“ Do not remain within that cage, son. A vast realm lies ahead, eager for you to finally take flight.”

The stairs groaned softly, their creaks reverberating in the stillness of the apothecary. 

A middle-aged lady carefully mounted the steps. An attic was reached by a narrow wooden staircase. The polished railings sparkled under her fingertips. A small, circular window at the landing let soft light cast long shadows that danced with her every step. 

With each step, the town below faded into a whisper of bustling life. Replaced by her son's room's oppressive stillness. As she rose, her free hand gently caressed the coarse wooden walls. She touched the rough spots and gouges, scars from her son's growing. 

As she approached the attic door, a moment of hesitation gripped her. Pausing for a brief moment, she lifted her hand with a touch of uncertainty. The wood stood strong, though it bore the marks of time. 

Mrs. Welton closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then rapped softly with her knuckles, the sound a delicate, almost timid knock against the quietude.

“Eddie?” she whispered into the quiet, her voice barely breaking the stillness of the attic. She leaned in.. The other side lingered in their silence. Her brow knitted together, a delicate line appearing between her eyes. She cast a fleeting look at the door handle, an urge to twist it, yet she held back. 

Instead, she knocked again, this time with a deeper intent, the sound echoing more profoundly through the room beyond.

Silence. Thick and unmoving.

Dust swirled inside the room behind the door. Sunlight streaming through the curtain illuminates the gloom. The old attic above the busy apothecary stayed still, only disturbed by twisted floorboards and seagulls from the streets below. 

A tiny bed with tangled sheets lay against the wall beneath the sloping roof in the dimmest area of the attic. Disorganised blanket cascaded over the side, showing the weak mattress underneath. Eddie appears among the ruckus. 

He lay like a shadow under the worn blankets, shoulders hunched inward. His face was turned towards the window, absorbing the morning's light. His pale complexion was contrasted by a few silver hairs that gently glowed in the light across his closed eyes. He looked younger, almost delicate, with shadows under his eyes, as if he could not escape his discontent even in sleep. 

The silver of his hair spilled over the pillow in disheveled waves, catching the light like threads of moonlight caught in a storm. 

A solitary knock echoes through the stillness of the room.

Eddie moved at the sound. Groaning, he reached for the cushion next him. He covered his head to filter out the world beyond his cocoon. He struggled to close his eyes and fall asleep. His colorful, knotted hair flipped out as he cuddled beneath the covers.  

The door knocks once more.

“Go away…” he said, smothered by the pillow's embrace.

Mrs. Welton stayed outside, her hand hanging just above the door, almost frozen in time. Before returning to the door, she glanced down the stairs. 

She knocked again—more resolutely, as if the sound itself could unravel the silence that enveloped the room.

“Eddie?” She called, yet no answer.

Mrs. Welton sighed, slipping her hand into her skirt pocket and touching her wand's smooth wooden surface. With a slight wrist movement, the wand appeared—a thin piece of dark mahogany with intricate interlocking ornaments that shimmered in the dim light. 

Mrs. Welton pointed it at the door's lock, and a gentle click rattled the quiet attic, flickering the runes around the lock before dissolving into the shadows. She tucked her wand away and gently opened the door.

The room was full of clutter: scattered papers, a tangle of carelessly tossed clothes, and open books in mid-thought. The chaos was illuminated by soft morning sunlight through a thin, partially open curtain, leaving the corners in shadow. The air had a hint of old parchment and ink. 

Mrs. Welton’s gaze swept the room, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she took in the disarray. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath, stepping carefully over a crumpled tunic on the floor. “A tornado couldn’t have done a better job.”

She stared at the bulk under the covers, immovable except for Eddie's breathing. His silver hair flowed over the pillow, glinting like stars against the faded linen.

“ Edward Welton! ” she called, her tone sharp but laced with exasperated fondness. 

“You agreed months ago to help out in the apothecary. I’m not running this place alone while you spend all morning hibernating like some bear in a cave!” She crossed the room with purpose, the floorboards thumped under her feet.

From under the blankets came a muffled groan, followed by Eddie’s half-asleep, sarcastic retort. “You could always fire me, mom. No hard feelings.” he muttered, his voice heavy with sleep.

Mrs. Welton huffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Oh, don’t tempt me, Edward! If I had anyone else to rely on, I would!”

She passed the clutter of books, clothing, and posters. She gently opened the thick curtains, warming the room unexpectedly. The warm salty sea air stroked her skin and softly swayed the tattered posters on the walls, swirling dust motes. 

The room seemed to sigh at the intrusion of light, as if it, too, had been holding its breath.

When the illumination changed, Eddie groaningly tightened. He tried to tighten the cushion to cover the remaining sunlight, but failed. It seemed like the world had woken up too soon as the light warmed his back. With the assault of light, he sought the darkness within the cushions.

Eddie groaned louder, pulling the blanket over his head. “What are you doing? Are you trying to freeze me to death?”

“I’m trying to wake you up, you lazy sloth!” Mrs. Welton shot back. “You’ve got orders to prepare, customers to greet, and floors to sweep. And If you’re not up at the tower in five minutes, I’ll give you five reasons to regret it.”

Mrs. Welton crossed her arms “Your father could use your help at the Alchemical Tower today,” she announced, stepping forward with a firm but motherly tone. Her brow was arched just enough to say she wasn’t about to take ‘no’ for an answer. “You know how much he relies on you, especially now that he’s not as spry as he once was.”

