within. He could feel it; each end of the bowl vibrating upon being struck.
He threw himself back into the cognitive realm of darkness, heightening his senses.
Tip.
Tip.
Tip.
And in a dramatic flare, his eyes flashed back upon, much livelier now! A beautiful fortune, that contents were!
The water began to rumble—tiny waves spreading outward. Something was usurping!
And when it came up, Cyromin’s lips warped into a small smile.
Marshmallows!
“Good.”
He was a bit of a picky eater—especially around this time of year. The etiquette of food this year was always a massive step above in terms of quality compared to every other month. Even the main store on Candy Cane Lane–Fightin’ Donuts—upped their game! (The chocolate donuts were his favorite).
Without further ado, the boy would slowly raise the spoon to his mouth. A few, tiny marshmallows caught in a small pond of chocolate. A small blow to the heat, and it entered his mouth.
And as always, it was delicious. That didn’t make it any less surprising, however. This soothing feeling in his tastebuds and his stomach always had to wait another year.
“So nice,” he exhaled.
But, as he tried to delve deeper into the delightfulness of the morning, his entire body suddenly burst alight with this outrageous, indomitable feeling of an irregularity. To the curtains—nothing. To the fireplace—nothing.
“...What is this?”
Suddenly, it came to him.
Wait!
At the other end of the room, where a wooden shelf outstretched from the wall, slender in size... something was missing.
You want to know what wasn’t on the shelf?
“THE ELF!!!!!!!”
The concept of hunger was replaced with fear! He jolted out of his seat, charging over to the area. He flipped through a mountain of Candy Canes below the shelf. Toss! Toss! Toss! The con of having a Reindeer as a pet!
But there was nothing there.
“Crap, crap!”
Under the table: Nothing!
In the fireplace: Zip!
Inside of the sink: Zero! (Dishes though)
By, under, behind, or on top of the Miracle Tree: NANA!
A defiant stomp echoed throughout the stone travesty! “Seriously?! In the morning?!” He asked himself, narrowed eyebrows honed to the Miracle Tree.
Now, you might be wondering… Why so worried about an Elf missing from Shelf? If anything, that should fortify mystery and excitement.
But, here’s the catch.
THAT IS AN EXACTUAL ELF!
A REALLY, REALLY HUNGRY ELF THAT THEY KEEP DURING MIRACLE MONTH, THAT USUALLY SLEEPS!
SO WHEN IT WAKES UP…
“That bastard… is going to eat up everything in this house!”
The weight of the situation dawned upon Cyro, hardened gaze shooting toward the stairwell behind him!
“But not on my watch!”
Even during Mayday, Cyromin knew to take a deep breath, and not be halted by a possible outcome! It was time! He closed both ring fingers and index fingers, bringing the three remaining fingers to union!
It was time to make a wish.
Or more so, a Magical Chant!
“On the first day of Miracles, my true love gave to me…”
A melancholy of frost transmuted into existence, rapidly expanding!
“A YULE-CAT… WHO WAS SUPER DIRTY!!!!!!!”
And his elegant words refined the edges of the frost into a masterpiece detailed enough to stay.
SUMMON: THE YULE-CAT!
A cat with calamitous black fur! It seems normal, doesn’t it? Well, actually, it places a curse on you if you don’t wear new clothes between each summoning.
The cat’s yellow eyes shot to its summoner.
Of course, it aimed to curse its users.
“Let’s see…” The Yule-Cat said, examining with a paw to its chin. The eagerness in its eyes to curse was undeniable.
People saying the Origin of these guys being tied to Witches makes a lot of sense.
“Hm! Why so original, you?” Asked the Yule-Cat. “I can never catch you the same!”
“Doesn’t matter.” Cyromin said boldly, “I summoned you to find the Elf. He’s around here, somewhere, so… sniff em’ out!”
Hiss! “Fine!”
One sniff.
Two sniff.
In the vision of yellow, a trail of thin aura was streaming down the stairs.
Pit-pit-pit!
The Yule-Cat dashed over to it, and hissed at its imprudent aroma. That was an obvious sign for Cyromin. “As I suspected.”
“Welp,” The Yule-Cat sprinted up the stone steps! “Let’s get this over with!”
“Right!”
Up, up, up the stairs they went! A short journey which ended with the opening of the door built in chocolate!
And dash, dash, dash down the hall they continued, flames flickering from the speed. Linear pathways upon linear pathways of dark oak doors, memories known and unknown behind each.
