☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It was already the weekend. Aster sat in Aunt Sally’s shop, sunlight spilling across the counter as she carefully embroidered a handkerchief with Ranley’s name. 

Her needle moved steadily, but her mind drifted far from the fabric in her hands.

After the debate, Randall had stopped interacting with her entirely. He no longer spoke to her, no longer even glanced her way.

She recalled the times he had saved her…the moment they first met, when he defended her from being accused of theft, their casual conversation in the library, and the way he had chuckled at her words. She remembered how he had discreetly slipped a small paper with the solution into her hands during the numerical analysis disaster. She thought of the time he had woken her in the art room and how their eyes met after he finished playing the violin when he caught her crying during the Melodic Literature class. 

Back then, his gaze had been warm, his demeanor kind. Now, it was cold…the same indifference he showed to the girls who swooned over him. 

Was it because of the debate? To think that she had gotten excited and carried away in their conversation.

She let out a frustrated sigh and set her embroidery aside.

Aunt Sally chuckled. “You seem tired already.”

Aster shook her head. “No… I just can’t seem to get in the mood. My thoughts keep drifting… back to—”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…him.”

“Who?” Aunt Sally asked with a tilt of her head. “The one you’re making that token for?”

“Uhh…” Aster forced an awkward laugh. “Lord Ranley didn’t even cross my mind today. Haha…”

Aunt Sally’s brows lifted slightly. “Are you in love?”

“What? No! I mean—who are we even talking about again?” Aster panicked, waving her hands. “I like Lord Ranley, not Lord Randall!”

Aunt Sally chuckled, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “I didn’t even mention a name, but you sound awfully defensive.”

Aster pouted. “How would I even know what love is, anyway?” 

After a pause, she quickly changed the subject. “Aunt Sally… haven’t you ever been in love? Why don’t you think about getting married? You’re beautiful—plenty of gentlemen have proposed to you.”

Aunt Sally’s smile softened, touched with a quiet sorrow.

“I did… a long time ago, when I was still in my early twenties. We met right here at this shop. It was raining hard, and he needed shelter. His cloak was torn, so I sewed it for him while he waited for the rain to stop. Strangely enough, he kept coming back, always claiming his cloak got damaged on the way, saying he was just clumsy.” She laughed softly at the memory.

“Really? That’s the first time I’m hearing this. He seemed quite fond of you. Where is he now? Does that mean you’re still waiting for him?” Aster asked, her curiosity innocent and blunt.

Aunt Sally let out a soft laugh, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I’m not even sure where he is. Is he alive? Has he forgotten about me? I don’t know.”

She shook her head slightly, smiling through the hint of tears. “I suppose it just means I’ve had enough of love for now. If I pursued it, I might end up neglecting you. And right now… you’re the most important person to me.”

⋆.࿔* :･─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───⋆.࿔* :･

Not far from the heart of Twilightvale, tucked deep within the whispering woods at the city’s edge, a lonely cottage rested beneath the dappled shade of ancient trees. Its door creaked open with a weary groan, and the scent of old parchment, dried herbs, and faint incense drifted out into the night.

The Fortune Teller stepped inside, lowering her hood. She shook off the noise and clamor of the Celestial Link Shop. There, in the Festive Town Square, her little corner was always crowded. But here, time slowed. Here, silence lingered.

By the hearth, a man in his early thirties sat motionless on the floor, his dark cloak pooling around him. His long golden hair fell unbound, cascading past his waist like a river of light dimmed by shadow. Though his face bore the flawless symmetry of a god, his eyes were hollow, lost in the flicker of the flames. 

He had been waiting.

The Fortune Teller, an aging woman nearing her sixties, set her satchel down with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry to keep you. The shop demanded more time than I intended.” She hesitated, her voice quieter. “I’m still searching for a way to bring you back. And… I think I’ve found your rose.”

His gaze did not waver from the flames. “What do you mean by ‘my rose’?”

She smiled faintly, knowingly. “You’ll understand when the time comes.”

Silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of fire.

“Come with me next time,” she urged. “The Festive Town Square of Emporium District may hold more answers than this place.”

His reply was quiet, detached. “It’s quiet here.”

She studied him, as she had since the day their paths crossed again. Fifteen years ago, when he first wandered into Crescentis, he had been a young traveler hungry for knowledge, seeking the mysteries of moon magic. It was then she had taken him as her pupil, guiding him not only in the art of moonlit sorcery but also in combat.

But their reunion, three years ago, was far different. A storm had battered the seas, and her ship was tossed upon the waves when the crew spotted him adrift, clinging to a shattered raft. He was half-conscious, nearly claimed by the sea. When they pulled him aboard, she recognized him at once and declared that she knew him. He was carried to her cabin, and from that moment on, she kept him under her care.

Yet he spoke no words of recognition—only a single phrase, repeated like a broken prayer: 

“I need to go to Crescentis…” Again and again, as though clinging to a memory already lost.

He was cursed.

The brilliance he once carried had not simply faded…it had been stripped away. So she had taken him in, hoping one day to restore what was lost.

Now, as the fire painted shadows across the cottage walls, his fingers absently traced the pendant in his hand—a sunburst crystal hollowed by a crescent moon. The engravings shimmered faintly in the glow:

“When day and night in twilight greet,

Two fated souls are bound to meet.

One casts light, the other gleams,

Together bound by cosmic dreams.”

He did not seem to recall its meaning. Yet his hand tightened around it, as though some faint memory stirred.

The fortune teller glanced at the scrolls strewn across her table, filled with her tireless research. She had spent weeks poring over moonlit texts in search of a way to undo his curse.

“Everything will soon fall into place,” she murmured.

At last, his voice came—low, brittle. “And what does that mean for me?”

Her faint smile did not falter. “The sun and moon have met once again.”

The fire snapped. He said nothing.

“It means the destiny of those two has already begun to move… and so will yours,” she said softly, a note of certainty in her weary voice. “Still, I will not stop searching for a way to dispel your curse. I’ve heard whispers of a legendary relic, hidden in a museum in Twilightvale. A painting… one said to reveal the memories of the past.”

She leaned closer, her eyes steady on him, her tone both tender and unyielding. “Perhaps, when you are ready to leave this place, you should seek it. And once your curse is lifted, you will understand, soon enough.”

For a long moment, he was silent. Then his fingers curled hard around the pendant, his knuckles white.

“I hope you’re right,” he whispered.

✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 

Meanwhile, in TwilightVale, back in the bustling Emporium District…

Aster and Aunt Sally sat finishing their evening meal.

Suddenly, Aunt Sally shivered.

Aster looked up. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Aunt Sally murmured. “It just felt… cold, for a moment.”

Aster giggled. “Cold? But it’s midsummer! Maybe the wind sneaked in through the window.”

Aunt Sally smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on the darkening sky.

⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆⛧°. ⋆༺☾༻⋆. °⛧⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