"It's close," he heard a whisper in his ear, inside and outside of himself. A cold ran down his back. It was the same voice as the man from her dream. "Keep searching."

Arthur gripped his necklace tightly, and leaned against the wooden item.

"It's close, close. There. Seek. We showed you. Come. Come on" he heard a chorus of multiple voices in unison.

He must have still been delirious. It was probably the fever. Yes.

A cold sweat ran down his neck.

He looked back at the empty drawer next to him.

Unless...

He crouched down and looked at it carefully. The drawer measures more on the outside than on the inside. That's natural, due to the thickness of the wood, but it gave him the impression that it couldn't be just that.

He touched the bottom, and began to play around. The bottom board moved, as if a small sliding door was opening! Arthur moved the lantern to see better, and found... A quill.

He frowned, and hesitated for a moment, finally lifting it in his hands.

It was a beautiful piece, the golden metal tip had small engravings and reliefs of flowers and curved leaves, which met in the area where the ink comes out. It had a small handle, also made of metal, and the pen itself was white, thin and smooth.

"Use it! Write! Use it! The quill. It's the quill," the voices exclaimed excitedly.

Arthur could appreciate the beauty of the object. But the euphoria of the voices was something he did not share. Of course it would be interesting to write with such a device, but...

"Something. Hurts. Hurts!"

Arthur felt the pain in his chest again. He doubled over, collapsing on his legs, coughing again. Voices screamed in panic, as Arthur suffocated within his own lungs. He gripped the quill tightly, and the only thing he could think of was that he just wanted the attack to stop.

The pen generated a trail of light and in the air was written:

And the attack stopped.

Arthur stopped coughing.

...What-? But how...?

Is this supposed to happen in the story? I am the narrator, how come I was not informed...?

... Never mind. As I said...

Arthur knelt on the ground, squeezing his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. He placed his hand on his chest, noticing how his heart slowly returned to its original rhythm, and, when the dizziness stopped, he opened his eyes to find the room, filled with the same blue trail as in his dream, surrounding him, floating. above his head, the most beautiful northern lights.

His turquoise eyes lit up in ecstasy.

He began to laugh, and tears appeared in his eyes. This was simply impossible, but there it was, so wonderful, that it filled his heart.

He raised his hand, and the trail of light followed it, guided by the quill.

"Who's there?!" Cook Ray's voice shouted inquisitively.

That voice was definitely not in his head.

Arthur started, panicking. He wasn't supposed to be out of bed. Much less playing with... Blue light trails! He had to escape! Flee! Anywhere other than that studio!

Again, the light from the pen formed words in the air.

So Arthur appeared in the garden.

And so it happened!

Again?! There's no way Arthur could have appeared in the garden, it's... but there he was... In front of the yellow-walled house.

...

Arthur stood for a moment, processing the sudden jump in space. He looked at the sky, with the dawn approaching, while the stars in the sky slowly disappeared, one by one.

What had just happened didn't make sense. There was no way he was outside. But it was definitive: he felt the sun on his face, the breeze on his cheeks, the grass on his bare feet, and the quill between his hands.

Arthur raised it to his face and ran his other hand over its thin fibers.

So that was what made it so special...