Though this was normal… something changed when they reached their fifth turn. It was a dead end, with a single window crowning the floor in radiance. And to the right and left, were two pathways. At this point, the direction of the smell had grown ambiguous—uncertain.
“Meow! I’ll take the left!”
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“Okay, then I’ll take the right!”
They dashed off in opposite directions at an equal speed. We’ll take Cyromin’s side, however. Off he went, arms thrown up and down with great haste, his legs a blur of motion.
Footsteps echoed through the hall! Fighting through the severity of the smell was difficult, but his face remained determined all throughout.
At this hall, there’s a dead end. And these things are super sneaky!
I’ll have to check one of these rooms.
Skkrrrsssshhh he went at the introduction to a new idea! The floor below him creaked, admitting to its impermanence!
“On the eighth day of Miracles… my true love gave to me…”
.
.
.
“EIGHT VERSIONS OF MEEEEEE!!!!!”
Puddles of snow formed a straight line down the hall. Something was growing out of it. Something human… someone familiar.
HIM!
SNOWMEN… BUT HIM!
“Search the doors, my clones!” Commanded Cyromin, back off to his journey. Beneath the sound of his thunderous footsteps, he could hear his clones getting to work quickly.
Closer. Closer. Closer! Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single indication yet!
However, something changed. The flare of his nose made him realize the smell, although that wasn’t his intention. For a while, it was the same. But one steps, five steps, ten steps, and it was slowly but surely growing sweeter. No, not sweeter, but rather… fresher.
Is that...
Sniff. Sniff.
"Mint?"
That made him put a step on it, wind blasting past him with a far greater potency!
“Oh no you don’t!” He shouted, “NO TAKING MY MINTS!”
But… amidst the spiraling spindle of peppermint smell, prudence was still an aspect. The smells were clearly clashing, meaning that summoning his clones was useless. Dammit! I can’t use up too much energy before I even get to see Principal Ganji!
Now, the shadows were slowly revealing the dead end!
Three more steps, and he arrived! Now, time to catch the evildoer!
“Stop right—”
!
But that command ended up falling upon himself. The sight before him was unbelievable, causing both his mouth and eyelids to widen their distances.
“No way…” He stammered, releasing all of the tension within his body.
Remember that “con” of having a Reindeer?
Well, guess what? Standing before Cyromin right now was his pet Reindeer, Jack, who was not only sitting in a mountain of mints, but also sitting with… with… the Elf!
Quite the short and skinny one, he was. He wore a green tunic with brown trousers—and the classic pointy hat of most Elves.
But he was asleep, resting on top of a Candy Cane in the corner.
Cyromin sighed, “I told you to stay out of the Candy Cane Treats, Jack!”
“But Cyroooooooo,” Jack whined, his voice that of a mere child, “I was sooooooo hungry! Did you want me to staaaarrrvveeeeee?”
“You’ll be fine.” Cyromin said, exhaling air of annoyance once more. “Sister spoils you too much.”
After patting Jack on the head, he brought the Elf up by its back collar. Tsk-Tsk-Tsk! “Good thing you didn’t wake up.” Looking over at the end of the hall to make a command.
“Clones, clean up this mess and give Jack a bath.”
Open, open, open the doors went. An angry snort escaped from Jack’s snout, but he knew there was no point in resistance.
Meeting at the center of the pathway, the Yule-Cat returned.
“Thanks for lending me a hand.” Cyromin said with a nod.
“Any-time, unchanging one!”
Poof!
The journey back down the hall and down the steps was a calm one. The Elf was so wrapped up in whatever dream it was having that it didn’t even nudge. Heading down the stairs now, the pleasant smell of Hot Chocolate nudged his nose. Soon after, he relished in the smell, a smile appearing on his face as he made the three final steps.
But, turning around, he noticed someone else sitting at the table.
No, not just someone else.
“Sister?”
A girl with pale skin who seemed as if she could merge into the snow. A girl with hair with bangs that rested at chin length, covering his cheeks. The same, black eyes as her kin, wearing a robe that contrasted that very color. The sleeves hung off of her arms.
“Good morning, brother,” she said, lifting a Gingerbread cookie to her lips, “It seems you had quite the commotion.”
Cybra Frost!
“Well,” Cyromin gestured to the Elf in his hand, eyes squinted. “Jack practically dragged him up the stairs.”
Step.
Step.
Passing the table, heading straight for the shelf, where he placed the Elf in a sitting position. No signs of it waking up, so he could turn.
The look in her eyes when she stared back—even when eating a delicious dessert—showed nothing but shadows.
