I slowly became aware of my surroundings, fragments of sensation trickling back one by one. Voices murmured somewhere nearby, fabric rustled faintly, and a gentle swaying made the ground feel... fluid? My gaze shifted to the curtains, their subtle motion oddly calming. Two small figures—ethnolunarians, my mind supplied—watched me with unnervingly wide eyes. Why were they looking at me like that?

  The smaller of the two, possibly a male based on faint contextual clues, leaned in. His small digits brushed my face tentatively, as though confirming I was real—or something like that. Then, a female (probably, judging by a somewhat softer frame) joined him. Her green eyes gleamed with an unfamiliar expression I couldn’t identify, but she giggled and poked my cheek with evident delight. Why? What was so fascinating about my face?

  “She’s awake!” the male announced, his voice shrill and bright enough to make my head throb. Wait... was that pain? Could their vocal frequencies do that?

  “Stop it, you two!” Another voice, deeper and more commanding, interrupted. A woman stepped forward—youthful features but oddly worn down, as if her very structure carried invisible burdens. She pulled the two back gently. “Let her rest. You’ll overwhelm her.”

  They grumbled but relented, though their eyes still shone with unrelenting curiosity. I watched them because... well, what else was I supposed to do?

  Another figure entered my periphery—a much older woman, who placed a woven container on the floor. A strange but pleasant scent wafted from its contents: roasted vegetables and... bread? Yes, bread. That word surfaced with surprising clarity. How did I know that?

  “Eat, child,” the older woman said, her hands deftly unwrapping the food. “You’ve been through much.”

  Child? A term of endearment or biological categorization? Either way, I reached for the bread. Bread was good. Bread I knew.

  My hands trembled as I clutched the slice, realizing belatedly that hunger was gnawing at me. As I bit into the soft warmth, a curious sensation spread through me—a grounding, a centering. I wasn’t floating anymore. My attention wandered to the window, where outside, the world buzzed. Smaller ethnolunarians laughed and darted through the streets. Flowers decorated simple dwellings. Joy radiated from them in waves—an uncontained, inexplicable melody in the air.

  I blinked. Flowers... I think I liked flowers? That seemed right. The sight reminded me of something—not the facility where I had spent what felt like eternity, but... something softer, unnameable. My chest tightened. Was this choking? It wasn’t physical, yet it squeezed. Was I malfunctioning?

  I closed my eyes. No, I wasn’t malfunctioning. Just tired. And possibly thirsty. Yes—water. That was the logical solution. For now, I would rest, eat more bread, and drink water. One thing at a time.

  I chewed the food slowly, trying to piece together my surroundings and the faces that surrounded me. Their distinctive hair colors made it easier to tell them apart, though their names—those strange associations—escaped me. The old woman referred to these small ethnolunarians as "children," something Dr. Ravenwood once mentioned. Yet, I didn’t resemble what she called a child.

  Where was I? Ah, yes. These “children” were poking at my cheeks, their tiny digits pressing with curiosity. Were they fascinated by the food, or by me?

  As I continued to eat, I observed the group. The children’s mischievous prodding and grins, along with the young woman gently reigning them in, left an impression. Their laughter, their ease... it was a world so unlike my own. It whispered of something unfamiliar yet not unwelcome.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, I considered the possibility of belonging—not as I was, but as I could become. The sun’s warmth touched my skin, the chatter of the village filling the air. I closed my eyes, letting that moment of peace envelop me.

  The old lady bustled about, her hands deftly chopping vegetables and stirring a fragrant pot of soup. The children, those two, hovered around her, giggling and occasionally sneaking bites of food when they thought she wasn’t looking. I wish I could that too, but my legs are quivering, wasn’t I floating not walking? Logic here is …something else.

  “Don’t touch that, Marlo!” the old lady scolded gently as the boy reached for a steaming pot. She swatted his hand away with a wooden spoon, though the smile on her face betrayed her fondness for the mischief.

  Right, the small ethno- child, his name is Marlo, so it’s like Mar and lo, uh what was it again? Syllables

  “Grandma, I was just tasting!” Marlo whined, rubbing his hand exaggeratedly. Grandma? Is that the old ladies’ name? Her name… Grand and ma, so she’s someone grand and ma? What does ma, means? Ma ma ma, I don’t know

  His sister, Lila, laughed, sticking her tongue out at him. Sister, I remember that word, Riven did said Lucy mistaken me for her sister. I don’t know what it means but Lila is a true sister. Li and La, I like her name both with Ls and I and A, its good, sounds nice.

  “You’re so shiny,” Lila said, poking my translucent hand. “Like a crystal!”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Crystal? I tilted my head, the word refracting in my mind, and I wondered if it was right. No, it was more like the night sky, scattered with stars.

  I am not sure with… how to deal with their lively energy, this children are how do I put it….lively indeed.

  Granma turned her attention to me, while she wipes her digits on her clothes, I think she wipes it with an apron. Huh an apron? I forgot what that was, ah yes for cooking, like she is doing right now.

  “Feeling better, dear?” she asked kindly.

  What is better? And I don’t recall being a deer. From Ceci, to a child, to Mysterika back to being a child, now its deer. This labels its confusing to keep up.

  Without waiting for a reply, she placed a bowl of steaming stew in front of me.

  “Eat up. You need strength after collapsing like that.”

  I looked at the bowl, the rich aroma making my stomach growl. I picked up the spoon awkwardly and took a tentative sip. I remember Dr. Isolde being mad at me for not using utensils like a spoon and a fork.

