The wind howled, sharp as a blade, as it swept over the mountain ridge. Snow danced like feathers in the wind, whiting out the world in every direction. ██████ pulled his thick cloak tighter around his shoulders, squinting against the flurry as he trudged onward, booted feet crunching into the knee-deep snow. Every breath stung his lungs. Every step weighed with the heaviness of the cold and chill.
“It should be around here somewhere,” he muttered, pausing to fumble at the interior of his coat where an old, tattered map had been tucked safely away. His fingers, stiff and numb, finally managed to extract it—creases soft from overuse, corners nearly torn away by time and wear, but before he could get a proper grip, a sudden gust snatched it from his hands. The map twisted into the air like a wounded bird and disappeared into the storm.
He stared after the vanishing dot for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, he murmurs, low and dry. “Well, there’s that.”
He pressed on. What else was there to do? For four years now, he had followed every rumor, agonized over every story etched into the corners of maps that no scholar trusted. Whispered tales of a village out of time, a sanctuary hidden in a crater within a forbidden forest, protected by illusion and fate. He’d given up his titles long ago. Given up war. All for this one impossible place.
‘It can’t have all been for nothing,’ he thought, bitterly. ‘It has to be real.’
Just as the ache in his arms began to turn to a dangerous numbness, something emerged from within the white veil ahead. A shape. A shadow. As he approached, it sharpened into the unmistakable form of a Torii Gate, standing proud against the storm like a sentinel. His heart pounded against his ribs. ‘This has to be it.’
Pushing forth with renewed strength, ██████ passed beneath the gate and into the shallow basin beyond. There, nestled in the snow like an ember in ash, stood a building unlike any he’d seen. Strange and humble, yet warm with promise. He raised a hand and knocked once. Twice. Silence. Then, just as he was about to leave, the wooden doors creaked open.
Behind the counter stood a figure with brown hair tied into twin pigtails, a long crimson scarf wrapped several times around his neck, its trailing end nearly brushing the floor. Startled at first, the figure blinked. Then, a grin bloomed across his face, warm and bright despite the cold beyond the door.
“Hello! Welcome to the Village of Mystorica!” he beamed. “You’ve arrived at the Restkeep Tavern. Can I get you anything?”
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