And yet, he remained stern. “How are ya doing this morning?”
“...Fine.” Cybra replied, voice devoid of emotion, “Your chocolate’s getting cold.”
“Eh, all the chasing made me lose my appetite.” Cyromin said, “You can have it.”
“Giving up your Hot Chocolate, brother? Is this a Snow Illusion?”
“It’s as real as it gets… besides, you made the darn thing.”
Cybra nodded, then moved the bowl of Hot Chocolate toward her plate of Gingerbread Cookies. Hands clasped in prayer once more, the mind saying the motto of their life.
“Life itself is a miracle.”
But those emotionless eyes with each bite; the mindlessness apparent within her hands with each grasp; the lack of amazement.
Cyromin nearly strung a sneer.
Chomp! Chomp! “So… you're excited to go to the Skyworkshop Academy this year?”
“Not exactly.” Cyromin said, “When talking about it yesterday, you didn’t seem very excited about it.”
“It’s not exactly fun to sit and learn, but, you’re a smart kid.” Cybra said, acknowledging him with a smile, “You got the highest test scores in your class. You’re way better than me when I was your age. Keep this up, and you might be working for Saint Nicholas Junior himself.”
“I’m not working with Elves!” Cyromin refuted instantly, voice rising slightly. Upon the realization of his foolishness, he stared over to the side, scratching his head. “...Well….. I don’t wanna. Not for the rest of my life.”
Cybra was silent for a moment. Surprisingly, she kept that small smile of hers.
Another bite of the Gingerbread Cookie, and an even quicker swallow. “Cyromin,” Leaning back, her gaze returned to her brother. “Why aren’t you excited for Miracle Day?”
“...Huh?”
Finally, he sneered.
The audacity of that question…
“It used to be your favorite time of the year.” Cybra continued, “You have plenty of friends; you’re talented at magic; you’ve been on the Polar Express… not many on Candy Cane Lane have it like you… so, what’s going on?”
“......”
Silence.
And then…
“Gee, so you finally care about happiness now?” Cyromin’s smile was conflicted—false. “The whole point of this holiday is for people to be happy, right? If you go outside, you’ll hear the carols, and you’ll see the stars. The Spirit of Miracle Day is so vibrant, and yet… you’re the one who’s miserable.”
Cybra’s smile faded. “That has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me.” Cyromin said sternly, “It’d be one thing if it was just your condition, but you never speak to me. I stroll you around to wherever you want to go, and it’s just… silence.”
“My condition makes it hard for me to enjoy life.” Cybra said with unmatched indifference, “That’s my fault… not yours.”
“But, our Origin!” Cyromin stomped his foot, pointing to the star on top of their Miracle Tree. “Years ago, we descended from the North Star, and brought joy to the world with lights and bringing the snow to life. There’s a clear obligation for us to keep smiling.”
“So why aren’t you?”
“Because you aren’t!”
“That shouldn't matter.” Cybra said, her tone still etched in the concept of indifference. “Origins are only really good for you if you want to become a Moduran Sorcerer.”
“Ah,” Cyromin shrugged, shaking his head, “So you becoming a Moduran Sorcerer and ending up like this is just that, huh?”
“.....”
Five years ago, Cybra Frost made a crucial mistake on a mission in the North.
Far too much confidence in the familiarity of her home, she diverged from her Party to stop an unregistered “Monster”.
It didn’t go so well.
“Even if you leave the system, you’ll still have magic.” Cyromin reminded, “So what happened… to the days where we made Snowmen move?”
“........”
“..You can’t give me the silent treatmen—”
“Why don’t you become a Moduran Sorcerer, Cyromin?”
A single question; one so sudden that Cyromin’s entire brain shut down.
“You can enter without a problem. I mean, who’s going to stop a Frost, right?” Cybra urged, “You’re more talented than most kids, so start taking advantage of it. You can move away from this life, and meet some excellent people. And if you come back, well, maybe you can love me as I am.”
“Forget it!” Cyromin declared with the stomp of his foot, “I’m not asking for much! I just want you to be happy!”
“Then make yourself happy first.” Cybra said, nonchalantly taking a bite of a Gingerbread cookie. “You have some friends, don’t you?”
“...That doesn’t have anything to do with you not being happ—”
“Yes it does.” Cybra said with a sigh, indifference fading to show a reflection of his own stern gaze. “...Please, just,” a sudden tinge of somberness in her voice, “Go and live your life.”
He refused to accept this.
But, there was nothing else he could say right now. He was trying to break through a fireball that couldn’t be shattered through the use of strategy.