Eddie groaned dramatically, burying his face deeper into the cushion as if it could shield him from the day ahead. “Dad manages the apothecary just fine on his own, Mom,” he muttered, his voice muffled. “It’s just a few potions isn’t it?”

Mrs. Welton’s eyes narrowed, and she planted her hands on her hips in a pose Eddie knew all too well. “ Just a few potions? ” she repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut through his sleepy haze. “Oh, forgive me, Master Alchemist, I didn’t realize concocting remedies for half the town while juggling delivery orders and inventory was just a few potions !”

Eddie peeked out from beneath the cushion, his hair sticking out at odd angles. “If he’s so busy, maybe he should hire more help. Or better yet, why don’t you fire me already?” he shot back with a half-smile, clearly testing her patience.

Mrs. Welton threw her hands up. “Oh, don’t tempt me, Edward Welton! If I thought for a second anyone else could put up with you, I’d have them sweeping the floors by now!” She sighed, her annoyance giving way to something softer. “But your father doesn’t need just anyone . He needs you . You’re the only one who got a talent for this, even if you’d rather spend all day dreaming under that blanket.”

Eddie groaned again, though his mother’s words tugged faintly at his sense of guilt. “Fine, fine, I’ll help. Just give me a minute…”

Mrs. Welton softened her tone further, stepping closer to him. “Besides,” she said, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, “Your aunt Catherine will be visiting this week.”

At that, Eddie’s head popped up behind his cushion, his curiosity momentarily replacing his grogginess. “Aunt Catherine?”

“Yeah, she wrote to us last month, but I suppose you wouldn’t know since you’ve been too busy ignoring the letters piling up on your desk,” Mrs. Welton replied with a pointed glance toward a cluttered corner of his room.

“Right,” Eddie sheepishly chuckled, but when Catherine's name was mentioned, Eddie blinked, his half-awake mind struggling to place the name. “Wait… Aunt Catherine?” he asked, frowning slightly as he sat up. “Who’s that again?”

Mrs. Welton froze mid-step, her hands settling on her hips in that all-too-familiar way. “Oh, honestly, Ed,” she said, exasperation dripping from her words. “How could you forget Catherine? My sister? The elf with the fiery red hair, pointy ears?”

Eddie tilted his head, still drawing a blank.

Mrs. Welton groaned dramatically, throwing her hands into the air. “The one who used to take you out adventuring, of course! Dragging you into old ruins and twisted dungeons like a pint-sized treasure hunter? Ring any bells? Honestly, I don’t know how I let her get away with it.”

At that, Eddie’s groggy mind finally clicked into place. Memories of him as a little kid, scrambling over rocks and squeezing through tight corridors with Catherine’s infectious laugh guiding the way, came rushing back. “Ohhh,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You mean that Aunt Catherine. The elf lady, the one you always yelled at because we came back covered in mud or—what was it that one time—slime liquids?”

“Don’t remind me,” Mrs. Welton said, shuddering at the memory. “You two would burst through the door, filthy from head to toe, with her grinning like she’d discovered Elven treasure and you trailing behind her with that same ridiculous smile. Do you know how many times I had to scrub the smell of dungeon muck out of your clothes?”

Eddie chuckled softly, the sound a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “To be fair, it was fun at the time, mom. She made it feel like we were real adventurers. She even taught me alchemy while we were out there.”

Mrs. Welton’s tone softened, though her expression still held a trace of scolding. “I remember. You’d come back babbling about her experiments and little alchemical tricks, and I’d have to remind you that not every shiny stone is a magical artifact. But she did spark something in you, didn’t she?”

Eddie hesitated, the memories pulling at him like faint whispers from another time. Catherine’s bravery, her laughter echoing through wet, ancient hallways, her boundless enthusiasm—it had been infectious. But those times felt so distant now. “That was a long time ago, Mom.”

“It was,” Mrs. Welton agreed, her voice quieter now, her gaze growing softer. “But I have a feeling Catherine still has a few adventures up her sleeve. Who knows what she’s planned this time?”

Eddie at last raised his gaze to meet hers, casting aside the pillow that had shielded his face for what felt like an eternity. Her words ignited curiosity within him.

The mother and son were separated by silence. Isn't it easier to stay in my quiet room? Eddie thoughts, but despite of it, he couldn't ignore the subtle remorse, a faint echo of duties, and his mother's growing anxiety.

“Alright, then,” he finally admitted, the word escaping him as if it were a hesitant capitulation. “I’ll get up. Just... give me a moment.”

“Take your time, but not too long,” she said, her smile gentle and warm, a flicker of hope shining brightly in her eyes. “Your father is relying on you.”

With that, she pivoted gracefully and made her way back to the door. The soft sea breeze flows around her. Eddie lay there, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling.

Pleasant breeze from the open window carried the apothecary's scent of herbs, swaying the curtains. The rough wooden boards were coated golden by window light. A faint sigh from the bed reminded him of the responsibilities ahead, so he got up.  

With a gentle shove, he cast the blankets aside and let his legs dangle over the side of the bed, the coarse wooden floor sending a shiver through his feet.

Eddie stood up, his slim frame trembling slightly as he adjusted his posture. The mirror at the corner of the room revealed a boy he didn’t recognise. He swiped a hand through his silver hair to tame it, but it simply fluffed up even more. 

He then stepped towards the door, the well-known creak of the floorboards creaks beneath him. The sounds of the town below reached his ears, a lively echo of existence carrying on in his absence.