  I like how Dr. Isolde and Dr. Ravenwood and even Dr. Elwes and DR. Verde have a label Doctor, at least they have it all together, before my thoughts could linger a bit more-

  “What is this?” It’s so strange tasting and looks strange too. I guess everything is strange.

  The old lady chuckled. “Just a simple root vegetable stew. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep you going.”

  The kitchen door creaked open, and a young woman in her late teens entered, carrying a basket of freshly picked herbs. Her brow furrowed as she saw Marlo trying to sneak another bite.

  “Marlo, stop being a pest and help set the table!” she scolded, her voice firm but not unkind.

  “Yes, Mayla,” he grumbled, dragging his feet as he went to fetch the plates.

  “This is my granddaughter, Mayla,” the old lady introduced. “She keeps us all in line.”

  Mayla shot her grandmother a playful glare but then turned her attention to Mysterika. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” she said, her voice softening. “Grandma’s the best cook around, so you’ll never go hungry.”

  As the days passed, Mysterika found herself drawn to the old lady’s cooking. She began to watch closely as the woman kneaded dough for bread, seasoned stews, and even prepared elaborate desserts for special occasions.

  “Come here, child,” the old lady said one morning, handing Mysterika a small knife. “It’s about time you learned to cook. Start with these carrots.”

  Mysterika hesitated but took the knife, mimicking the old lady’s movements. Her translucent hands trembled slightly, but the old woman guided her patiently.

  “That’s it,” she said encouragingly. “Cooking is about love and care. You put a little bit of yourself into everything you make.”

  “Love?” Mysterika repeated, frowning slightly as she focused on her task. The word felt foreign to her.

  “Love,” the old lady affirmed. “It’s in the way you care for others, like making a meal to keep them strong.”

  Mysterika nodded, though the concept still puzzled her.

  One evening, as the family sat around the table, the conversation turned to the father of the household.

  “Papa works very hard,” Lila said, her voice tinged with pride.

  “He’s building roads in the next town over,” Mayla added. “Sends money every month to keep us going.”

  “Hard work,” the old lady said with a sigh. “I just wish he didn’t have to be so far away.”

  Mysterika listened quietly, absorbing their words. There was a warmth in this family she couldn’t quite understand but felt drawn to.

  Later that night, as the children slept and the house was quiet, Mysterika sat with the old lady by the fire.

  “You’re a curious one,” the old lady said, knitting a scarf. “Always watching, always listening. What’s on your mind, child?”

  Mysterika hesitated. “You’re... kind. Why?”

  The old lady smiled. “Because kindness is what keeps the world going. It’s what connects us to each other.”

  Mysterika tilted her head, pondering the answer. “I want to understand,” she murmured.

  The old lady reached out, patting her shoulder. “You will, in time.”

  But Mysterika’s curiosity burned brighter. She wanted to 'feel' what the old lady meant by kindness. Without thinking, she reached out, her hand phasing through the old woman’s chest.

  The old lady gasped, clutching her heart as if struck, her knitting falling to the floor.

  Mysterika’s eyes widened as she saw a faint, shimmering crystal form in her hand. It pulsed softly, radiating a warmth she couldn’t describe.

  The old lady slumped slightly, her breathing heavy but steady. “I’m... fine?” she managed, though her voice was weak.

  “What is this?” Mysterika whispered, her eyes couldn't leave the glowing Crystal.

  The old lady recovered quickly, shaking her head. But she felt something was wrong, she looked at her chest, there was no hole but something felt missing.

  Mysterika stared at the faintly glowing crystal in her hand, its warmth pulsating like a heartbeat. Compelled by an unfamiliar, insistent hunger, she lifted it to her lips and bit down.

  The taste was indescribable—a rush of warmth, sweetness, and a strange, almost overwhelming lightness. It wasn’t just a flavor but a sensation, a flood of emotions. For the first time, she felt the essence of kindness: the gentle care of a mother, the soft laughter of children, and the quiet strength of the old lady’s love for her family.

  But the old woman gasped, dropping her knitting as she clutched her chest again. Her voice trembled with an edge of fear. “Stop!” she cried, her tone sharper now. “Please, child, don’t eat it all!”

  Mysterika froze, the crystal still in her hand. Her gaze darted to the old woman, whose expression had twisted from warmth to a mix of desperation and pain. The harshness in her tone struck something deep within Mysterika—something that scared her. She loosened her grip, and the crystal slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the floor.

  The old lady scrambled to pick it up, cradling the faintly glowing shard in her hands. With trembling fingers, she attempted to return it to her chest, pressing it against her heart. But the crystal wouldn’t phase through. It simply rested against her skin, inert.

  “What…?” she whispered, her voice breaking. She glanced at Mysterika, confusion and sorrow in her eyes.

  Mysterika pieced the situation together in her mind. Her hands shook as she reached for the crystal. “I,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand, but let me try."

  The old lady hesitated, but seeing the earnest panic on Mysterika’s face, she relented.

  Mysterika gently pressed the crystal back into place. This time, it phased through, disappearing into the old woman’s chest. The warmth returned to the room, and the old lady gasped, her shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted.

  For a moment, she simply stared at Mysterika. Her fear lingered, but it was mingled with something softer—a cautious understanding. “What… are you, child?”

  Mysterika shrank back, her eyes wide and her voice trembling. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to understand…”

  The old lady took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Whatever you did, it’s something you should never do again, you hear me? It’s dangerous—more dangerous than you know.”