And so, he went out the front door without looking back.
And now, Cybra was alone.
Why? She wondered.
Tmp! Tmp! Tmp!
Dashing through the snow, filled with confliction! A mayday with a magnitude he couldn’t withstand! Up, up, up the hill went until the sight of the North Pole was all for him to see alone—like a king gazing over a kingdom.
Arms outstretched, tears in his eyes, fists clenched.
A star twinkled in the sky, catching his hateful eyes.
And to it, he could only ask…
“...C’mon, please! Gimme a miracle!” He said, dropping to his knees in humility with his hands clasped. “...I want… to be happy again!”
The sound of his plea stopped a hardpoint within the snowy field.
Step.
Step.
Spriggan.
I guess in a sense, the North Pole was an easy target for him.
Step.
Step.
It’s only about an hour away from my hometown.
The scroll of his denied entry stood within a tight grasp in his hands.
Request, after request, after request.
Refusal, after refusal, after refusal.
It made him want to rip it all into pieces.
“You’ll make it, Little Lord.” Bela assured, eyes astray as she flew by his side. “...You have to.”
“...Yeah.”
!
But, he found himself stopping.
That star.
It twinkled again.
And there was something about it that made him feel… warmth toward the haven of snow he stood in. Eyes to the left, where beautiful mountains stood tall. Eyes to the right, where icy caverns remained.
And, behind them.
The pinnacle of the North.
A stream of green, purple, and blue lights mixed into one, soaring peacefully through the sky, hanging over obsidian train tracks.
Aurora.
Bela paused to look at it as well.
“...Does that fascinate you, Little Lord?”
And just like that, Spriggan snarled, the wondrous feeling burning out.
No.
That’s something my old man would do.
“...Are you sad to see your father so weak? Haha! Don’t worry! I’m sure to live on at least another year!”
Eyes back to the path ahead.
The star twinkled once more.
Too weak, too ambitious, and too willing to accept the end!
Emotions and all that stuff… is just some heap of bullshit!
Step.
Step.
“Let’s put a step on it, Bela.” Spriggan’s words surprised the witch, given that he had been in the cold for such a long time.
“You don’t feel sick, Little Lord?”
“No time for that!” Suddenly, the clouds were diverging, leaving for the starry sky.
That’s where his finger was pointing.
“You said there was something going on at the Workshop Academy, right?” Spriggan asked.
“Yes—wait.” Bela froze, pupils dilating in realization of his absurd mind. “Don’t tell me, you’re…”
“Take me up there?” Spriggan asked, “Hell yeah!”
“Bu–but–but—they’ll notice you!” Bela shouted.
“The old man would do something like this but worse.”
“No, actually.” Bela corrected, crossing her arms and shaking her head with a disappointed sigh. “While your father never got good results and was admittedly quite self-indulgent in his plans, he always relied on his dear Witch to give him the means to commit his plans.”
Spriggan tilted his head. “Sounds cheap.”
“But it isn't.” Bela said, a single finger waving back and forth, “Think of magic—all of it. It’s like chaos. That’s why the Moduran System exists. It places limitations on magic while also expanding its potential.” … “That’s where I come in, Little Lord.”
Fwooossh! Dramatically, she unveiled her wand!
“Witches aren’t allowed inside of the system—but that’s because we can already see what they see. We can guide them while also aiding them—such as giving them clothes with special abilities, or casting barriers.”
Now, Spriggan was listening. You’re just a Witch who helps my father and bothers me a lot.
But… maybe you’re more than that.
“So you can make me stronger?”
“Not just stronger.” Bela corrected, a smug smile on her face. Her steel wand swarmed with colors that slithered in a circular motion—like serpents. “...I can make you invisible, or even change your appearance. However, I can only use a super complex and specific spell on a person once, so…”
Fwoosh!
She brought the wand to his face, its magical energy pulsating.
“What do you choose, Spriggan?”
.
…
…..
There was a moment of silence from Spriggan. A moment to admire this unfamiliar yet wonderful side of Bela.
“Looks like you’ve been holding out all this time, huh?” He asked, “Well, I heard my brother has blue fire, and the old man hated the color blue, so…”
A wide, unbearable grin appeared, fire flaring at the edges once before disappearing. Intense eyes, full of desire! A screaming image of his father!
The visage of the King of the Boiling Mountains flashed before Bela’s eyes.
And his answer brought a visage of him during his earlier years.
His first attempt to steal the Day of Miracles!
“Turn up the heat!”
Chapter End