Chapter - 1

  To Earn A Keep

  Ataria was flabbergasted by the boy’s sudden appearance in her cottage. This place was strictly off-limits to any being and was even harder to find due to the illusion magic she had cast upon it.

  "How? How did you find this place?" she asked in shock but quickly regained her composure, staring intently at the basket the boy held.

  Placing the basket full of herbs on the floor, the boy muttered softly, "I gathered some herbs before coming across this place. I thought they might be useful to you since you are a witch. Umm, please let me stay here."

  He stumbled upon this place while picking herbs?! Ataria growled to herself in anger and confusion. Is my illusion magic really that weak? Was this all her magic amounted to? To be bypassed by a random boy picking plants?

  "I found this place because of the heavy scent of special herbs in the air," the boy added, his eyes shining as if he had just shared the greatest achievement of his life with a close family member.

  Special herbs... Ataria’s gaze flickered to the cauldron above the fire pit. She was indeed brewing a potion with rare herbs, ones difficult to find even in this secluded haven of flora. In the end, it was her own carelessness that had betrayed her. But even so, did it make sense for a mere child to have such a keen ability to identify herbs? Let alone follow the faintest traces of a potion’s scent—especially one masked by illusion magic?

  Calming her racing thoughts, Ataria smoothed her face into an expressionless mask and asked, "So, you want to stay here?"

  The boy nodded.

  "But why should I let you? What use are you to me?" she continued, her face shifting into a distracted, almost lazy smile. Small objects and magical trinkets began to float behind her, as if unseen hands guided them. The candle flames trembled unnaturally, casting eerie shadows across the room. The already ghastly cottage seemed even more foreboding.

  "Why should I bother with you? In this place, where the weak are bound to perish? I am not running a charity, kid."

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  The boy stayed quiet, his head lowered—a satisfactory result to Ataria. A mocking smirk almost slipped from her control.

  "Johan," he whispered, catching her off guard. His voice was steady.

  Ataria’s eyes gleamed in brief surprise. Either he was incredibly foolish, or he had no idea of the dangers in offering his name so freely to a mystical entity.

  "My name is Johan, not 'kid.' Please let me prove my worth."

  Fool… Ataria lowered her head, the shadows concealing the wicked curve of her lips. But she quickly wiped the smile away. His name was worthless to her, but perhaps his skills were not.

  "Prove your worth, you say?" She snickered, her narrowed eyes gleaming as she looked down at Johan. The darkness in her gaze met the shining sun that settled in his pupils.

  A dusty old book floated out from the bookshelf above the mirror, hovering above the witch’s palm. Its pages flipped hastily, as if caught in a violent wind.

  "Ah! There it is," Ataria murmured, her tone almost playful.

  The book twisted in the air before turning to face Johan. On its pages, an illustration of a silver flower appeared. Its petals curled in crescents, mimicking the ominous moon. Small particles of light shimmered around the stamen and petals, indicating its blooming period beneath moonlight. Its green leaves were shaped like heart with purple edges and the stems bore a dark green color

  Ataria tapped the image with a single black nail.

  "This is Luna Flos, the Last Daughter of the Moon. We call it 'moon flower' for simplicity," she said nonchalantly, then gestured to the text written in an unknown unreadable script.

  "I suppose you can’t read the Old Tongue," she mused. "I’ll break it down for you."

  Luna Flos, often called the Moon Flower, is a fragment of the Moon’s cycle and despair representing the all black, New Moon. In short it is a flower that embodies both hope and madness. Some believe it to be the last of the eight daughters of the Moon Goddess, a legend that has only fueled its growing mystique.

  According to folklore, Luna Flos blooms only in places untouched by sunlight yet never consumed by darkness. Its rarity makes it all the more sought after, though few have ever laid eyes on it. The Forest of Wandering Whispers is said to be its natural home, but even there, it could only be found in the the northern section of the forest where clouds settled all day long only dispersing when the moon rose.

  Tapping at the image for the second time, Ataria glanced down at Johan. "There you have it — a chance to prove your worth. I want this flower before the end of the third night."

  Johan looked up at her in confusion, his mouth opening and closing several times before forming a displeased look, obviously he would. It was the first time he was hearing about this flower named Luna Flos, and now he had to find it within three days if he wanted to stay in the witch's cottage. Ataria had already expected this reaction, she was truly a witch to the bones, but what she didn't expected was the next words that came out of the clueless kid. The kid, after clearing all the negative emotions in his heart, asked.

  "Do you perhaps have the flower's scent, or maybe a dry one?"